The chamber was colder today. Not physically, but in tone. The lights above dimmed to a stormy gray, casting elongated shadows across the arena floor. No more lectures. No more simulated formations. Today was for monsters.
The Pawns stood in a line, eight deep, facing the far end of the training hall where the wall had begun to split apart. Behind it, glass pods hissed and released mechanical steam into the air, and from their depths rose drones. Not standard combat models—these were different. Each bore the warped silhouette of a creature Cael had never seen before. Some slithered. Others skittered. One crawled upright, dragging muscle-thick arms and snapping at the restraints holding it in place.
"Today," said Dagen, voice flat and grim, "you learn what hunts you."
Sora stood beside him, her hand flicking across a glowing interface. A holographic projection of the arena grid hovered in the air—eight rows, each labeled A to H.
"Each row," Sora said, "hosts a different species. These creatures aren't random. They're genetically modified, engineered for variation, aggression, and adaptation. When they appear in a new quadrant—be it fire, water, air, or jungle—they evolve to fit it."
"Each row," Sora said, "hosts a different species. These creatures aren't random. They're genetically modified, engineered for variation, aggression, and adaptation. When they appear in a new quadrant—be it fire, water, air, or jungle—they evolve to fit it."
The projection shifted, showing the top row.
"A-Row: Drifters," she began. "They look like wraiths wrapped in heat. Ember Drifters are smoke-bodied and shimmer like air on pavement. Mist Drifters flicker like light underwater. They're fast, near-invisible until they strike. You'll only see them when it's already too late."
B-row flashed next.
"B-Row: Skulkers. Think reptilian. Cinder Skulkers are low to the ground, komodo-sized, with glowing scales that pulse heat. Jungle variants blend perfectly into trees—like the bark has eyes. You'll flush them out with ultrasonic noise or movement."
C-row.
"C-Row: Hollowborn. Heavy-limbed, vaguely humanoid. The drowned ones drag twisted limbs behind them, water-logged skin hanging in folds. Bark-covered variants blend with forest terrain—slow but strong. Both are best avoided head-on."
Dagen pointed to row D. "Rootworms. Like serpents with armored hides. The slime-coated ones burrow and ambush from below. The cliff-type scale surfaces like lizards, jaws wide enough to unhinge. They hate light. Blinding bursts disorient them."
E-row lit up.
"Virewolves. Row E. Black-furred, long-limbed quadrupeds with jagged spines and glowing eyes. Ember variants stalk in silence. Crown's Hollow variants emit bone-rattling sonar howls that can make your ears bleed. You'll hear them before you see them—if you're lucky."
Row F followed.
"Shardwings. Birds, more or less. Their wings are feathers of glass. They shimmer like stained blades when they fly. Some hurl thorns. Others dive with enough force to slice armor. You'll want cover, not confrontation."
G-row. "Illus-Beasts. Impossible outlines. You might see five legs or three heads or none. Their hides bend light or reflect it. They generate false images. Your eyes will lie. Rely on sonar. Movement patterns. Not visuals."
Finally, H.
"Titans," Dagen said. "Massive. Seven, eight meters tall. Moss-backed, stone-fisted, barely intelligent but devastating. Root-bred ones are like walking forests. Crown's Hollow variants distort gravity around them—making the air feel too light or too heavy. Their weakness is stability. Hit their knees. Take away their footing."
The Pawns said nothing.
"You won't be fighting real ones," Sora said. "Not yet. You'll start with drone simulations. Same movement. Same weaknesses. No real deaths. But if you bleed—consider that generous."
The simulation deck groaned to life.
Dagen stepped aside.
"Good luck," he said. "Try not to die before you learn something."
Each Pawn was assigned a zone.
The floor vibrated beneath their boots as the arena panels hissed open and reshaped themselves into uneven terrain. Heat lamps flickered on one side. Fog machines hissed on another. Jungle vines unfurled from hidden compartments. Each zone mimicked a biome.
The drones dropped in—one at a time. Not all at once, but methodically. Their movements were deliberate, twitchy, eerily lifelike. Simulated or not, they moved like predators.
Cael's drone slithered in low, its long body flickering with rising heat—an Ember Drifter. It glided over the scorched tiles like a mirage, limbs narrow and smoke-wrapped, a blur of red-black flicker. Its face—if it had one—seemed to pulse with internal heat.
It didn't charge.
It circled.
The shimmer of it disoriented him, the heat haze distorting edges. He blinked. It was closer.
Then it lunged.
Cael barely rolled aside, the claws slicing the air where his ribs had just been. He hit the ground hard, dust and grit biting into his palms. The drone wheeled around.
He gripped his baton and swung. Missed.
It vanished into heat again, circling wide. Waiting.
He shifted his stance. Slowed his breath.
It lunged a second time, angling low.
Cael let it come. And this time, he moved in—not away. Letting its claws extend, overcommitting.
He struck under the ribs, jamming the baton deep into the flickering core beneath its chest.
The drone spasmed. Sparks flew. Its flicker broke.
It crumpled with a metallic screech, steam hissing from its sides.
Across the room, Wren was already mid-run, kiting a Cinder Skulker around a column of simulated rock. The thing moved like a komodo on fire—thick-bodied and clumsy, but strong. She feinted left, then sprinted along the wall. It chased.
She didn't slow. Instead, she flipped her grip on her blade and pivoted, sliding low and slicing its legs out from under it in one fluid motion. It collapsed with a hiss.
Pax wasn't so lucky.
A Shardwing swooped at him with a scream. Its wings glittered with glass-thin edges, slashing arcs through the fog. He ducked but not fast enough—one wing clipped his shoulder, tearing a clean red line.
He staggered.
The bird circled back.
Lyndra, from a neighboring zone, shouted, "Down!" and hurled a jagged metal shard upward. It struck the drone's belly. Sparks erupted. The drone spiraled into the wall.
Pax gasped, holding his shoulder. Lyndra rushed in, hauling him to his feet.
"Thanks," he managed.
"Next time, keep moving," she snapped. "They love hesitation."
More drones descended.
A Rootworm erupted from below near Ryve, flinging him backwards. The thing was eel-like, armored and coiled, with grinding mouthparts like rotating stone. He retaliated with a two-handed swing of his staff, cracking its plating with a satisfying thud.
Two Titans lumbered through the back wall, simulations built from dense plating and hydraulic legs. Their massive fists shattered columns and bent metal walls. Elara and Rune faced them together.
Rune dodged a ground-pound, redirecting a falling slab into the Titan's side. Elara sprinted up a slanted support and launched off it, blades flashing. She landed hard, driving both knives into the back of the Titan's knee joint. It buckled and crashed down.
Another drone shimmered like light itself—an Illus-Beast. It blinked in and out of focus around Cael's peripheral. First three legs. Then five. Then none.
He didn't trust his eyes. He waited. Listened.
It stepped. The tile creaked.
He pivoted and swung low.
The baton struck something solid.
The illusion shattered, the drone crumpling in a flash of dissonant light.
Sora observed silently. Dagen called out mid-fight corrections.
"Don't chase them! Let them overextend. Let them fall into their own aggression."
The fights dragged. Sweat poured. Suits tore. Bruises bloomed. The Pawns moved like survivors, not soldiers—yet—but grittier, more fluid, more instinctive with every minute.
Some were bleeding. Some were limping. But they were still standing.
A final wave of drones charged in—Illus-Beasts, Rootworms, Virewolves.
Cael and Wren fought back-to-back, the sound of their weapons clashing against synthetic hide. Lyndra called out hazards. Pax ducked just in time. Rune leapt across zones to knock a Skulker off Ryve.
When the final drone fell and the simulation finally cut, the silence that followed was more deafening than the chaos.
The air stank of heat, oil, and adrenaline. One drone sparked and spun erratically in a corner, its frame dented beyond recognition. Elara stood near the back, her braid damp with sweat, two broken drones at her feet. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but her eyes were glassy with heatshock.
Cael dropped against the wall, arms burning, hands cut and shaking.
But alive.
He exhaled.
And smiled, just a little.
They were learning how to fight.
The monsters would only get worse from here.
But so would they.
Above them, Sora finally spoke.
"Next time, the monsters won't be simulations."
And then she walked away.