Outside the sealed metal entrance, two Vaekk stood watch.

  The entrance had locked itself hours ago when the woman went inside, the one who'd killed young Jonen. Nothing they'd tried could open it.

  "Fourth group this morning," Reth said, his voice low. "Torrhen took the first batch at dawn. Said his evolution counter didn't move. Not a single point."

  Davan kept his eyes on the tree line. "Lady Aram's orders stand."

  "I'm not questioning orders. I'm stating facts. Vessa killed six in the second group. Also nothing. Goram took the third group an hour ago and came back looking sick. Still Level 6."

  "Your point?"

  "My point is we're executing prisoners who can't fight back and getting nothing for it. That's not combat. That's not what we came here for."

  Davan's jaw tightened. "We came here to follow our commander. That hasn't changed."

  "Hasn't it?" Reth shifted his weight. "We came here for glory. For evolution through worthy combat. For the chance to prove ourselves against real opponents. Look around. Does this look like honor to you?"

  Davan didn't answer.

  To the left of the entrance lay two bodies that made both of them uncomfortable in ways they wouldn't admit.

  Jonen. Seventeen years old. Lady Aram's son.

  His Rathen Apex lay beside him. Both dead. Both with their jaws torn apart and destroyed. The cuts covering both bodies matched perfectly despite their completely different anatomy, like someone had used the same technique on both. Their limbs twisted at identical angles, positioned the same way.

  Reth had been avoiding looking at them all morning. Now he forced himself to study the scene.

  "Have you ever seen anything kill like that before?"

  "No."

  "Neither have I. And I've seen a lot of ways to die in this place." He paused. "Whatever did that to them... it wasn't human. Look at the wounds. The matching pattern on both bodies. Something's off about all of it."

  To the right of the entrance sat a pile of bodies three high. Twenty corpses, all decapitated. Their armor told different stories: Vorminian blue and silver, Eastern Reach red and gold, noble house crests from a dozen different kingdoms. Some of the armor was ornate enough to suggest these had been important people once.

  Now they were just meat stacked beside the entrance.

  The forest around them had been systematically cleared. Every tree within fifty meters cut down at the base and hauled to the perimeter, leaving a flat killing ground where movement was easy and nothing could hide. The stumps had been dug out. Even the larger roots had been torn from the earth.

  Someone had spent hours making this place efficient for killing.

  Reth looked at the pile of decapitated bodies again. "They came here for the same reason we did. Evolution. Glory. A chance to prove themselves." He was quiet for a moment. "Now they're just... that."

  "They were weak."

  "Maybe. Or maybe they just couldn't resist her voice." Reth stopped himself.

  Davan's voice went hard. "Careful."

  Reth gestured at the pile. "I'm just saying... when she uses that ability, you can't fight back. You can't move. You just stand there while..." He didn't finish.

  "I know what you're saying. And you need to stop saying it."

  Movement in the bushes cut off the conversation.

  A group emerged from the tree line, and both Vaekk went tense.

  Two adults came first. A man with blonde hair wearing fitted leather armor, dozens of throwing knives secured in loops across his chest and belt. Beside him walked a woman with white hair in identical gear. Both moved with the controlled grace of experienced fighters.

  Behind them came children, ranging from maybe thirteen to sixteen years old, all wearing the same leather tunics that marked them as academy students. Their feet hit the ground at the same time, arms swinging together.

  But their faces told a different story.

  The younger ones were crying, tears streaming down cheeks while their bodies marched forward in formation. Others had wide eyes darting around, mouths working like they were trying to scream but couldn't make sound. A few of the older students had expressions of pure rage, jaws clenched, veins standing out on their necks as they fought against whatever controlled them.

  Behind the group walked a Vaekk warrior in full armor, his posture straight, his face expressionless.

  Tarn. Their superior officer.

  Reth stood near the entrance with his hand resting on his shield. Davan stood a few paces away, watching the group approach.

  Tarn stopped at the edge of the clearing. "Davan," he called out. "Lady Aram says it's your turn. These are for your evolution." He glanced at Reth. "She'll send another group for you in an hour or two."

  Reth's jaw tightened. "We're not getting evolution from this."

  Tarn's expression didn't change. "Excuse me?"

  "I said we're not getting any evolution points from this. Torrhen didn't. Vessa didn't. Goram didn't. None of them got anything because there's no fight. They can't even move on their own."

  "Lady Aram's orders—"

  "I know what the orders are. I'm saying they're not working. Since she found Jonen's body, she's been different. You know it. Everyone knows it."

  "Careful."

  "I'm stating facts. She's not thinking clearly. She's—"

  Tarn moved.

  He crossed the distance between them and drove his fist into Reth's jaw.

  Reth's head barely moved. His tank class absorbed the impact easily. But the strike wasn't meant to hurt his body.

  Tarn had just hit him. The man he respected more than anyone except Lady Aram had struck him like he was disobedient trash.

  "Lady Aram gave us orders," Tarn said, his voice quiet and cold. "We follow those orders. That's what the Vaekk do. That's what we've always done. That's the only reason we're still alive after three centuries."

  Reth kept his voice steady. "Sir, there's an agreement about students. They only engage in dungeon combat or against creatures. Not against…”

  "I'm aware of the agreement."

  "Then you know this violates it. They're children. Academy students. They should be fighting creatures in controlled environments, not being executed in a clearing."

  "I know what they are."

  "Then why are we doing this?"

  Tarn's expression went flat. He turned to Davan. "If he speaks again without permission, drive your spear through his throat. I won't ask twice."

  He paused, and something flickered behind his eyes that might have been pain.

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  "And Reth, before you say anything else, I want you to understand something. I agree with you. Every word. This feels wrong. It goes against everything we were taught. But I swore an oath to Lady Aram. We all did. The Vaekk follow their commander. That oath is the only thing that's kept us together, kept us strong, kept us alive for three hundred years. Without it, we're just mercenaries. Just killers for hire. The oath is what makes us Vaekk."

  The children were watching everything. The younger ones crying silently. Others just staring with expressions that mixed fear and something darker.

  Davan stepped closer to Reth, keeping his voice low. "Just stop talking. Please. She raised us when we had nothing. Trained us. Made us into something more than orphans and street trash. Maybe there's something we're not seeing here. Some bigger picture."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. But she's been right about everything else. Every decision she's made has had a reason. Why would that change now?"

  Reth studied his friend's face and saw what he'd been trying not to see all morning. Davan wasn't defending Lady Aram because he believed in her plan. He was defending her because the alternative was too frightening to consider.

  "Sir," Reth said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Permission to speak freely."

  Tarn didn't answer for several seconds. "Denied."

  "With respect, sir, I'm going to speak anyway."

  "Then you'll face the consequences."

  "Understood." Reth took a breath. "She's been different since she reached Level 10. You've seen it. We all have. The way she talks changed. The way she looks at us changed. The way she makes decisions changed. And now she's ordering us to kill children who won't give us any evolution points because there's no combat, no effort, no challenge. That's not who she was. That's not the woman who found us and trained us and made us into warriors."

  Tarn's face remained expressionless but his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  Davan shifted uncomfortably. "Reth, you can't just—"

  "He can," Tarn interrupted. "And he's not wrong." He was quiet for a moment. "Davan, give me your spear."

  Davan's hand trembled as he unstrapped the weapon from his back and passed it over.

  "Lady Aram can read a battlefield better than anyone I've ever seen," Tarn continued. "She'll examine this clearing when she returns. She'll see the blood patterns, the body positions, the tracks. She'll know exactly what happened and who did it." He looked at Davan, then at Reth. "She'll need to believe it was one of you. Both of you will tell her you killed them. I'll carry the actual weight."

  "Sir, that's not—"

  "That's an order." Tarn's voice cut through any objection. "You're both young. You both have years ahead of you in the Vaekk. I'm forty-three. I've had my time."

  Reth felt his throat tighten. "Sir."

  "Save it."

  Tarn took the spear and walked toward the two instructors who stood frozen at the head of the student column.

  Reth's hands were slick with sweat inside his gloves. His heart hammered against his ribs.

  This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong. She wouldn't want this. The real her, the woman who found me when I was eight years old and starving in an alley, she wouldn't order this.

  Tarn stopped in front of the white-haired woman. He looked at her face for a moment, and Reth thought he saw his superior's jaw tighten.

  Then Tarn drove the spear through her chest.

  The woman's eyes went wide. Blood bubbled from her lips. She made a wet choking sound and collapsed, the spear still embedded in her sternum.

  Tarn pulled it free and turned to the blonde man in one smooth motion. The spear swung in a short, economical arc that separated the man's head from his shoulders. The head hit the ground and rolled. The body stood for one more heartbeat before it fell.

  "Nothing," Tarn said quietly. "No notification. No evolution points. Nothing."

  He turned toward the children and began walking with slow, measured steps.

  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely carrying across the clearing. "This isn't who we are. Or who we were supposed to be."

  He raised the spear toward a boy who looked maybe thirteen years old, skinny, with dark hair and the kind of face that still had baby fat.

  Reth moved without thinking.

  His kick caught Tarn in the ribs with every ounce of strength his tank class could generate. The impact lifted Tarn off his feet and sent him flying backward across the clearing. He hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and came to a stop near the pile of decapitated corpses.

  Reth positioned himself in front of the children and spoke fast. "When you feel the control break, run toward that mountain. See it? Vorminian camp is twelve miles that way. Any other direction and you'll run into more Vaekk patrols. Don't stop. Don't look back. Just run."

  Two of the smallest children stumbled forward as Lady Aram's mental hold on them shattered. They were maybe thirteen, both girls, both crying.

  One of them looked up at Reth with red-rimmed eyes. "We can help you fight."

  "No you fucking can't," Reth said. "You're going to get yourselves killed and make this harder for everyone. I need you to run. Right now. GO."

  The girls ran.

  Davan stood frozen, staring at Reth like he'd grown a second head. "You just attacked Tarn. You attacked a superior officer. We don't... the Vaekk don't do that. We've never—"

  "I know what I did."

  "But we don't attack each other. Not outside training. Not ever. That's the first rule they teach us. The Vaekk are brothers. We don't—"

  "I know the rules," Reth said. "And I'm breaking them."

  Davan's face twisted and he grabbed for his spear, then remembered he'd given it to Tarn. He pulled a combat knife from his belt instead and came at Reth.

  Fast.

  Davan was a fighter class, built for speed and burst damage. He closed the distance in heartbeats, the knife aimed at Reth's throat.

  Reth got his shield up and caught the blade on the reinforced edge, angled it away from his neck, and drove his boot into Davan's stomach hard enough to lift him off his feet.

  Davan hit the ground and rolled, coming up already moving.

  Two more children broke free of the control. Twins, maybe fifteen or sixteen, both boys. They moved together, pulled throwing knives from their belts and threw them.

  Both blades hit Davan in the thighs.

  Davan's charge faltered. He took three more steps, then his legs buckled. He went down hard, body convulsing. Foam and blood poured from his mouth. The knives had something on them, something fast-acting.

  He thrashed for maybe five seconds, fingers clawing at the moss, back arching.

  Then he went still. Eyes open. Staring at nothing.

  One of the twins looked at Reth. "We can fight with you. We're trained. We can—"

  "No," Reth said. "Run. You won't help me. You'll just die here. GO."

  The twins hesitated, looked at each other, then at Davan's body.

  "I said GO," Reth shouted.

  They ran.

  Four children still stood frozen behind Reth. He could feel their eyes on his back.

  No going back now. When Lady Aram returns, she'll know. She'll see what I did. And she'll kill me for it. But at least some of them will live.

  "Tarn," he said, turning to face his superior who was climbing to his feet. "I'm responsible for them now. We're not brothers. We're enemies. I know what you have to do."

  Tarn stood slowly, spitting blood onto the moss. His hand went to his ribs where Reth had kicked him and he winced.

  He didn't say anything. Just looked at Reth with an expression that might have been sadness or might have been something colder.

  Another child broke free. A girl, maybe fourteen, with brown hair. She dropped to her knees beside the white-haired instructor's body and touched the dead woman's face with shaking fingers. Tears fell onto the corpse's still features.

  Reth felt something wrap around his body, invisible pressure like a giant fist.

  It yanked him forward and he flew through the air toward Tarn.

  Tarn's spear lifted off the ground. Davan's spear joined it. The weapon Reth had been holding tore itself from his grip.

  Three spears hovering around Tarn.

  Good. That's his limit.

  Tarn raised one spear, aiming at the girl still kneeling beside her dead teacher.

  "FIGHT WITH HONOR," Reth roared.

  The sound came out amplified, hitting Tarn hard enough to shatter his concentration.

  The invisible grip disappeared and Reth hit the ground in a roll, coming up on his feet.

  The girl stood and ran.

  Three children remained.

  Reth held only his shield now.

  Another child broke control. A boy, maybe fifteen, who scrambled to where the blonde instructor's body lay and grabbed the dead man's sword. He threw it to Reth and Reth caught it with his free hand.

  Tarn raised one spear, aiming at the boy who'd just helped.

  "DON'T," Reth shouted. "Fight me. Not them."

  The boy ran.

  The three spears launched forward.

  They moved faster than any human could throw, striking from different angles at once. One aimed for Reth's head. Another for his chest. The third curved around to hit him from behind.

  Reth was a tank. His class was built to absorb punishment, to stand firm when others broke. He caught the first spear on his shield, knocked the second away with the flat of his borrowed sword, and twisted so the third struck his shoulder guard instead of his spine.

  The impact drove him back two steps.

  The spears retracted and attacked again and again and again.

  Tarn stood with his arms at his sides, face showing total concentration as he directed the assault. The spears became a blur of strikes coming from every direction. Reth could block some, deflect others, but the assault was constant.

  He couldn't advance. Couldn't retreat. All he could do was stand there and protect the two children behind him.

  His shield started to crack. His armor dented where strikes got through. Blood ran down his arm from a cut on his shoulder.

  Can't win. Not against him. But I can give them time to run. That's enough.

  The two children who remained watched Reth take blow after blow, watched him refuse to move, refuse to run, refuse to do anything except stand between them and the spears. The fear that had filled their faces was gone. Something else had replaced it.

  The spears kept coming. Reth's left leg buckled where a strike got through and hit his thigh. He went down on one knee but kept his shield up.

  Blood covered his face from a cut across his forehead. His breathing came in ragged gasps.

  Tarn's face showed no emotion. The spears pulled back, hovering in formation.

  "You saved them," Tarn said. "Do you think that's worth what comes next?"

  "Yes."

  "Lady Aram will kill you for this. Slowly. She'll make it last."

  "I know."

  Tarn was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, Reth. You were a good soldier. You would have made a fine commander someday."

  "I'd rather die with honor than live without it."

  The spears raised, all three aiming at Reth's chest.

  A sound cut through the clearing.

  Metal grinding against metal. The sealed entrance beginning to open.

  Everyone froze.

  A spider emerged from the darkness below. Small, maybe the size of a hand. Its metal legs clicked against the edge of the hatch as it pulled itself up and out, green eyes glowing on its small body.

  The entrance continued opening.

  And then a figure climbed out, backpack on her back.

  The woman who'd killed Jonen.

  She stood at the edge of the hatch and looked at the carnage around her.

  Her eyes found Jonen's body and stopped there, then moved to the pile of decapitated corpses, then to Tarn, then to Reth kneeling in blood with his broken shield still raised, then to the two children standing frozen behind him.

  Nobody moved.

  The spider on her shoulder made a quiet clicking sound.