Trespasser

The punch came high and fast. If it landed it would definitely leave a mark. I dodged and countered with a jab to the ribs. It wasn’t strong enough to wind him, but he’d think twice before getting this close again. The cadet retreated, keeping a safe distance between us from then on. I held back a smile. Caution was good, but if you didn’t pressure your opponent it left you open for an attack. I threw a few random hits to confuse him, then sidestepped and wrapped an arm around his throat. He struggled, but there was little he could do other than tap my arm in surrender.

I let go.

The cadet straightened and stepped back in his line, facing me as we waited for the others to finish.

The blocky academy buildings cluttered in the distance behind us, backed into the edge of the sprawling town beyond them, but ahead everything was flat as far as the eye could see. The sparse patches of bush and lone trees scattered here and there did little to make the space feel any less empty.

“Switch!” Sergeant Hart’s voice boomed out across the open training fields.

My opponent and I nodded at each other in acknowledgement, then moved in opposite directions, a new face replacing his.

“Ready!” Hart called out. “Start!”

The next fight played out much the same. We took positions, exchanged a few test blows, and once his guard faltered, I rushed in, twisted his arm behind his back, and immobilised him. He tapped a surrender. The whole thing lasted a minute, and then it was on to the next fight.

Hart called the drill ‘five-minute fights’. It was his favourite exercise. The goal was to end the confrontation as fast as possible, and the constant rotation made it hard to get used to and exploit the opponent’s style. It still felt unfair. I had trained for this my entire life, while most of my classmates hadn’t done any combat training before they joined the academy. And it showed.

My next fight was against a girl I’d sparred with often. She smiled when we faced off, equal parts arrogance and feigned innocence. She thought I’d go easy on her just because she batted her eyelashes prettily. And then she charged. Like so many others, she still made the same mistakes. She thought she was fast and unpredictable as she threw punches in quick succession, but in reality she was uncoordinated. Her balance was poor, and if I pushed her right, she’d trip over her own feet. She also complained when she lost, acting every bit the unfortunate victim, and bragged when she won, rubbing it in for a good measure. Not knowing which was worse, I let her win this one. That made three victories and two defeats, a rough balance that wouldn’t make me stand out with the other students too much.

We switched again and the next opponent still hadn’t learned how to throw a proper punch without overextending himself. A matter made worse the more tired he got. I ended the fight quickly before he sprained something.

Back in military school, students who fell behind would run the drill over and over until they corrected every weakness that the instructor could perceive. But the rules were more lenient in the academy. The emphasis was on discipline and mental skills since most cadets were training for desk positions rather than active field duty. So when they failed, all they got was a few extra laps to run.

Our future officer corps.

“Partner switch,” Hart yelled out.

I expelled a breath and wiped the sweat off my forehead. The sun was getting low but heat still lingered in a cloud of humidity. Bren, my training partner, walked over and handed me the bottle of water with a smirk.

‘Show off,’ his voice drifted over our mental connection.

I gulped down what was left of the lukewarm water. It felt like we’d been at it for hours, and there wasn’t a muscle in my body that didn’t ache with fatigue. Bren didn’t look any better — his light brown hair ruffled and his gaze focused on anything but his opponent.

Hart signalled ‘ready’ and I smacked Bren’s shoulder to bring him back to the present. All it did was make him stagger forward. He cursed me mentally before approaching his opponent.

Bren didn’t move when Hart called the start. He let the other student charge him, then danced out of the way every time his opponent threw a punch. Bren dodged, blocked, or shoved him away when he got too close, leading the other cadet in endless circles. Great strategy to tire someone, or drag out a fight, but it didn’t work with a time limit and a rival going in for the kill. Bren jumped aside to dodge a jab. It was a mistake.

‘Feign,’ I communicated too slow. His opponent twisted around and kicked at Bren’s legs, bringing him down.

One loss, back in line, and then restart.

‘Would showing me all the angles count as cheating?’ Bren asked the next time he got hit.

I could give him a wider view of the fight from where I stood, point out weaknesses and openings as we did in team fights, but something told me Hart wouldn’t appreciate it here.

‘You’re on your own.’

I felt his frown even though he had his back to me.

‘Minute left. Focus,’ I reminded him.

‘Ah, screw this.’

He ground his feet and took the next punch straight to the core. When the cadet tried to retreat, Bren caught him by the wrist.

The cadet stiffened.

“You don’t really want to hit me, do you?” Bren said between breaths.

The soldier’s eyes glassed over, the tension in his shoulders easing. He shook his head and before he could change his mind, Bren spun him around and took him into a choke-hold.

‘Who’s showing off now?’ I teased. ‘Incoming,’ I warned when Hart stalked toward him.

The sergeant smacked Bren over the head. “No abilities,” he scolded. “Switch.”

I heard Bren’s mental groan as the fighting resumed. He wasn’t bad at it, he just hated fighting.

Three years ago when I’d met the scrawny farm kid with bad posture, I would attribute his defeats to lack of physical training. He’d gotten into the academy based on his influencer talent, and by mid first year he was at risk of flunking for consistently failing boot camp. I had needed something to keep busy, and he needed someone to coach him. We clicked immediately, and time flew as we helped each other progress.

A lot had changed since then.

For one, he didn’t slouch anymore, and his frame had filled up enough to compete with the others. He could take down most of our classmates easily, but he played it too safe.

‘Get in there and tackle him,’ I urged him when his opponent threw a punch so off-centre it left his entire side exposed.

Instead of taking advantage of the opening, Bren jumped back and out of reach. ‘I’d rather not get hit,’ he retorted.

‘Oh, come on! That punch wouldn’t hit a target if it was right in front of him.’

Hart slapped the back of my neck hard enough to make my teeth rattle. “No chatting,” he barked, then strolled on to watch the nearby fight.

Next time, Bren followed my advice and earned himself a win. Two victories and a dozen ties later, Hart finally yelled out to stop. We formed a single line and waited for his next command. For a while, he just stalked up and down, giving us the stink eye and letting his aura of intimidation flow unrestrained. It took all of my focus to not spiral into a panic.

“What’s with that footwork!?” he yelled at the girl I’d fought earlier. “Did you tie your shoelaces together this morning?” She flinched, but I had to commend her for not cowering. Back when we were still freshmen a single look from Hart had sent most students fleeing. Even today some were shaking even as they straightened their spines and tensed their muscles to hide it. Bren, on the other hand, never had a problem resisting the assault and stood irritatingly relaxed next to me.

Hart continued his review up the line. He berated some, praised others, and advised the rest to ‘take it seriously or go home’. The latter usually ended up with double laps of the field and extended exercise routine. I held my breath when it was my turn, both terrified and fascinated about what Hart would say this time. His hand landed on my shoulder, his grey eyes levelling to mine. “Good fight, Kaleo.”

I blinked. That was a first.

“If this was a dance school,” he yelled. “What’s with those pathetic punches? This is not a pillow fight!” He leaned closer, speaking in a lower voice, “You have good technique, but you’re too scared to punch a man.” He nodded at the line of cadets. “You’re not doing anyone a favour by going easy.” He squeezed and shook my shoulder before letting go.

Bren snickered, unfazed even after Hart had yelled at him for using his influence when instructed not to.

I elbowed him. ‘Stop that or he’ll come back.’

‘If he does, maybe you can ask him to dance,’ he replied, his face growing red with suppressed laughter.

I jabbed him again, but what shut him up was Hart’s announcement that he’d have to do the extra laps because of his little stunt earlier.

‘Later,’ he said on his way to the ‘failed’ group. ‘Save me a spot for dinner.’ A spot and some food. Latecomers got leftovers.

I acknowledged his message and cut our telepathic link.

Getting to the cafeteria early was easier said than done. Hart’s exercise had dragged on close to dinner and by the time I made it to the dorms, showered, and finished tending to my uniform, a thick stream of cadets crowded the main exit. A smaller, narrower staircase led out back. It was obscure enough for most students to overlook, which meant less traffic. If I hurried, I could get ahead of the crowd.

I leaped down the stairs, taking several at a time. A door swung open, and I swerved to avoid collision. I inhaled a sharp breath as I recognised the group of students, but it was too late to back out now. It was Evander and his buddies. Just my luck.

He smiled wide when his eyes landed on me, as if the high point of his day had just sneaked up on him. I tried to circle around and slip past them, but he blocked my path.

“What’s the hurry?” he asked, prompting one of his buddies to snicker.

Evander was one year my junior. He came from a long military line with a good amount of political influence in the Capital, so he acted like he owned the place. And for some reason, he had taken a particular issue with my existence.

He lunged for me, laughing when I dodged. Taking advantage of the opening, I made to slip past him. Bad move. Someone shoved me, and I lost my footing. I half skidded, half skipped down the stairs, Evander’s laughter chasing me all the way to the bottom.

My knee slammed into the concrete landing, paralysing pain exploding in my leg. I bit back the scream, refusing to give Evander the satisfaction. Gathering myself, I climbed to my feet, but I would need a moment to recover.

“Watch where you’re going,” Evander called out, laughing, as they thundered down the stairs after me. He didn’t miss the opportunity to shove me into the wall as he passed.

The door crashed shut behind them.

I swallowed the pain that still throbbed in my leg and straightened. My knee hurt when I put weight on it, but it held steady. A small price to pay for getting them to leave.

Or so I thought until I tried the exit. The door refused to budge. I had resisted anger before, but it was hard to do so now. Taking in a deep breath, I put it out of my mind. Anger only made the sweltering air of the stairway even more suffocating. I expelled it all in a sigh and started my slow and painful ascent. I hoped Bren wouldn’t mind standing while eating leftovers.

A dose of painkillers and hours of twisting and turning was not enough to fall asleep. My muscles ached from a day of combat training, and my mind stubbornly refused to wind down.

And my knee hurt.

It hurt so much that I desperately needed to stretch my legs, so I picked up my boots and crept across the cold concrete floor. The door opened with its familiar creak, soft in the daytime, loud as thunder in the silence of the night. I froze. But the only answer to the loud metal screech was soft breathing and the occasional snore. Exhaling a breath of relief, I slipped out into the corridor.

The courtyard between the dormitory buildings was empty. Guards patrolled the compound after curfew, but I didn’t sense anyone nearby. The only things that moved were the dancing shadows of trees in the lamplight.

Inhaling, I stretched out my back, my legs, enjoying the night’s chill while it lasted. Midland days were hot and the nights far too short.

But they were quiet.

Telepathy let me convey meaning without words, making it easy to explain even the hardest of concepts, but it had its drawbacks. The persistent awareness of people’s proximity and their mental agitation was a constant static at the back of my mind. It buzzed, scratched, scraped, and on bad days gave me a splitting headache.

But the nights were quiet.

Or at least they should be, but something had been gnawing at the edge of my consciousness for a while now. I stopped in the middle of the courtyard, studying the sensation. It was a soft tingle at the back of my neck, prickling when I tried to ignore it. I felt out again, sensing no one nearby, yet it persisted. Whatever it was, it was impossible to silence now that I was aware of it, so I followed the winding paths almost dreamlike, heading in an unknown direction.

The military academy was a collection of grey buildings interspersed by stretches of grass and trees. A tall wall separated it from the city on one side, and endless farmland surrounded it on the other. Different sectors were spaced well apart, each forming its own enclave. I found myself crossing the paved path between the commissary and the library, an area that was a good deal away from the barracks.

I hadn’t seen any patrols, but I wasn’t alone. Soft steps carried from around the library, so quiet that I had to strain to hear them. I hurried toward the corner to intercept. The dark figure took the turn a little too fast, bouncing back a step to avoid colliding into me.

Two pale eyes stared up at me. It was a girl who I didn’t recognise. She didn’t look much older than me, and she barely reached my shoulder. She had a shabby leather jacket on that was a size too large. Its hood was up, covering her dark hair.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I blurted out.

There was something feline about the way she tilted her head, watching me. Her stare turned from startled to calculative. “Neither are you,” she said in a low, melodic voice.

She was trespassing, and I had to detain her. “You need to leave,” I said instead.

She didn’t contradict me, slipping past and continuing down the path. A messenger bag was slung over her shoulder.

I snapped out of my confusion. “Wait!” I called after her. I should have at least searched her.

She sped up, disappearing behind a corner, but it was easy to follow her by her tingling presence. She went straight, then took a left, keeping a distance between us no matter how fast I hobbled after her. I cut across the grass as she turned another corner. Around it was the perimeter wall. I looked left, right, and then up, scanning every shadow. She was gone, and her presence faded somewhere in the streets beyond.

This section had no doors or breaches. I frowned. The only way out was to climb over, and considering her stature, it meant enhanced physical abilities.

She was an elemental.

I cursed under my breath just as the sound of heavy footsteps raced toward me. A sudden light blinded me.

“What are you doing out here, cadet?” a gruff voice said.

It was a moment before I found my words. “Couldn’t sleep,” I replied, squinting at the light.

“You’re not supposed to leave the dorm.” The man lowered the flashlight.

I reached out mentally, explaining the pain in my knee and the need for a walk.

He assessed me, his eyes lingering on the bird logo on the front of my jacket that marked me as telepathic, and then the three stripes on my sleeve, one for each year in the academy. His own uniform displayed the bear badge of an intimidator.

I swallowed. Hart was the kindest intimidator I’d met, and he was plenty scary.

The guard checked the area with a quick scan of his light and turned back to me, eyes narrowed.

“You better head back before I report you,” he said after a moment, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yes, sir.” I turned on a heel and hobbled back toward the dorm.