Okay, take a deep breath, Anemone thought, following her advice. She didn’t wear her armor today; she wasn’t supposed to. Instead, she had on a loose gray shirt and black trousers that heavily contrasted the paleness of her arms. Comfortable but open and unrestricted, the utter opposite of what Anemone felt, meeting strangers for the first time.

She tilted the lever of the door, pulling it open to a rush of breeze escaping the room. The floor inside wasn’t carpeted like the floors in the hall but tiled in solid white marble. Smooth to look at but firm to stand on.

She entered cautiously, surprised that she wasn’t the first inside. Two tables spaced out by a couple of feet apart to her immediate right, with three of her soon-to-be-comrades all looking at her as she entered. Anemone, shy, averted her eyes left, where she saw the whiteboard and presumably the desk Kinler would sit by in the corner near the door.

Lost, confused, and feeling quite alone in a room of strangers, Anemone hurried her brain to figure out what to do next. And it had to be quick, as the eyes were still on her, waiting for her next move. Anemone walked carefully to the empty table and sat in the chair in the very middle. Every step she took amplified on the hard ground, and each one felt as if it drew more and more attention her way.

Catching a glance to her left, the agents were no longer looking at her, to her surprise. Still, they were an interesting group of three to look at herself. The one on the very left had skin two-thirds as dark as Kinler, but what stood out most about him was the excess of tape around his wrists and neck, looking mummified under his ink-black tunic from the neck down.

The man in the middle was as pale white as Anemone, though his hair was silver in color, short and loose. He had the only smile in the room, and although there was nothing sad in the atmosphere, it was still weird to see him hold the expression with no reason.

Finally, the man on the very right had a head so bald the fluorescent lights shone off the top of it. He was quite large too, but full-human from looks alone. He had a sturdy, tall form that would have taken up half the table if it weren’t for the fact the other two were on the shorter side. Or the other two were of average size, and this man made them look small only in comparison. It was hard to tell with him getting in the way of the other two, but the biceps were grand, with not even a sleeve covering them.

Anemone chose to return her gaze to herself. The last thing she needed now was the embarrassment of getting caught scouting the other agents.

The room had an uncomfortable silence that often came with waiting. They were all strangers to each other, and nobody dared to say a single word. Right now, Anemone wanted Kinler to enter next, and hopefully, he could break the tension somehow.

The big man coughed, letting out an “Excuse me,” with a crack in his voice. That subtle gentleness of his voice almost soothed Anemone’s anxiety. Maybe these strangers could be her friends and that she was worrying all night for nothing.

Then, another man entered the room. A tall, blond man that looked like a younger version of Ranun—if Ranun’s default expression was a frown—stepped inside as if he owned not only the room but the entire building. His body wandered as his river-blue eyes scanned the room. He looked around, stopping a second to look at the group of three, then moved his eyes on Anemone, pausing for three.

He walked over to Anemone’s table with his silver jacket with gold outlines, presumably to take a seat. Which he did, but not in the way Anemone expected. He tilted the chair back, then dragged it to the other table, without a care to the loud, obnoxious grinding that came from the chair’s legs on the hard floor.

Though it lasted only a few seconds, the whole ordeal had Anemone feeling insulted. She took a breath as if she survived a hundred-foot fall, and all her injuries came as a slap to her self-esteem.

Did I do something wrong? Did I upset him? How?

“Don’t cause trouble,” Calace had said. But… what did she do to deserve that?

Suddenly, a chair ground against the ground again but silenced as the silver-haired man stepped up. He lifted his chair and carried it over to Anemone’s table, setting it down gently to sit to her left.

Anemone looked at him, seeing him smile politely, his presence almost as comforting as it was odd, however that worked.

The blond man who had caused all that noise to sit at the other table looked confused, partially upset, even. He turned around to face the others, shaking his head. He soon readjusted to sit along with the others.

Again, there was a silence. No more action for another minute as Anemone debated whether or not to thank the man for changing tables to be near her. The gesture was kind, but she didn’t know if it was worth speaking for.

“I hear him coming,” the man next to her said, eyelids closed, an eyebrow raised.

Anemone tried listening but heard nothing of the sort.

“I recognize his voice; he’s speaking with another, perhaps the sixth and final agent. He should enter the room in three, two, one…”

The door creaked open, and Kinler pulled it open, letting the other agent in.

“How did you do that?” Anemone asked.

“How? I don’t know how. Only I can,” the man smiled a little wider.

Kinler stopped front and center of the room, adjusting the collar of his military coat, silver, a little more prestigious in look than those the local policemen wear. Anemone noticed his uniform’s color scheme was a reverse Soucrest’s flag, which hung from the ceiling; the orange background and pearly-colored shield in the center.

The final agent moved across the room, in front of Anemone’s table, and around to sit to her right. He had glasses and a well-pressed uniform with a strange-looking belt that carried something on each side, both with grips; a metallic one on his right hip and a matte purple on the other that lured Anemone’s eyes. The man was lanky, with long arms and legs but without a refined chest. And from his physique—or the lack thereof—he didn’t look like much of a fighter.

“Alright, then,” Kinler addressed the room in front of the board, a blue marker in hand. “First and foremost, congratulations are in order for the six of you.”

He clapped his hands slowly, but nobody joined him.

“Well, it seems you guys are as enthusiastic as I am for orientation. Your excitement is palpable. Anyway, I know, meeting strangers is no fun, but it’s necessary. This isn’t school; this is an agency. Everyone in this room you’ll be in contact with every day for the majority of your careers.

“I’m not expecting you all to be friends, either right away or even at all. But you will be comrades, the all of you. You must value each other’s lives as much as your own, and if a friendship doesn’t develop after that, well, tough.”

The hostility in the room amplified, the blond man most of all, who grimaced toward Kinler.

“You all are here for a reason,” Kinler continued. “You all bring a unique trait to the team that will, in some way, benefit us as seven, or Soucrest as a whole. We aren’t like other agencies in how we will operate.

“Ranun and I built this team with one purpose in mind. Balance. If you look to your left and right, I promise you they will excel in an area you’ll never dream of matching, even if you dedicated the rest of your lives. You’re all young, but quite gifted.

“Sometimes, we will be divided, and our services will be lent out to different groups and teams to assist them. However, our cooperation with each other is paramount going forward.

“My purpose as your leader is simple. To solidify our collective effort and develop your personal talents to an elite enough level that anybody would be lucky to have you on their side. Right now, none of you are outstanding, even with your gifts, but all of you have the potential to be.”

A loud scoff interrupted Kinler. And sure enough, it was the same man who had entered the room irritated.

“Is there a problem, Burt?” Kinler asked.

“Yeah, I think you accidentally added an ‘n’ sound to your last sentence. It’s not none of us are outstanding; it’s one of us. Me.”

Kinler raised a brow. He sighed, scratching his head. “Is this what you choose to contribute to us? Boastfulness? A shame.”

Burt looked at Kinler with a smug expression that reinforced his prideful claim.

“Well then,” Kinler said while turning to the board. With the marker, he started writing names. From left to right, they read Jakar, Burt, Rown, Wing, Anemone, and Jaxton. Anemone figured they were placed positionally to where they sat, so Jaxton would be on her right and Wing on her left. She looked left, guessing the larger, bald man was Rown, and the man with tape all over his body who sat on the farthest end was Jakar.

Everyone seemed to have an interesting name, though she had to note who Jakar and Jaxton were, so she didn’t mix them up.

Should be easy. Jakar equals tape, Jaxton equals glasses.

“Starting with Jakar,” Kinler said. “Tell me your weapon of choice and a unique skill you bring to the team.”

Jakar hissed, slithering his tongue like a snake. “I use daggers for stealth but use two eighteen-inch blades for combat. My ssspecial skill… as I said, sstealth.”

Kinler wrote it down, not even noting his weird speech. Jakar, however, looked pleased, smiling for the first time.

“Burt?” Kinler asked.

“I use a two-handed sword,” Burt said. “And my special skill? If I’m not the best duelist in the kingdom already, I will be in three years' time.”

“Why three years?” Kinler asked, writing his weapon under his name.

“Then, I’ll be in my prime,” Burt boasted. “And at that point, nobody, not Symond Whyte nor Ranun Spring, will beat me. I’ll be too good. Unstoppable.”

Kinler sighed, writing duelist under his weapon. He moved on quickly, visibly hesitant to engage with Burt further. “Rown, your weapon and trait?”

“I wield a heavy war hammer,” Rown said. He flexed his muscles as he leaned on the table. “And I suppose, because of that, destruction is my special skill.”

“Very good,” Kinler said, scribbling it down. “Next is Wing. What do you got?”

“I am excellent with the bow, and hunting and archery is my skill,” Wing said, smiling politely.

“Okay… and Anemone?”

Anemone paused. She felt nervous, called to the center of attention. She took a deep breath, then revealed herself to the agents. “I use a single-handed sword. And I have black blood.”

“What?” Jaxton asked on her right, wrinkling a brow.

“What was that?” Rown asked immediately.

Burt shook his head and smiled as if he heard something absurd, followed by questions from Rown and Jakar that bled over the top of each other.

Kinler stood unsurprised, as he’d known about it beforehand. Wing didn’t make a single noise, not even looking a bit shocked.

“Anemone is… arguably the most outstanding agent on this team,” Kinler said. “Not to rub it in, Burt, but Anemone here is the only known being alive that survived a Soulsmithing. Her power is in her blood, and while its potential is massive, it isn’t adequately developed yet.

“And I suppose it’s an appropriate time to announce this, but if any of you leak this to the public, you’ll be charged with treason of the highest degree. Just for now, keep your mouths shut about it, alright?”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Rown said, ignoring Kinler’s warning. “Black blood? What, is it like magic?”

“A fair assessment of its capability. It’s a power like my Soulsmithed sword,” Kinler explained. “Anyway, enough of this, you’ll learn more about it in time. This was supposed to be quick, and we still have one agent who needs to introduce themselves.”

Everyone settled down, but the confusion in the air still hung like a large cloud hovering a foot off the ground.

“Jaxton, go ahead,” Kinler said.

“I use firearms, and, eh, I have a pistol and blunderbuss. My skill… is that I’m proficient in both.”

There was something wrong in Jaxton’s voice, almost like he was trying to hide something. Kinler seemed to notice that too as he wrote the guns under Jaxton’s name, but instead of writing the skill Jaxton said, he wrote “intelligence.”

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Burt interjected, “we have an archer, a gunman, and a woman on our team? I thought I was joining a team of elite warriors and fighters, but half of the team is going to be useless in battle.”

Kinler lowered a brow, addressing the agent. “That’s enough, Burt.”

“No,” Burt said. “What happened to Honor over the years? We’re all what? Apart from you, under twenty years old, and look how soft this lot is. It’s pathetic, Kinler.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Kinler said. “These three to your right were invited to the agencies, where you had been begging for a year straight. I’d argue, the softest person here is you. Your attitude is a problem, soldier. Get it in check.”

Burt flashed a growl, and his teeth showed bitterly for a second. “I’m fine with the archer,” Burt eventually said. “And the gunman too, trusting what you wrote as his skill. But the woman? What does she bring to the table? Blood? Sorry, but women can’t be warriors. It’s ludicrous, seriously.”

Anemone’s eyes widened, and a tidal wave of insecurity rolled in. The words Burt said reminded Anemone more of her past in the beast camps than actually visiting Dork did. They were harsh, demeaning, and undeserved. Burt didn’t know her, so how could he say all these things?

“Whoa,” Rown said. “That’s quite a harsh take to have. What about Foxa? She’s arguably second in line for the crown, likely the next king—er, queen—after Symond retires.”

“Foxa?” Burt scoffed. “A fucking child could be second in line for the crown with her Soulsmithed sword. Take that away, and maybe she could kill a B-graded duelist.”

“Kinler,” Rown said, addressing the agent-general. “This is getting too far out of hand. I was promised unity and have yet to see anything of the sort here. This blatant sexism and elitism shouldn’t be tolerated this high-up in the military.”

“It’s because our leader is sssoft,” Jakar said. His hissing “s” sounds always caught Anemone’s ears. “He’s not taking charge, not bringing usss in line.”

“It’s because he knows I’m right,” Burt grinned.

Rown chagrinned. “This is absurd!”

“Settle down,” Kinler said. “I told Ranun I didn’t want to be an elementary school teacher, but with you, Burt, I feel like I’m in a pre-school. You have a problem with Anemone being on the team? Tough love. She is staying; her spot is secured. But you, on the other hand, if you keep this up, I won’t deal with it anymore.”

Burt said nothing, but defiance eroded off him like steam as he clenched his fists.

“You have your gripes; we can settle this in the field,” Kinler said. “You want to fight, I can tell. So, you two can do so outside.”

Anemone, shocked she was asked to fight on her first day, almost shut down completely. The stress on her mind felt crushing, but she had little other option but to prove Burt wrong. Otherwise, this agency thing would be a living hell if he continued saying the things he said.

“Come on, stand up,” Kinler walked to the front door. “All of you, we’re going outside. Now. What? Don’t you want to see your comrades in action?”

Jaxton stood up first, moving toward the door. Burt stood up eagerly, moving to the door, funneling out of the room with Kinler staying inside.

Wing stood up next, and turned with closed eyes, and asked, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Anemone said.

“It’s going to be alright,” Wing said, extending out a hand. Anemone accepted it, standing up out of her chair. They left the room, passing Kinler as they waited out in the hall for Kinler to lead them out to the field.

“You know,” Wing said. “Everything harsh that he said, his heartbeat spiked to a level even liars aren’t expected to reach.”

“Huh?” Anemone asked. Wing seemed weird, almost strange to be around, let alone listen to.

“Either Burt is so impassioned, his heart couldn’t contain his emotions… or he is experiencing an intense fright, and everything he said came out of desperation. Some try to conceal feelings by instilling others in their place.”

“Neither of those sound comforting,” Anemone said.

Wing nodded. “If you think the explanation sounds bad, imagine witnessing such a wild beat.”

“He’s going to hurt me, isn’t he?”

Wing’s smile faded to a line. “I’m unsure. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, something’s wrong with him. Just… don’t hate him. It might not be his fault.”

Anemone lowered a brow, but Wing added nothing more. They continued on and down the hall.