Zeyn Orchil Strider yawned into his hand, though he made sure to keep his eyes open and his back against the wall. A student, an instructor, or an actual legionnaire could pass by, notice that he wasn’t paying attention during his watch and report him for the breach.

Bellton Hold was Rumiga City’s wall against the Chaos Channel, protecting it from assault and keeping their path to the rest of Imperial Territory secure. It was also the dead of night, though Zeyn couldn’t really tell in the tunnels. The light panels on the ceilings gave consistent white light no matter the time, and it played havoc with his sleep cycle. Ah, well, he’d rather spend time cuddling with Maryn than sleep, but he hasn’t seen his girlfriend for the last week or so.

The Northern Campaign, as they’ve started calling it, had lasted for nearly a year. He and his batch in Agaza Academy had participated in some of the action, but almost always as part of logistical support.

Escort a supply caravan headed to Aegermonth, then to the forward assault camp. He’d seen action exactly twice in the past year, and that was when the caravan spotted a lone barbarian scout that got chased off by plasma fire. None of them came close enough to go blade to blade with.

Zeyn rubbed the haft of his glaive, Decapitator. The weapon was a gift from his father, who had it commissioned the moment he got accepted in Agaza. It was an unblooded weapon and he hoped to get it baptised soon. The haft was of dark Venere wood, and the blade, single-edged with a back spike, was made of solid steel, etched in runescript lines that made it easier to channel his Animus into, and sharpened the edge when it happened. He could cut sheet metal with Decapitator even without using Empowered Strike, and with it, he could chop down a tree trunk that was half a pace thick in a single blow. Dad paid a fortune for the weapon and Zeyn hoped to use it to advance his Facet and techniques to the Knight’s level.

He was stationed at a cross intersection, where two tunnels led deeper into the mountain, one led farther into Bellton Hold, and the last one led back to the city. Next to him was an alarm post, easily activated once he sent his Animus into the panel. It would send an alarm too if he didn’t press another panel once every five minutes, though it would give a warning beep first.

He was alone in the intersection, though in truth, he should have had another with him. But this was a relatively safe intersection, deep enough into the fortress that the entire place would be in shambles by the time enemies got to where he was. In other words, the perfect spot for trainees to gain experience. Staying awake and looking at nothing, basically.

He couldn’t even train his martial forms as that would just waste his energy. Oh, there was ample space for wielding his chosen weapon, although he couldn’t really raise the polearm too far above his head without hitting the ceiling. Well, a glaive wasn’t really the best weapon to use underground, but he was much more effective with it than with any other weapon. His entire Heritage, and his Facet, was based around it, after all.

Letting his mind wander was the best way he could stay awake. With the general silence, the creaking, echoes, and plinking of water droplets notwithstanding, he could easily hear any footsteps coming his way.

He spun Decapitator across his forearm, feeling his connection with it. His Animus always permeated the glaive now, and it would take merely a thought to ready it for attack or defence. He was a High Apprentice now and was quite close to becoming a Journeyman. His initial Facet gave him knowledge, and more importantly, the muscle memories needed to effectively wield a glaive, and coupled with the training he’d gone through as a child, he had the skill of a veteran warrior. His second Facet, the one he inlaid when he advanced to Apprentice, allowed him to project the force of his blows through empty air. Ah, he inlaid Empowered Strike, too.

Thinking of his advancement always returned his thoughts to the Northern Barbarians, and more importantly, to his friends. Yuriko Davar was lost. Or had been. Recent news from Mikel and Krystal told him that she hadn’t been captured by the barbarians after all. The thought of Faron’s Crossing’s prettiest lady in the hands of those curs had kept Zeyn waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares. They hadn’t been clear how or where she wound up in, but that she was far from the plane’s current troubles.

He wondered briefly if she had maintained the edge she had over him. Well, over the rest of them, actually. Yuriko was uncommonly good at fighting, for all that her Facet didn’t directly aid her in battle. Well, she apparently inlaid the Strengthen Physique line of techniques, something he had to consider, too, otherwise he would be overshadowed by other melee fighters. He could go for the militia’s basic set, but he wanted to hold out for a better and more specialised kind. He was quick enough, but being a relatively small kid, he lacked the heft and weight of a stronger warrior. Heron had already overshot him by nearly ten inches. Well, the other boy had been the biggest one since they were in swaddling clothes, and even his parents were taller than average.

Size and weight mattered in melee, at least it did with the weapon Zeyn used. There were techniques that mitigated that lack, but it was better to have strength anyway. He’d taken to honing whatever he had though, muscle and endurance training. If he can’t be the biggest of the lot, he’d settle for having the best physique for his size.

Throom!

Zeyn staggered against the wall while the earth shook. He stabbed the butt of his glaive into the ground, chipping a bit of the granite off when his Animus coated the entirety of the weapon. The earth shook for several long seconds. Cracks formed on the ceiling, the walls, and the floor, and for a timeless moment, he wondered if it would collapse. Visions of impending death, from MiJins of rock crashing down on his hapless body, flashed across his mind, and a worse possibility came up, too. That the tunnels would collapse but leave just enough space that he wouldn’t die, but he would be trapped instead.

Death by suffocation. Death by starvation and thirst. Was it better than being immediately crushed to death? Zeyn thought it would be better to go quickly than suffer. He prayed to the Ancestors, to the Threads of Fate to spare his life, but if they should deem he needed to die, let it be as quick and painless as possible.

Dust from the fractures rained down on him, sifting into his dark hair and turning his sweat into muddy rivulets down his cheeks.

Then, blessedly, the shaking stopped, and the tunnels survived.

“Alive!” he gasped.

He was on his knees, he realised, clasping the haft of his glaive for balance. He scrambled to his feet and looked down across the tunnels. The rumbling echoed down all the hallways muffling whatever voices or shouting that came deeper into Bellton Hold.

What to do now? He should remain at his post, at least until it was clear he had to return. He wasn’t about to die here!

The ground shook again, much weaker this time, but still frightening. It wasn’t until he saw a messenger crane, striped in alternating crimson and white, did he heave a sigh of relief. The crane sped past the intersection without stopping. It wasn’t meant to land and be read. Rather, the colours were an indication of orders. In this case, it was to withdraw to headquarters.

Shouldering his glaive, Zeyn started to jog on the way back to Bellton. The tunnel twisted and turned, but was straightforward in the sense that there were no branches or side tunnels. He arrived at the marshalling ground in less than ten minutes.

Dozens of youths, students of Agaza from all the year levels two to five were already there, gathered in squads, though on second thought, they weren’t in formation. However, there was only a single adult legionnaire, standing apart from the bunch.

Bellton Hold and the southern forts were awfully short-handed these days, with nearly half of the manpower up north. Zeyn approached the legionnaire, saluted with a fist over his chest and asked, “Ma’am, what’s happening?”

The woman snorted and muttered, “I don’t know yet, cadet. I imagine we’ll find out soon.”

“Think it's because of the quake?”

She gave him a flat stare. “The mountains around Rumiga has always had quakes.” Then she shook her head. “It wasn’t as bad as that one though. Go look for your squad, cadet.” She dismissed him.

Zeyn held in a sigh but nodded anyway. A quick glance around revealed that none of his squadmates were here yet. Oh, wait, there’s Danika.

Even Danika Lorn had grown taller than he, much to Zeyn’s consternation. She was broader too, but none of that was fat. In fact, her arms and legs were filled with corded muscle. At least her biceps weren’t wider than Zeyn’s thigh. If it were, then he would die of shame for being so frail.

Before he could come up to her though, another messenger crane appeared from within the Hold, striped black and green. Eyes widening, Zeyn ran up to Danika even as the girl headed towards the tunnel that would eventually lead to Rumiga City. This particular exit led to the Mids and was roughly a couple of longstrides long.

“Enemy attack?” he muttered once he got next to his squadmate.

“Maybe,” Danika grunted. “Depends on the enemy. Think Wyldlings managed to sneak into the Channel again?”

“It’s not unlikely,” Zeyn agreed.

Even as they spoke, a messenger crane flew down the tunnel and landed on Zeyn’s shoulder, giving him enough time to look at the colour code and the number written on the wings before it flew over to Danika and did the same. Both of them took a left at the next tunnel intersection, followed by a dozen other cadets. None of them was in Zeyn’s squad, but there was at least one with complete members judging by how they’d already gone into a marching formation. Zeyn and the other loose cadets trailed behind them.

A few minutes later, they were deeper into the mountains than usual. The echoing sounds of their footfalls were now accompanied by the clash of metal against metal. And screams.

Zeyn’s grip on his glaive’s haft tightened for a moment before he forced himself to relax. They burst out into a larger chamber, maybe fifty by fifty paces square. It was a tunnel hub, and probably the site of an ore deposit decades ago. The lighting flickered, casting everything in pulsing shadows. Zeyn expected Wyldlings, honestly, but it wasn’t.

Silhouettes clad in dark clothing exchanged blows with militia guards. There were pools of blood already on the floor, gathered under the depressions in the earth, and under unmoving bodies. Some of them still lived, but some were frightfully still.

A quick glance was all the time he had before the nearest militia officer yelled at them.

“See to the wounded, protect yourselves!”

“Watch out!” Danika yelled as she shoved Zeyn to the side. At the same time, a crossbow bolt slammed into her back.

Skree!

The sharp bolt head skittered off her forceweave uniform, failing to penetrate. But if that had hit Zeyn, the force would have left quite the bruise. For Danika though, it was barely more than a tickle. Her green eyes glowed with orange Animus as she kept her Facet active. Her arm intercepted another crossbow bolt that came from a tunnel exit several paces above the chamber floor.

Bolts of superheated plasma flew towards the crossbowmen whose identities weren’t really that hard to figure out. Ivalans.

Ambushers and warriors from the city-state south of Rumiga City. Zeyn coursed his Animus into his Facet and activated it. Pale yellow Animus coated the glaive’s edge, then he slashed towards the side, where a group of Ivalans sought to flank the cadets.

His target easily dodged the flying edge, but Zeyn smirked even as the Animus projectile curved around and took the man at the back of his neck, neatly severing his spine and sending his decapitated head flying off. “This doesn’t count.” He muttered. It was his Animus that killed, not the blade.

He rushed at them, spinning his weapon in lazy circles, leaving glowing trails of yellow light. One thought kept running in his mind though. How did they get here?