The lights in the mess hall dimmed to a cozy amber. The clang of boots had quieted. No drills. No commands. Just the soft hum of the base and the hiss of steam from a well-used kitchen line.
Ari plopped onto a bench with a plate stacked far too high. "We survived Orb trials and got promoted. We're allowed carbs."
Tris sat beside her, already halfway through his first bowl. "Speak for yourself. I've earned dessert."
Felix approached cautiously with a tray of neatly arranged dishes, slices of meat, soft bread, and three different colors of fruit.
He sat across from them and cleared his throat. "I, uh, read that food shared in celebration can deepen camaraderie. Let's try it out."
"You sound like an instruction manual," Ari said with her mouth full.
"I like manuals though," Felix mumbled.
Nola took the last seat at the table. She'd brought only a bowl of soup, still unsure how long this peace would last.
But the warmth of the broth and the smell of it grounded her.
"Where's Vera?" Tris asked, glancing around.
"Captain's prerogative," Ari said, stabbing her fork toward her food. "She's probably in the gym. Or asleep with her eyes open."
Nola smiled faintly. "She said she needed time to think. It is pretty big of a responsibility."
Tris grunted. "She probably means calibrating every possible outcome of our next mission."
They laughed, even Felix, though his chuckle was more of a squeak.
The clatter of dishes, the buzz of chatter from other squads, it all blended into something gentle. For once, no one was watching their backs. For once, the world outside felt far away.
"I didn't think we would make it," Felix admitted, voice small. "I thought I would break during the Orb trial."
"You didn't," Nola said. "That counts for everything."
Ari held up her mug with a grin. "To not breaking apart."
Tris tapped his to hers. "To surviving long enough to complain about it."
They clinked mugs together. Even Felix joined in.
Then a familiar voice drifted from behind them.
"Is this a sanctioned gathering?"
Vera.
She stood with arms crossed, expression as unreadable as ever. But her braid had loosened, and she held a cup in her hand.
Ari raised an eyebrow. "Are you here to eat? Or just to critique our knife handling?"
"I came to observe," Vera replied, then paused. "And… participate."
Everyone shifted to make room. Vera didn't hesitate, she sat between Felix and Nola.
For a while, no one said much. They just ate. They passed bread. They shared stories about weird incidents in their lives with dreams and stuff from having a will with them.
Most were vague, some dark, a few oddly funny. Tris recounted his vision, about a desert made of mirrors. Ari's involved her being chased by an angry version of herself. Felix dream turned into a monster he had to out-talk.
When they turned to Vera, she simply said, "Mine ended with silence. And I understood it."
No one questioned it.
The party wasn't loud. There was no music. But there was laughter. And food. And quiet glances that meant something more.
They had changed.
But here, tonight, they got to just be.
Morning struck like a command.
Nola stood with the others around the mission board, where Vera held a crisp scroll bearing the red seal of the Comet Legion. No speeches. No ceremonies. Just the cold efficiency of war.
"Our first mission is here," Vera announced, voice unreadable. "Our target is Saren Draal. A rogue Will-Bearer. Former Eclipse Legionnaire."
Tris whistled low. "That was fast."
"Two weeks ago, he murdered four civilians in Zone Eight near the Sweden-Norway border and also wounded a comrade during his confrontation about it," Vera continued. "He's on the run. Intel confirms he's hiding in the Karthlow Ruins."
She unrolled the scroll, revealing a sketch. Black hair cropped short, a wolfish jaw, eyes like gunmetal. A scar slashed across his cheekbone.
"The mission is simple," Vera said. "Eliminate him. No capture. No questions."
A chill passed through Nola.
Ari crossed his arms. "What's his Will?"
Felix adjusted his glasses. "Leonidas."
The room fell silent.
"That sounds incredibly tough," Tris said.
Felix nodded. "The Spartan king. The man who held the gates of Cindervale against ten thousand invaders and died standing."
"No need to trouble yourself," Vera clarified. "He is also stage two like us. The Will gave Saren the power of Leonidas. Not the man himself. But everything else, the tenacity, the tactical instinct, the strength, the sheer willpower. He has it all."
Felix tapped the side of the parchment. "Reported traits: Enhanced durability. Extreme stamina. Near-impossible to knock off his feet. Shield-based defense technique. Once he anchors himself, he doesn't move. He doesn't fall."
"His body operates like a fortress," Vera said. "He absorbs attacks, baits opponents into overextending, then counterattacks with precision. His strikes are brutal and deliberate. No wasted motion."
Tris scoffed. "So a defensive powerhouse. Great."
"He doesn't run. He stands and fights," Vera said. "Which means if we can corner him, we have a good shot."
"Any known weaknesses?" Nola asked.
Felix flipped the page. "Long engagements wear him down. He burns through willpower fast when defending against multiple high-speed strikes. He's strong, but not invincible. Get around his stance. Break his guard."
Vera nodded. "No solo action. We coordinate. Two distract, two flank. One finishes."
She circled a red mark on the map. "The ruins are crumbling, exposed. Minimal cover, unstable ground. Saren was last seen near the inner temple. Reports say he's rigged choke points and fallback positions."
Nola clenched her fist. "He's expecting company."
"He's daring us to come," Ari muttered.
Vera's voice dropped. "Then we accept."
No one smiled. No one flinched.
The air was sharp with tension, but no fear. Only readiness.
Nola looked at the scarred face on the parchment again. A man gifted with the might of one of history's greatest warriors, now turned enemy.
She took a slow breath.
She wanted Leonidas's courage right now.
For killing a human is not easy.