The training base buzzed with relentless energy.
It was the fourth day of intense training, and every Dominor was locked in the rhythm of motion—swords clashing, guns firing, boots pounding against gravel. The once uncoordinated recruits were now slowly shaping into real combatants, their movements sharper, faster, more deliberate.
But today... there was something else in the air.
A heavier tension.
More pressure.
Because seated just beyond the sparring lines, watching with sharp eyes, were the Pillars: Chief Garran Volkhar, Marshal Davor Renzei, and the Medic Healer, Rhosyn Drae.
They weren't watching the Dominors as a whole.
No.
Their focus was locked onto a single person.
Cael.
The boy under their watchful gaze moved with precision, striking with alarming efficiency. And while most Dominors were too busy training to notice the scrutiny, Lucen noticed. He always did.
Rhosyn's fingers were clenched tightly over her arms as she watched Cael's movements. Of the Pillars, her unease was the most palpable. The thing they see that day. Something that made her hesitate.
Something about him—despite how harmless he seemed—made her believe that he could still be the end of everythingAnd that black mist… what was it, truly? A curse? Or some hidden, dangerous power from deep below the world?
Lucen—the prodigy, the Night Watcher who once rose faster than any other. And now, Cael was mirroring that rise...
He wasn't just learning fast—he was mastering too quickly.
He had absorbed techniques in hours that usually took weeks. He displayed instinct, discipline, and an understanding of movement that felt almost... inhuman.
Now, the one known for being passive, even too relaxed, Lucen Ravyn, was no longer taking things lightly. His demeanor around Cael had shifted. His eyes stayed on the boy with guarded precision, his commands more demanding, his presence sharper.
Because the kid standing in front of him...
might not be just another Dominor.
He might be the next Lucen.
Davor watched with folded arms and a small, almost fatherly smile tugging at his lips, like a proud dad watching his son take his first steps into greatness.
Chief Garran, whose presence grew heavier by the second.
Elbows resting on his legs, fingers laced together, and gaze sharp as a blade, he leaned forward, watching Cael with the stare of a tactician dissecting a puzzle. He didn't blink often. He didn't breathe heavily. He simply... observed.
Until something shifted.
A flicker in Cael's movements.
Garran's eyes narrowed.
Then, without a word, he stood up.
His towering presence silenced the entire training ground. Weapons froze mid-air. Feet halted mid-step. Even the wind seemed to hush.
Then he spoke—voice steady, commanding.
"This evaluation was scheduled for next month..."
"But I want to see something. Now."
A pause. Everyone tensed.
"You will duel."
Murmurs rippled through the ranks. The dominors exchanged confused, startled looks.
"Not with your mentors. The Night Watchers are holding back. I want to see how you move when the gloves come off. When you're desperate."
Rhosyn's head snapped toward him. Her eyes widened. "Chief," she began, voice laced with alarm.
Even Davor looked surprised. "You sure about this?" he asked, low but serious.
But Garran didn't waver. He was already scanning the field.
"Pick someone. Anyone. You'll fight them here. Now."
Then his eyes settled again on Cael, though he didn't say his name.
Not yet.
Because something was off, and Garran—the most calculating of the Pillars—was determined to drag it out into the open.
Even if it meant starting a fire, no one was ready to put out
"Fight as if your life depends on it."
Garran's voice carried like a blade cutting through silence.
A ripple of tension passed over the Dominors. No one moved at first—until one hand rose from the crowd. Casual. Confident. Dangerous.
All heads turned.
A young man stepped forward with a crooked smirk tugging at his lips, rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with reckless amusement.
"So we're allowed to kill someone here?" he asked, as though daring someone to flinch.
Garran's sharp gaze fell on him. "Yes, Mr. Verault," he replied calmly. "Do what you please. The chief healer is here."
He didn't need to say more.
All eyes shifted to Rhosyn, whose posture stiffened, face tight with disbelief. Her lips parted but no words came out—only a scream of protest held back by clenched teeth. Was Garran really letting them fight to that point? Letting them bleed?
Davor watched silently beside her. He said nothing—because he understood Garran. He'd seen that look before. When Garran was close to confirming a theory, he didn't stop. Not until it unfolded right in front of him. And Davor... Davor trusted that instinct more than he trusted most things.
He nodded faintly to himself. Garran sees something.
Then Garran raised his hand, gesturing to Lucen without breaking eye contact with the crowd.
Lucen, ever the dutiful Night Watcher, gave a small nod to Cael and approached. Quietly, quickly. The training ground buzzed with tension as dominors began pairing up for duels.
"You didn't notice anything?" Garran asked, his voice low, calm.
Lucen blinked. "Notice what, Chief?"
Garran's eyes never left the field. "You've been focused on his eyes. That's your style, isn't it? You track opponents by reading their gaze."
Lucen frowned slightly. "...Yes."
"Then you missed the rest," Garran murmured, a ghost of a smile forming.
Lucen's brow furrowed. "What am I missing?"
Garran didn't answer—not right away.
He simply turned, his long coat brushing against the dirt as he walked back to his seat. Silent. Composed.
Then, just as he sat down, his sharp eyes settled once again on Cael—still standing alone, without a chosen opponent.
"Just keep your eyes on him," Garran finally said.
Lucen followed his gaze.
"Watch his feet next time," Garran added, voice almost casual. "And his hands."
Lucen said nothing, but his jaw clenched slightly as he turned his attention back to Cael. The boy stood still amid the buzz of others preparing to fight, unaware of how many eyes were now watching him—not just fellow dominors, but the Pillars themselves.
"Oii! Lonely boy, fight me!"
Darain's voice cut through the noise like a whip, loud and cocky, drawing attention from nearby dominors. He stood with a wide smirk on his face, spinning his weapon lazily in one hand as his eyes locked onto Cael.
Cael looked up at him.
Expression blank. Silent.
He didn't answer, didn't nod—but he stepped forward.
And that was enough.
The duel was on.
It wasn't that Cael seemed strong. The other Dominors didn't avoid him out of fear or respect.
They just couldn't stand him.
There was something about him... his presence... like a quiet storm always on the edge of breaking. It unsettled people.
So they kept their distance.
And now, Darain—the loudest among them—was the only one reckless enough to step into that storm.