The courtyard was carved from black stone, its symmetry rigid and harsh— cut with military precision that set the already grim tone of the sixteen lined up soldiers even more profound. The sky overhead remained overcast, brooding like the compound itself. The soldiers stood in tight formation, all clad in gray sashes and light plate armor etched with burn marks and runes. Each of them bore scars both on the skin and their armor. A few still bore the remnants of ink-stained hands, betraying their reliance on Soul Words in the last battle.
Thornton eyed them warily as they walked in.
Gerard went to stand at the head of the gathering, flanked by Robin and Thornton on his left and they were joined by a slight, sharp-eyed girl already there waiting on his right. She held herself like a blade—sharp and unwavering. Her piercing blue gaze set straight ahead, highlighted by the waves of brown hair cascading down her back.
With a sudden clearing of his throat Gerard began, "The Hollow wasn't just a massacre," his voice carried easily across stone, echoing throughout the courtyard. "It was a message."
Robin felt the words cut closer than the man likely intended.
"The Syndicate does not speak," he continued, a bit louder, eyes locked forward. "They erase."
Unease fell upon the gathered soldiers, murmuring amongst them began. Gerard raised a hand. Silence fell like a guillotine.
"You've been briefed on your targets," he said, voice like gravel. "Two Anglons embedded in civilian shelters on the Soraphese border. Flight-capable. Magic born and trained. Believed to be acting under high command orders from the Syndicate's internal tier. Our objective is elimination of any sentience and extraction of any communication logs."
He let that hang before continuing.
"The Syndicate has assassinated thirteen high-level officials in the last four months—eight in Soraphese, five here in Ludin. All evidence points to Anglons. Those of you who remember The Hollow—"
A ripple of stillness ran through the troops. The Hollow had once been a thriving outpost of Ludinites and Flightless thinkers. Now, it was scorched earth.
"You know what we lost. You know what they took. Our loved ones, our forces, our trust."
Thornton didn't flinch, but his hand twitched near his belt. He'd been seven when the Hollow burned—just old enough to remember the fire, too young to do anything about it. That was where he'd lost his older brother.
Robin glanced at him but said nothing.
Gerard's voice hardened. "We are not here to be martyrs. You are not walking legends. You are soldiers. Poets. The world has tried to grind us into silence, and we have responded with verse."
A few heads lifted at that.
He stepped toward the center of the courtyard and extended a hand. "Robin. Thornton. Sandy. Step forward."
The three young soldiers by his side obeyed.
"These three will be joining the mission unit today. They are not replacements. They are continuations." His eyes lingered on Robin. "If any of you doubt their place here, speak now."
No one did.
Robin felt every gaze sear into him, but none pierced deeper than his own doubts.
"Now get ready, we head out from here in thirty minutes. I expect everyone to have their spells, armor and weapons at the ready. We do not have the slightest room for error. Go."
With that they moved into the inner compound, where polished walls gave way to ancient stone corridors lined with verse-scarred banners. Gerard led the trio into a small chamber, quieter than the courtyard but no less intense.
Sandy leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Why us?"
Thornton smirked. "Because we ain't gonna cry when it goes to the shitta'."
Gerard ignored them both, locking the door.
He looked at Robin first. "You know why you're here."
Robin nodded slowly.
Then Gerard turned to Thornton. "And you—you think you're here because you have something to prove. Because of your brother. Because every time you sleep, you still hear the flames. You might act tough boy but you are down-right traumatized like the rest of us there that night."
Thornton's jaw clenched, but he didn't interrupt.
"You're also here because you already know how to survive. You don't flinch when they use magic without poetry. You will keep a level head when it matters most."
Sandy blinked. "Without poetry?"
Gerard moved to the center of the room and dragged a piece of chalk across the floor, scrawling a short haiku in Ludinite dialect.
Ash clouds fold inward—
breath of stone becomes a blade,
Silence splits the wind.
As he finished the last word, the air thickened. The room darkened slightly, shadows stretching. Then—with no motion—his blade unsheathed itself from his hip and hovered, trembling in place like a waiting hawk. With a flick of his wrist the blade shot across the room and embedded deep in the stone wall.
"The Anglons use breath and blood," Gerard said. "We use will and word. That is the foundation of Soul Words. The soul is a vessel. The poem is the blade."
"The type of poem defines the nature of the spell," Gerard continued. "Haiku for speed. Couplets for binding. Free verse when desperation reigns." His tone darkened. "But poetry without respect becomes noise. Noise becomes failure. Failure becomes death."
He looked between the three. "You speak with your soul, or not at all. You know this, this has been your training for the last 8 years. However, only we Flightless need to use words to evoke magic. The Anglon's are capable of utilizing magic without speaking. They were born with a direct connection to the mystical."
Robin stared, awe and terror mingling in his gut at the thought of those who could evoke magic faster than they could defend themselves.
Gerard went on, "This is the first time you or Robin are hearing about this I know, however it is a closely guarded secret as it would do nothing but cause panic, fear, and chaos amongst the public."
He then turned to Sandy and dropped his voice, "Now, I know you did not lose anyone to the Hallow- but your parents were taken by---"
Sandy sharply cut him off, "And what does that have to do with this." Her mouth was taunt and eyes locked onto Gerald like daggers.
"Well," Gerald gave a shrug of his shoulders, "You know who is behind the Syndicate don't you? You all have an emotional tie to this mission, and as we all should know the stronger the emotion in your words the more powerful the magic. Never underestimate the cornered rat- I will use every card in my hand to win this battle."
Sandy relaxed a little at his words and gave a curt nod. Gerald looked down at her with sorrowful eyes, "Remember to not over extend yourselves- you are all still learning. I need you all to provide back up and help with a small stealth operation while us main guard distract them in the central fight. There are documents held in the center of the camp that detail the Syndicate's organizational structure- as well as their trade routes."
All three of the young group's eyes went wide at that.
Gerald chuckled, "Good I am glad you recognize the gravity of the situation. This would in fact be the most information our side has ever gathered on the Syndicate. This would be a major step in stopping them and bringing their atrocities to justice- I hope with all that information it is obvious why you were chosen Sandy," He gave the group a quick wink before turning and walking away, "Besides you all being my star pupils of course."
...
As the team gathered at the launch point—a grounded skiff rigged with soul-infused flight stones—the soldiers readied their weapons, murmuring haiku under their breath to keep their souls sharp.
Robin stood apart for a moment. Thornton approached him.
"Ye nervous?" he asked, then scoffed. "Dumb question."
"I'm not afraid of them," Robin said softly. "I'm afraid of what comes after."
Thornton gave him a look. "You always talk like you're in a story someone already wrote."
Robin didn't respond.
Sandy passed by them, adjusting the strap of her blade. "You two can muse later. Let's go kill some Anglons."
As the skiff hummed to life, Gerard stood at the helm and gave one final glance to the team.
"We strike fast. We strike true. We write our legacy in blood and verse."
The group echoed back the army fight call, "By Blood and Verse we fight!"
And with that, the mission to break the silence of the Syndicate began.