Hashiba's eyes snapped open, his body drenched in cold sweat as the nightmare's claws reluctantly released him. The dagger in his hand trembled against his palm, its edge biting into his skin just enough to remind him this was real - he was awake. The barracks around him lay silent except for the rhythmic breathing of sleeping soldiers and the occasional groan of the ancient fortress settling into its foundations. Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the shutters, painting silver stripes across the stone floor that reminded him too much of the killer's blade from his dream.
He sat up slowly, the rough wool blanket pooling around his waist as he pressed his back against the cold stone wall. The nightmare clung to him like the stench of the battlefield - that faceless figure standing over Captain Lynn, the way the moonlight caught the blade as it descended, the wet crunch of steel parting flesh. Worst of all was Lynn's severed head hitting the ground, lips still moving, whispering words Hashiba could never quite make out before waking. And always, without fail, that final mocking whisper from the killer: "You'll thank me later."
Hashiba dragged a hand down his face, his fingers coming away damp. Dreams didn't leave your palms slick with sweat. Didn't make your heart pound like you'd run for miles. Didn't leave your mouth tasting like copper and ash. This was something else - something that felt less like a nightmare and more like...
"A warning," he muttered to the empty air.
The sound of boots scraping against stone made him tense. Amasu leaned against the doorway, her silhouette framed by the torchlight from the hall beyond. The fresh Pride markings across her cheekbones glowed faintly as she tilted her head, studying him with those too-sharp eyes that missed nothing.
"Another nightmare?" she asked, her voice low enough not to wake the others.
Hashiba wiped his face with the back of his hand, the rough calluses catching against his stubble. "What gave it away?"
"The way you're white-knuckling that dagger like it's the only thing keeping you sane." She tossed him a canteen, the metal cool against his overheated skin. "Dawn's in an hour. Captain wants us ready."
That got his attention. He caught the canteen, the water inside sloshing as he brought it to his lips. The cool liquid did little to wash away the lingering taste of the dream. "Mission?"
Amasu's lips quirked in that half-smile that meant trouble. "Guess your beauty sleep's canceled."
---
Captain Lynn stood at the war table, his broad shoulders blocking most of the flickering lamplight as he studied the maps spread before him. Red X's marked fallen outposts and overrun villages, the ink bleeding into the parchment like old wounds. His sword - always sharp, always ready - leaned against the table within easy reach, the worn leather of its hilt molded perfectly to his grip after years of use.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
Hashiba straightened instinctively, his shoulders squaring despite the exhaustion weighing him down. "Sir."
Lynn finally glanced at him, those piercing eyes lingering on the dark circles beneath Hashiba's own. "Dreams again?"
A muscle twitched in Hashiba's jaw. He hated how easily the captain could read him. "Yes."
Lynn exhaled through his nose, the sound weary in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. "Tell me."
So he did. The faceless man in the shadows. The way the blade caught the moonlight. The sickening sound of steel parting flesh. The way Lynn's severed head had spoken words he couldn't hear. The killer's mocking promise.
When he finished, the captain was silent for a long moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the map absently. Then—
"Good."
Hashiba blinked. "Good?"
Lynn tapped the map with a calloused finger. "If your mind's screaming at you, listen. Fear keeps you alive." His finger moved to a marked ruin deep in the Fog Wastes, the parchment worn thin from repeated tracing. "We're heading here. Old vault. Command says it's a weapons cache."
Amasu whistled low under her breath. "And if Command's wrong?"
"Then we die bored." Lynn rolled up the map with practiced efficiency, the parchment crackling in protest. "But if they're right, we might finally get something that hurts those ink-blooded bastards where it counts."
---
Gear check was a ritual as familiar as breathing. Amasu strapped on her bracers, the intricate Pride marks etched into the leather glowing faintly as she flexed her fingers, testing the fit. Hashiba tested his dagger's edge against his thumb - sharp enough to split a hair, the steel catching the torchlight in wicked flashes. He checked each of his throwing knives in turn, the weight of them comforting in his palms.
Lynn watched them both from the doorway, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The captain had already donned his armor, the well-worn leather creaking softly as he shifted his weight. There were fresh bloodstains on his vambraces that no amount of scrubbing could completely remove.
A recruit - barely sixteen, his hands shaking visibly - stepped forward. "Sir, I—I'd like to join you."
Lynn didn't even look at him. "No."
"But I've trained—"
"You're not ready." Lynn's voice was final, leaving no room for argument.
The recruit's face fell, his shoulders slumping. Hashiba almost spoke up - the kid had potential, had shown real skill in the training yard - but then he remembered his dream. No heroics.
As they left, the recruit muttered under his breath, "I could've helped."
Lynn paused, his back stiffening almost imperceptibly. "Today's not the day you die, kid."
And then, softer, just to Hashiba as they moved down the hall: "That's the best gift I can give him."
---
The fort's gates groaned open, the sound echoing through the courtyard like a dying beast's last breath. Beyond them, the Fog Wastes stretched endlessly - a graveyard of broken statues and twisted metal, the air thick with the scent of rotting ink and something darker, something that clung to the back of Hashiba's throat and refused to be swallowed.
Amasu adjusted her quiver, the arrows inside rattling softly with each step. The early morning mist curled around her boots as she turned to look back at the fortress one last time. "Think we'll find anything useful?"
Lynn checked his sword, the blade gleaming dully in the pale dawn light. "Doubt it."
"Then why are we going?"
"Because hope's a poison," Lynn said, stepping into the fog without hesitation. "And we're all addicted."
Hashiba followed, his dream still clinging to him, that faceless figure's whisper echoing in his skull like a bad omen. The fog closed around them, damp and cold against his skin. Somewhere in that swirling gray, something watched. Something that didn't belong.
And smiled.
Behind them, the fort's bells began to ring—not in alarm, but in mourning. Another soldier had just turned into a beast.