Chapter 10 – A Unit of Storms
The first light of dawn crept through the high windows of the academy hall, brushing against polished stone floors and glinting off the gilded edges of banners fluttering softly above. The training grounds outside were already alive with movement—the muted clatter of boots, the occasional barked order from instructors—but inside the hall, the air seemed heavier, as though it carried the weight of every expectation, every whispered doubt from the past day.
Leo stood with Jack and Ralph, his hand still brushing the edge of the bandage on his temple. The memory of the final trial clung to him—the pressure, the whisper that called his name, the crimson haze. Even now, the echo of it seemed to hum beneath his skin.
Jack leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You look like a ghost, man. I don't think anyone's ever been through that trial the way you did. Hell, I thought I was strong."
Ralph shook his head slowly, his fingers tapping lightly against the hilt of his training sword. "Strong doesn't even cover it. You... I don't know, Leo. That thing—whatever it was—it didn't just test you. It tried to break you. And you didn't even flinch."
Leo's jaw tightened. "It wasn't about flinching. It was about moving forward. That's all."
Jack snorted but said nothing. Instead, his eyes scanned the hall, watching the cadets who had gathered around the platform at the center. The envelopes rested there, sealed with the imperial crest, each containing the verdict that would decide futures. Some candidates whispered to each other, anxiety spilling from them in nervous laughter, shifting feet, and fidgeting hands. Others, those who had failed the final trial—or barely survived—sat slumped against walls, eyes hollow and pale.
The instructor climbed onto the platform, his robes whispering against the stone steps. Silence fell almost instantly. Even the distant clatter from the training grounds seemed muted.
"Cadets," he began, voice deep and unwavering, "the results of the military examination are final. Those who have succeeded will be recognized and assigned to their units immediately."
The air vibrated with anticipation. Breaths were held. Fingers clenched. Some cadets exchanged glances—half excitement, half dread.
Jack leaned close to Leo, whispering, "Ready to see who survived?"
Leo exhaled slowly, a tight knot in his chest unraveling just slightly. "Let's get this over with."
The instructor began calling names. Some cheered when their friends succeeded. Others let out quiet groans or simply stared down at the floor, trying to ignore the sting of failure. Cadets moved forward one by one to claim their envelopes, hands shaking, eyes wide with hope or fear.
"Ralph Grey."
Ralph stepped forward, composure masking the tension inside him. His grip on the envelope was firm, but Leo noticed the subtle shake of his shoulders, the quick inhale before he broke the seal. Ralph's eyes flickered over the parchment. Then, a slow exhale. Relief, tempered by exhaustion. He looked back at Leo, a small, triumphant smile touching his lips. "We made it," he said softly, voice rough.
Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "Told you we would. Just didn't think we'd look like heroes doing it."
Leo let his attention drift, observing the others. Cadets who had faltered during the dagger trial—some hadn't even touched their envelopes. Others who had failed previously in drills now received their passing notice, their faces a mixture of disbelief and pride. The hall seemed to pulse with every reaction, every whisper, every glance of triumph or despair.
Finally, silence stretched across the hall as the instructor's eyes scanned the crowd again.
"Leo Vail."
The words echoed, louder than they should have. Heads turned. Some cadets froze mid-step. The whispers ceased, leaving only the thrum of expectation.
Leo stepped forward. Each movement felt deliberate, heavy with consequence. His boots clicked against the stone, each sound reverberating like a drumbeat through his chest. Hands trembling faintly, he reached for the envelope. The seal gleamed in the morning light, an emblem of both approval and responsibility.
He broke it open slowly, as if time itself had stretched. Unfolding the parchment, the words swam into focus:
Passed.
Nothing more. No celebration. No fanfare. Just the quiet acknowledgment that he had survived and excelled.
Jack leaned forward, a grin breaking across his face. "Looks like the impossible kid survived. Who'd've thought?"
Ralph exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You... you really have no idea what you're capable of, do you?"
Leo tucked the parchment into his tunic. The relief was tempered by a lingering unease—the shadow of the dagger trial still pressed against him, the memory of the crimson haze gnawing at the edges of his mind.
The instructor's voice cut through the moment. "Now, unit assignments." He unrolled a second scroll, thicker and heavier than the first. "Listen well. Where you go from here will define the shape of your service... and your survival."
The crowd's tension shifted—this wasn't merely about passing anymore.
Names were read again, each followed by the designation of their assigned post.
"Ralph Grey – Second Infantry."
"Jack Marrow – Tenth Heavy Support."
Leo watched as his friends absorbed their assignments, both men giving curt nods but wearing different shades of expression—Ralph with quiet acceptance, Jack with a smirk of satisfaction.
Then, the pause.
"Leo Vail – Twenty-First Reconnaissance Unit."
The reaction was immediate. A ripple of whispers spread across the hall, carrying tones of surprise, curiosity, and even pity. The Recon Units were spoken of with a strange duality—feared for their fatal missions beyond known borders, yet respected for their unmatched skill and endurance.
Someone near the back muttered under their breath, "That's the unit that doesn't come back whole."
Another voice, sharper, replied, "Or doesn't come back at all."
Leo felt every eye on him. The instructor didn't soften the moment. "Report to the West Barracks at dawn tomorrow. Dismissed."
The hall slowly emptied, the murmur of voices fading into the distance. Jack and Ralph lingered for a moment, trading looks with Leo that carried a silent understanding—whatever path they were on now, it was no longer the same one.
Ralph clasped Leo's shoulder. "Recon, huh... Just keep your head low. And if you can't, make sure you keep moving forward."
Jack smirked, though a shadow lingered in his eyes. "I'd wish you luck, Leo, but from what I've seen... luck's the least of what you'll need."
Leo gave them both a nod and turned away. Their words clung to him as he stepped into the cold morning air, sunlight slicing across the courtyard, brushing over frost-specked grass and the edges of the academy's stone paths. His breath rose in misty clouds as he made his way toward the West Barracks.
The West Barracks lay apart from the rest of the academy's orderly grounds, at the far edge of the military compound where polished stone gave way to hardened earth. The path wound through a quieter section of the base, past weapon stores and supply sheds, the distant clang of drills muffled as if the buildings themselves absorbed sound. Even the usual buzz of cadets was absent here, replaced by a tense stillness.
A murmur drifted from a pair of soldiers walking in the opposite direction.
"They say the 21st Recon Unit is the most troubled on the continent."
"Troubled? More like cursed. Every one of them is a storm in human form. I wouldn't touch them if I were you."
Leo didn't flinch. If that was true, it meant this unit was exactly where he needed to be.
By the time he reached the heavy iron-banded doors, the sun had risen enough to send a thin blade of light through the narrow windows above. The scent hit him before anything else: oiled leather, cold steel, and the faint tang of gunpowder. Even without rifles, the air hinted at readiness for chaos.
Inside, the space was rough, functional, and lived-in. Maps hung at skewed angles, some edges curling from years of use. Crates stacked in corners bore dents from previous expeditions. Tables held scattered gear, polished but clearly in constant use. Every surface bore marks of experience. This wasn't a place for ordinary cadets—it was for veterans, fighters, those who had survived missions no other unit dared.
A half-dozen figures turned as he entered, eyes measuring him. Their attention wasn't hostile, but it was sharp, assessing, weighing his presence.
A broad-shouldered man with a deep scar running from the corner of his jaw to his lip stepped forward. His dark hair was tied loosely behind his head, a few strands falling rebelliously over his forehead. He held Leo's gaze with calm authority.
"Ashton Cohen," the captain of this unit, stepped forward with the kind of calm confidence that came from surviving too many battles to count. His smile was genuine, almost disarming, yet his presence carried the weight of command. "Been far too long since the 21st welcomed anyone new. Good to have you with us, Leo."
Ashton's smile was easy, unforced, but there was no mistaking the command embedded in it. Respect here wasn't demanded—it was earned, and he expected Leo to rise to it.
He gestured to the others as if introducing them to a roomful of old friends.
A woman leaned back in her chair, boots propped on the table. Her auburn hair framed a sharp face, and her eyes glinted with mischief and steel at once.
"Carly," she said, voice light but carrying a cutting edge. "Don't think we're going to make this easy for you, Leo. But welcome all the same."
From the shadows, a tall, lean man stepped forward. His gaze was like a blade, sharp and assessing.
"Barrett," he said simply. "I'll be watching, Leo. Don't make me regret it."
A younger soldier with tousled hair waved in what seemed like casual indifference, though the tilt of his head carried a challenge.
"Cyrus," he said. "I won't carry your pack, Leo, but I'll see if you survive carrying yourself."
Another figure, clean-cut, precise, adjusted the strap of his shoulder harness.
"Gavin," he said, expression neutral. "I expect competence, Leo. Nothing less."
Finally, a woman who had been silent until now leaned against the far wall, her posture relaxed but her gaze weighing Leo from head to toe.
"Bridget," she said, letting each syllable hang. "I hope you're ready, Leo."
Each introduction landed with weight, the combination of voices and glances forming a subtle test. Leo didn't flinch. He noted everything—the subtle cues in posture, the unspoken challenge in eyes, the confidence in tone. This was a unit of people who had survived their own battles and had no time for weakness.
The weight of the 21st settled around him. Here, no one waited for disaster—they created it, contained it, or survived it. And now he would be part of it.
The introductions concluded with friendly nods, smiles, and teasing glances. Unlike other units, where newcomers were simply assigned a desk and left to find their footing, the 21st welcomed Leo warmly. It had been over two years since a fresh recruit had been added, and their curiosity, relief, and even pride in receiving a new member was palpable.
"Find your bunk, Leo," Ashton instructed, voice firm but friendly. "Third row, end corner. Gear ready at all times. In this unit, we don't wait for the enemy to knock."
Leo nodded and moved, feeling every gaze tracking him—not in suspicion, but in appraisal, as if measuring whether he belonged.
The bunk he was assigned was worn smooth by countless soldiers who had passed through, but well cared for. The wood had dents and scratches, echoes of boots that had thudded here in hurried mornings. Leo ran his hand along the surface, noting the rhythm of past soldiers, ghosts of footsteps.
From across the room, Carly's voice rang out, teasing, sharp.
"You any good with a blade, Leo?"
Leo glanced up. "Good enough."
Her smirk widened, a flash of humor hiding a razor-sharp edge.
"We'll see. Around here, 'good enough' usually means dead."
The others didn't laugh. That quiet acknowledgment told him more than any words ever could: this unit operated on a different scale, where mistakes were costly and nothing was assumed.
Leo's eyes swept the room again, lingering on each member. Barrett's precise movements, Cyrus' casual arrogance, Gavin's calculated calm, Bridget's sharp assessment, Carly's playful danger, and Ashton's calm authority—all spoke of potential beyond ordinary imagination. The 21st Recon Unit was known for its legendary missions and dangerous assignments, and now he understood why: it was made of individuals whose abilities and personalities alone could shift the tide of battle.
He felt a thrill, a certainty deep in his chest: this was the unit for him. Not the easiest, safest, or most orderly. But the one that would push him to his limits and beyond.
Ashton clapped him on the shoulder again.
"You'll get to know everyone soon enough, Leo. And I'll warn you—this unit chews up rookies faster than most. If you last a month, you'll call it a miracle. If you last a year... maybe you'll belong."
Leo pressed his lips into a small, determined line. Somewhere deep inside, he felt it—the stirrings of something more than training, more than trials.
"Ready for your first briefing, Leo?" Ashton's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Ready," Leo said, gripping his pack straps with quiet determination.
"Good. You'll learn fast—here, reputation is earned by survival, not words."
As Leo followed Ashton to the briefing table, he felt the hum of the barracks behind him—the subtle shift of bodies, the whispers of movement, the tension in the air. Each member radiated energy, strength, and danger. And he knew, with a clarity that settled in his chest, that he had found the unit that would push him beyond limits.
For the first time since the trials, Leo felt a spark of excitement—tempered, measured, but unmistakable. He was no longer just a cadet; he was part of something larger, something that would challenge him, shape him, and perhaps, in time, define him.
As Ashton and the others gestured toward the maps and gear, the sun fell fully over the West Barracks, brushing the worn walls with light. Leo's heart thrummed steadily. In the 21st Recon Unit, he wouldn't just survive—he would rise.
And from the first glance, he knew this was exactly where he was meant to be.