Commander Myla entered the relic vault. The moment she stepped inside, her eyes fell on Eryx. Instantly, she felt something strange—a dark, lingering presence around him. What could he be, to carry such an aura? she wondered silently, her expression unreadable.
"What are you doing here, Commander Myla?" Zowan asked, his tone laced with curiosity at her sudden appearance during the recruitment process.
"I was sent by the king to conduct the power-level selection," she replied firmly, her boots echoing across the marble floor as she moved closer to where Jax and Eryx stood.
"What's your name?" Myla demanded, her tone sharp and commanding, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of intrigue.
Her voice sent a chill through Eryx's body. His throat locked up, and his hands trembled uncontrollably. It took him several seconds to muster a reply.
"I… I… I'm Eryx," he stammered at last.
He tried to steady himself, refusing to be swept away by the sheer weight of her presence. Myla's gaze lingered on him for a brief, silent moment before she finally turned and walked away. Eryx released a trembling breath, relieved to escape her scrutiny.
"Commander Zowan," Myla said coldly, "you're not doing a very good job here. You allowed these two to play with higher-grade weapons. What if they had broken them?"
Zowan turned toward her, his expression hard. "You are not the one to tell me how to run this place," he retorted. "I don't take orders from you."
A tense silence swept through the vault as everyone turned to watch. The two commanders stood face to face—both seasoned warriors, both unwilling to yield.
Without another word, they drew their swords, steel glinting under the pale light. Their rage flared as they charged toward each other. Zowan swung his blade in a wide arc, but Myla bent backward with agile grace, narrowly avoiding the strike. Before she could regain her footing, his fist connected with her cheek, sending her stumbling back.
Recovering swiftly, she flipped backward and landed in a crouch. Her eyes narrowed. He didn't swing his sword… he stopped mid-air and switched it to his left hand. He's faster than before.
Zowan advanced, his stance firm, his gaze burning with challenge. Myla exhaled slowly, gripping her sword tighter. She didn't want to unleash her full strength—not here, not inside the relic vault.
"If you keep holding back," Zowan growled, "I'll tear you apart."
"Oh, sorry for holding back," she replied, a devilish smirk curling her lips.
Sliding her sword into her scabbard, she pressed her hands together and murmured an incantation. The air around her shimmered—and in a flash, both commanders vanished.
The vault fell silent. Everyone froze, eyes darting about, unsure of where they had gone.
A sudden thud shook the ground outside—the impact so heavy it rattled the walls. Everyone rushed out into the garden beside the vault. There, Commander Zowan lay face-first on the grass.
He groaned, pushing himself up slowly, his body trembling. Stretching out his hand, he unleashed a stream of fiery blasts toward Myla.
She moved like lightning, dodging each blast as they scorched the ground behind her. But before she could react again, Zowan was already in front of her—his fist raised, stopping just inches from her face.
Myla froze, her breath caught in her throat. Her crimson eyes met his, calm yet defiant.
"Those tricks won't work on me," he said in a low, angry tone.
He shoved her backward, forcing her to her knees before turning away.
Myla stared after him as he walked off, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. He's grown stronger… far stronger than before.
Groaning softly, she rose to her feet as two guards rushed to assist her.
Zowan, meanwhile, returned to the relic vault with the remaining recruits trailing behind.
"The recruitment process is over," he declared sternly. "Everyone, return to your assigned tents."
The guards quickly gathered the recruits, leading them away into the night.
Eryx and Jax were fortunate enough to be assigned to the same tent—a small, dusty hut with a single old bed by the corner and two wooden chairs beside a rickety table.
Jax lay sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling in silence. The air was still and heavy. Eryx sat quietly on the chair, lost in thought. After a while, Jax stood and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Eryx asked, curiosity in his voice.
"You don't have to know," Jax snapped.
"Are you angry about what happened today? If that's it, I'm sorry," Eryx said softly.
"You're always sorry," Jax shot back, his tone rising. "If you hadn't started that foolish swordplay, none of this would've happened! I'm tired of you."
Without another word, he stormed out of the tent.
Outside the Valmoria training grounds, where the recruits' tents were pitched, Jax wandered aimlessly until he came upon a quiet lake.
The lake lay silent beneath the velvet shroud of night, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting the moon's silver light. Fireflies drifted lazily above the reeds, and the soft chirp of crickets echoed from the trees.
Near the edge of the lake stood a shabby old house, with a single oil lamp hanging from its doorway. Jax crept closer, careful not to make a sound, and hid behind a cluster of bushes. Peering through the leaves, his eyes widened—it was Commander Zowan standing there.
Zowan stood still, watching the fireflies dance across the lake's reflection. After a few moments, he turned toward the bushes, having clearly heard movement, but chose to ignore it and went inside the house.
Jax hesitated, then crept toward the window. He leaned forward, peeking inside—but saw no one. Only the faint glow of the lamp and a wooden chair.
"I swear I saw him go in," he whispered to himself.
A sudden chill ran down his spine. Slowly, he turned—and there stood Commander Zowan, right behind him.
"What are you doing here?" Zowan asked, his tone calm but edged with suspicion.
Jax stepped aside, blocking his way to the door. "I just wanted to thank you… for standing up for me earlier. I know my friend and I could've been punished for our actions."
"I didn't stand up for you," Zowan replied coldly. "I just don't take orders from anyone."
Jax clenched his fists, anger flooding his face. "Why are you so cruel, Father? I'm trying my best to make you proud, and all you do is treat me like I mean nothing!"
Zowan's eyes hardened. "You are nothing," he said flatly. "I never asked you to join the Valmor Guild. Whatever happens to you—it's not my concern."
The air grew painfully silent.
Jax froze, tears welling in his eyes. He couldn't understand what he had done to deserve such disdain.
"And don't you call me father again," Zowan finished, before turning away and slamming the door behind him.
The echo of the closing door lingered in the night, blending with the quiet ripples of the lake.