Soren hesitated for a heartbeat in front of the large wooden door. He'd passed the Command Tower countless times over the past week—seen its tall silhouette from every corner of the Compound—but this would be his first time stepping inside.
Back in Kessarine, during his days in the Archer Corps, he'd never once entered the Command Tower at Feralina Base either. He placed a hand on the handle, and the door gave way with a low creak.
To his right sat a man only a few years older, head bowed over an open ledger.
The first person you see, Sina had said. That had to be this one. The small brass plate on the desk confirmed it—the receptionist.
"Your name, sir?" the receptionist asked, still writing.
"Bach," Soren replied.
"And your title?" The pen continued scratching steadily across the page.
"Trainee Ignisant."
That made the receptionist finally look up. He blinked in surprise, as though momentarily startled by the gold of Soren's eyes—bright, steady, and too vivid to ignore. Something about them brought to mind the gaze of the Ignisant lady he'd always dreaded, the one as sharp and cold as winter steel.
"Have a seat there, Trainee Ignisant Bach," the receptionist stammered after a brief pause, pointing toward the bench in the far corner. "Marshal Denelle is out for lunch. He'll be back shortly."
"Thank you, sir."
Soren made his way to the bench, his eyes taking in the hall's interior—the high ceilings, polished floors, and neatly kept plants in each corner. Corridors stretched off in both directions, and a grand staircase curled upward to the higher floors. He found himself wondering which path led to the Marshal's office.
Soren didn't have to wait long. About ten minutes later, the door swung open again. A man with sharp emerald eyes entered. His expression was calm, until his gaze landed on Soren sitting quietly in the corner.
"Soren Bach," Killian Denelle said, a faint smile curving his lips.
The receptionist blinked in surprise. He'd already stood to greet the Marshal, ready to announce the visitor, but the words on his tongue died away. The Marshal clearly knew who this young soldier was—though this soldier had never once set foot in the Command Tower before.
"Trainee Ignisant Bach wanted to see you, sir," the receptionist managed quickly.
Soren stood and saluted. "Sir."
The Marshal returned the gesture with easy precision. "Follow me upstairs."
Without another word, he turned toward the grand staircase.
Soren followed in silence, keeping several paces behind the Marshal, his eyes stayed fixed on the man's back as they climbed higher and higher toward the top floor.
The last time he had seen Killian Denelle was during the Ignis Corps entrance trials. The Marshal hadn't sat on the assessment board with the Captains from the Ignis Corps, yet Soren had caught sight of him more than once—standing at the far end of the shooting range during the long-distance test, and later seated quietly among the observers during the final interview.
Still, this would be the first real conversation he'd ever have with the man since Avendria. Back then, when Soren was just a boy, the Marshal had seemed kind. Now that Soren stood as his subordinate, he wasn't sure what to expect.
They reached the door at the end of the long corridor.
"So, what brings you here?" Killian asked as he crossed to his desk.
Soren closed the door behind him with care and stepped toward the center of the room. "Sir, I've come to inform you that Ignisant Clemens will be overseeing my training."
"Ignisant Clemens?" Killian echoed, his tone more light than surprised. "When did you see her?"
"Less than an hour ago, sir."
"And what else did she say?"
"She told me the training will begin… today," Soren replied, watching the Marshal closely for any hint of reaction.
But Killian remained composed, as though the news merely confirmed something he had expected. "I see," he said evenly. "Then make sure you're prepared."
Soren hesitated, thrown by how calmly the Marshal took it. Had he known already? It almost seemed so. Still, he bowed his head. "Thank you, sir. I'll return to training now."
The Marshal nodded once. "One thing before you go," he said. "Look after Clemens."
Soren paused, straightening to salute. "Of course, sir."
He turned and left. Behind him, the Marshal's expression softened into an open smile as the door clicked shut.
If Soren's task had gone smoothly, things were far less simple for Sina elsewhere in the Compound.
When Vellien spotted her waiting at the Firing Grounds, his expression hardened in disbelief—much the same as it had days earlier, when she had appeared out of nowhere, given a brief demonstration, and vanished just as abruptly.
"There's no demonstration today," Vellien said as he approached.
"I know." Sina stood from the bench, brushing off her hands. "I'm not here for that. Can I have a word?"
Vellien glanced back at the trainees gathering behind him—each one wide-eyed and whispering at the unexpected sight of Sina Clemens returning to the Firing Grounds. After a pause, he gave a curt nod.
Sina led him behind the shooting area, to a space concealed from the trainees' view by a wall. Vellien followed.
"What is it now, Clemens?" he asked when she stopped walking.
She turned, meeting his gaze directly. "Captain," she said evenly, "I'm taking over the training of Soren Bach."
The calmness in her voice did nothing to soften the blow of the declaration. Vellien went still, his expression blank, as if his mind needed a moment to register what she'd just said.
Just last week, the Marshal had tasked him with finding a way to get her interested in an instructor role. The order had kept him tossing in bed at night, unsure how to even approach her about it. Yet the very next day, she'd appeared on her own, led a flawless demonstration, and disappeared again.
He'd searched the entire Compound for her since, to no avail. And now here she was—volunteering to train someone, without him having to speak a single word. He should have been pleased. Instead, something in his chest tightened.
"Repeat that," Vellien said finally, his voice cold and restrained.
Sina frowned faintly at his tone. "You heard me, Captain. I'll be overseeing the training of one of your trainees—Soren Bach—from this moment on. I'll also decide when he's ready."
"You don't get to decide that." His tone dropped, quiet but heavy. "I'm your Captain. I'm the lead instructor for all Trainee Ignisants—this batch and every batch in this Corps."
"Oh, yes," she said lightly, folding her arms. "But we both answer to Marshal Denelle, don't we? I'm only following my assignment, Captain."
The stillness between them shattered into fury.
Vellien's composure broke first—his voice rising, his face twisting with restrained fury. "Don't use that tone with me, Clemens. You have no idea what training an Ignisant entails. You never even came back for annual requalification. What do you know about working in pairs? Can you recite a single line from the protocol book? What exactly are you planning to do training that golden-eyed boy?"
The sudden heat in his tone caught her off guard. Her brows drew together, but her voice stayed cool, clipped. "That's none of your business. I'll report only to Marshal Denelle. Speaking of training, Captain Tressine, your current methods are… questionable, if not completely futile."
Vellien's eyes hardened to ice. So the golden-eyed boy had gone running to her—complaining about the drills, spilling details like a child whining to his mother. Every thought of Soren Bach soured in him further with each new revelation.
He stepped closer, his shadow stretching over her in the midday sun. "You care about what goes on in my training program now?" he asked with a bitter smirk. "Which part offended your standards?"
Her gaze didn't budge. "The part where you make them repeat basic drills hundreds of times a day," she said flatly. "Operations so simple they'd make no difference on a mission. What's the point?"
"Without discipline at the start, how would they keep it once they're released?" he shot back.
She rolled her eyes. "You're rigid to the point of absurdity, Captain."
"And you're chaos incarnate," he snapped.
"Yeah, sure," she drawled, completely unfazed. Her heels turned. "Sorry, Captain, but I've got someone to train, and you've got your trainees waiting. I'm going."
"Wait," he said sharply.
She stopped and turned back, her expression laced with open disdain. "What?"
"Have you heard about the list of chiefs?" His tone dropped, measured now, eyes narrowing as he watched her reaction.
A faint smirk curved her lips. So her brother had already delivered the order to the Corps—the very one she'd drafted herself. "I assume our dear Marshal filled you in?"
That smirk was all the answer he needed. His expression darkened. "What's your plan for it?"
"Of course I wouldn't miss the fun." Her grin widened, bright and taunting.
Vellien stepped closer still, tension drawing his features tight as the realization settled in. If Sina was both training Soren Bach and already aware of the list of chiefs, there was no chance she intended to stay within the Compound. She would move first, likely before anyone could stop her.
"No way," he muttered, his voice hardening. "You're taking Soren Bach to the front for training?"
Surprise flickered in her eyes. She hadn't expected Vellien, of all people, to see through her that quickly. "I'm glad to see you understand me better every day, dear Captain," Sina said, her tone teasing. But inwardly, she already knew this meant more coming trouble.
"You can't do that," he barked. "It's against every rule in the protocol code!"
There it was. Predictable, as always. Another sermon on rules and regulations. "Take care, Captain," she said, turning away for good this time. "You've got a class waiting."
"Sina Clemens!" Vellien's voice thundered behind her.
His anger didn't slow her pace. By the time he finished shouting, she'd already reached the bend, lifting a hand in a lazy farewell.
The Armory awaited.