They didn't rebuild the camp in any organized sweep.
It happened in pieces one group clearing rubble, another dragging supply crates, another hammering bent metal back into shape.
The place still looked like a battlefield, but at least now it was a functioning one.
Aiden woke before dawn.
Not because he'd rested enough, but because sleep had become something unreliable.
Every time he drifted off, Ellis's last moments clawed their way into his mind.
When he opened his eyes again, Parker was curled into himself, breathing unevenly.
Sarah wasn't in her cot probably outside.
Reeves was awake too, lacing his boots quietly so he didn't wake the others.
Aiden stepped out into the cold air.
A thin layer of frost clung to the edge of the torn walkway.
"Didn't expect you up," Reeves said as he approached, carrying folded tarps.
"I wasn't asleep," Aiden replied.
"Figured." Reeves set the tarps down. "Half the camp woke up three, four times last night."
Aiden didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
The morning horn sounded.
"Training in twenty," Reeves said. "Let's get Parker before Markham loses his shit."
They retrieved Parker and Sarah and headed to the makeshift formation spot an area still marked by crater edges and broken ground.
The instructors seemed different now.
No yelling for the sake of intimidation.
No chest-thumping theatrics.
They were colder, sharper, and infinitely more focused.
Staff Sergeant Markham stepped in front of the recruits.
His left arm remained in a sling, but he moved with the same rigid authority he always had.
"Command issued a new schedule," he said. "Training intensity doubles. That includes weapons handling, formations, movement, and urban combat simulations. You've got no time left for soft steps."
A few recruits shifted nervously.
Markham ignored them.
"You survived your first engagement. That puts you ahead of the new draft coming in next week. But don't fool yourselves one survival doesn't make you soldiers. It just shows how close you came to dying unprepared."
He pointed toward the training course, rebuilt out of wreckage.
"You'll run that. You'll shoot until your shoulders ache. You'll move until you can't. This isn't punishment. This is correction. Reality correction."
He paused, eyes scanning their faces, stopping briefly on Aiden.
"And if you think the alien fleet stopping means you can relax? Think again. We don't know why they're waiting. We don't know for how long. Use the window, or you'll get crushed when they start moving again."
The squad assignment followed immediately.
"Aiden, Reeves, Parker, Sarah you're with Staff Sergeant Imani on weapons training."
They jogged across the torn field to meet Imani, who was adjusting the trajectory rail of the moving drone targets.
She didn't look up.
"Magazines loaded. Thirty rounds. Safety on," she ordered.
Aiden inserted rounds with steady hands.
The rhythm was familiar now, almost mechanical.
Imani stepped in front of them. "Today we stop firing like panicked civilians and start firing like people who want to stay alive. That means controlled breathing, recoil management, and reading movement patterns."
She gestured toward the metal drones mounted on rails.
"These simulate alien drone movement speeds at seventy percent of actual velocity. You aim for joints, sensors, or nothing at all."
A whistle cut through the cold air.
"Three… two… one… fire!"
Targets launched.
Sarah fired too late.
Parker fired too early.
Reeves grazed one and cursed under his breath.
Aiden focused on the nearest, tracked its arc, and put a round exactly where the rig rotated.
The drone jerked, but kept moving.
He fired again, disabling it.
Imani didn't look impressed, only checked the data on her slate. "Again."
The drill repeated. Again. Again. Again.
Sweat built under their collars.
Parker's breathing grew ragged.
Sarah's grip tightened, hands reddening from recoil.
Aiden felt strain in his shoulder, but pushed through it.
Imani walked behind them. "Aiden, you're compensating before the drone shifts. You're reading the pre-motion pattern."
"I'm trying," he said.
"You're doing," she corrected, and moved on.
They continued until their arms shook.
No applause.
No encouragement.
Just training.
After weapons drills, they were thrown directly into the obstacle course.
It wasn't the old one this was stitched together from rubble, burned vehicles, and twisted rebar. It looked like a city that had already lost the first battle.
"Pairs!" Markham shouted. "This simulates urban movement. Communicate. You lose track of each other, you die."
Aiden paired with Reeves.
They moved fast, climbing angled slabs, sliding under fallen beams, reading terrain instinctively.
Stones scraped Aiden's palms. His boots slipped more than once, but he caught himself each time.
Behind them, Parker tripped hard and hit the ground.
Aiden and Reeves stopped immediately and doubled back.
Markham blew his whistle once.
"Help him up! This isn't a race. Team movement only."
Aiden knelt and offered a hand. "You're fine. Up."
Parker grabbed it, unsteady but determined.
They finished the course together.
The instructors didn't say they did well. But they didn't blow the whistle either.
That was enough.
Training dragged into late afternoon. By the time they made it to the mess tent what was left of it everyone looked half-dead from exhaustion.
They sat on metal benches dented from shrapnel and patched with duct tape.
Parker stared at his food without eating. "Do you think it's true?" he asked quietly. "That the fleet actually stopped?"
Sarah kept her spoon in the bowl, stirring slowly. "I overheard corporals saying command is acting differently. They're not frantic like before. It's like… they're preparing for something, not bracing for impact."
Reeves shook his head. "If the fleet stopped, it wasn't for our sake. They don't give a damn about us. They stopped because they're planning something."
Parker looked to Aiden. "What do you think?"
Aiden considered his answer.
"They're not acting like we're dying tomorrow," he said. "But they're not celebrating either. Whatever the reason, it doesn't change what we do here."
"Which is?" Sarah asked.
Aiden looked at all three of them dirty, exhausted, sore, and somehow still trying.
"Train."
That night, when they returned to the barracks tent.
Parker fell asleep quickly his body giving out before his mind had a chance to torment him.
Sarah wrote in her small notebook.
Reeves cleaned and reassembled his rifle.
Aiden sat on his cot, hands clasped.
He took a quiet breath.
System.
A soft pulse answered.
[System Operational]
Nothing more.
He waited.
Then.
[Phase Three: Delayed]
[Reason: User psychological instability]
Aiden frowned. "You said last time it was close."
[Conditions not optimal]
[User stress levels remain elevated]
[Stabilization required before further augmentation]
"So I'm too mentally messed up to progress?"
[Clarification: Emotional overload interferes with adaptive pathways]
[Stability increases efficiency and survival probability]
Aiden rubbed his face. "So what? Meditate? Breathe? Pretend I'm okay?"
[User must regulate internal state through continued training, rest cycles, and interpersonal grounding]
"Fine," he whispered. "I'll get there."