The group left the sterile quiet of the Situation Room and descended into the heart of the G.U.A.R.D.I.A.N.S. encampment. As they crossed the threshold into the Bastion Corps sector, the atmosphere shifted instantly. It wasn't just a change in scenery; it was a change in pressure.
The soldiers were scattered outside their tents, sharpening blades or checking Ichor-capacitors, but as Henry's shadow hit the gravel, the camp went silent. Then, like a ripple in water, eyes began to light up. Men and women stood straighter, their weariness replaced by a sudden, sharp clarity. Their Colonel had come home.
Henry didn't stop for the pleasantries. He marched into the center of the camp and barked, "Briggs! Lenore! Get out here!"
A man emerged from a nearby command tent. Briggs was a mountain of a human, his heavy tactical armor scarred by years of front-line service. He moved with the quiet, immovable presence of a glacier. Seeing Henry, he stopped and offered a crisp, perfectly executed salute.
"Sir," Briggs said, his voice a gravelly rumble. "It's been too long."
Henry offered a rare, genuine smile. "Briggs. You look like you haven't slept since the border wars. How have you been?"
"Fair, sir. Commander Hayley has been looking after us well enough," Briggs replied, though he didn't lower his hand immediately. "But it hasn't been the same."
Henry's smile faltered as he scanned the tents. "And where is Lenore?"
Briggs' expression darkened, his gaze shifting toward a secluded obsidian-colored tent at the edge of the perimeter. "She won't come out, sir. She hasn't been right since you walked away. Won't take orders, won't attend briefings. She's been a ghost in her own armor for two years."
Henry let out a long, heavy sigh. "Of course. Alright, Briggs, gather eight of our best stealth operatives. Silent types only. Have them ready at the hangar in twenty."
Briggs saluted the rest of the group—acknowledging Caspian and Albus with a nod—before disappearing back into the tents.
Henry turned toward the dark tent. "Lenore! Stop being a brat and get out here for fuck's sake! We have a job to do!"
The air didn't just move; it shredded.
A blur of obsidian and jagged steel erupted from the tent. Before the three students could even blink, a shadow dashed across the clearing. Henry barely had time to cross his arms before a kick landed against his guard with the force of a battering ram. He was sent skidding backward, hitting the dirt and rolling onto his back.
He didn't have time to get up before a massive, ornate greatsword was driven into the earth inches from his ear.
Standing over him was a nightmare in plate armor. Lenore was clad in jagged, obsidian-colored plate, her horned helmet hiding her face, though her long pointed ears flickered with agitation. She didn't speak; she just loomed over him, her armor humming with a cold, violent mana.
Henry looked up at the blade, then at the silent knight. "I see you're still working on your temper, Lenore."
He stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his jacket as she kept the sword leveled at his throat. The three girls watched, frozen, as Henry stepped toward the edge of the blade until it pressed against his collarbone.
"You're angry because I left," Henry said quietly.
Lenore gave a sharp, jerky nod of her helmet. Yes.
"Do you want to hit me again?"
Another nod.
Henry sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Would hitting me actually make you feel better? Or just more tired?"
The sword wavered for a fraction of a second. She nodded no, but she didn't lower the weapon.
"Are you angry because I left you behind?" Henry asked, his voice losing its edge.
Lenore didn't move. The silence stretched until it was painful. She stood there, a silent sentinel of grief and rage.
"How about this," Henry said, reaching out and gently pushing the flat of the greatsword away. "Come with me on this mission. If we both make it out... I'm taking you back with me. No more G.U.A.R.D.I.A.N.S. No more orders from anyone but me. We'll go back to the Academy."
The obsidian knight went still. The low hum of her armor died down. After a long beat, she gave a single, firm nod. She reached back, sheathed the massive sword in one fluid motion, and stepped into line behind him like she had never left his side.
Henry's short, dry laugh echoed through the camp as he and Lenore—now trailing him like a silent, obsidian shadow—rejoined the main group.
Hayley stood with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and genuine irritation. She had spent two years trying to integrate the Bastion Corps' most dangerous asset into G.U.A.R.D.I.A.N.S. protocols, only to watch Henry undo all that work in seconds.
"I've spent two years trying to get her to attend a single debriefing," Hayley muttered, her eyes darting between Henry and the silent knight. "I've tried psychologists, commanding officers, even disciplinary detention. And you walk in, call her a 'brat,' and she's suddenly back in the war? It's insulting, Henry."
"She's specialized, Hayley," Henry said with a shrug, though his eyes remained on the horizon. "She doesn't follow protocols; she follows people. There's no changing a heart like hers."
Hayley stepped closer to Lenore, her gaze searching the slit of the horned helmet for any sign of recognition. Lenore didn't move an inch, but a low, vibrating hum began to emanate from her armor—the sound of mana being channeled in warning.
Lenora leaned in and whispered something into Henry's ear. Henry listened, glanced at Lenore's slightly tilted helmet, and then let out another laugh.
"What did she say?" Hayley demanded.
"She says she doesn't like you," Henry translated, his smirk widening. "Something about you smelling too much like 'paperwork and ambition.' Her words, not mine."
Hayley's face reddened, but she pushed the irritation aside. There was no time for a petty feud. She turned her focus to the three students. "Enough. If you're going to survive the Red Zone, you need to look like soldiers, not academy trainees. Gear up. Now."
Serena and Wanda stepped forward. From their dimensional storage rings, they produced two identical circular amulets the size of their palms. Serena's was etched in gleaming gold filigree, while Wanda's pulsed with a deep, ruby-red light.
"I have my family's heritage armor," Serena said, her voice steadying as she gripped the gold amulet. She pressed a hidden trigger, and the metal liquified.
Henry's short, dry laugh echoed through the camp as he and Lenore—now trailing him like a silent, obsidian shadow—rejoined the main group.
Hayley stood with her arms crossed, her brow furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and genuine irritation. She had spent two years trying to integrate the Bastion Corps' most dangerous asset into G.U.A.R.D.I.A.N.S. protocols, only to watch her former fiancée undo all that work in seconds.
"I've spent twenty-four months trying to get her to attend a single debriefing," Hayley muttered, her eyes darting between Henry and the silent knight. "I've tried psychologists, commanding officers, even disciplinary detention. And you walk in, call her a 'brat,' and she's suddenly back in the war? It's insulting, Henry."
"She's specialized, Hayley," Henry said with a shrug, though his eyes remained on the horizon. "She doesn't follow protocols; she follows people. There's no changing a heart like hers."
Hayley stepped closer to Lenore, her gaze searching the slit of the horned helmet for any sign of recognition. Lenore didn't move an inch, but a low, vibrating hum began to emanate from her armor—the sound of Ichor being channeled in warning.
Hayley leaned in and whispered something into Henry's ear, her voice sharp with curiosity. Henry listened, glanced at Lenore's slightly tilted helmet, and then let out another laugh.
"What did she say?" Hayley demanded.
"She says she doesn't like you," Henry translated, his smirk widening. "Something about you smelling too much like 'paperwork and ambition.' Her words, not mine."
Hayley's face reddened, but she pushed the irritation aside. There was no time for a petty feud. She turned her focus to the three students. "Enough. If you're going to survive the Red Zone, you need to look like soldiers, not academy trainees. Gear up. Now."
Serena and Wanda stepped forward. From their dimensional storage rings, they produced two identical circular amulets the size of their palms. Serena's was etched in gleaming gold filigree, while Wanda's pulsed with a deep, ruby-red light.
"I have my family's heritage armor," Serena said, her voice steadying as she gripped the gold amulet. She pressed a hidden trigger, and the metal liquified.
The transformation was seamless. Within seconds, Serena stood encased in the shining gold of her lineage, and Wanda looked every bit the combat-mage, her red robes shimmering with protective sigils.
Claire, however, simply drew her spear, the steel singing as it was taken out "I don't need armor," she said, her chin tilted defiantly. "Weight slows me down. I'll fight with what I have."
Henry watched her for a moment, then reached into his pocket and tossed a heavy, dull, blackish-grey amulet toward her. Claire caught it out of instinct, looking down at the scarred metal with a frown.
"I told you," Claire said, her voice tightening. "I don't need handouts. I'll buy my own gear when I've earned the credits."
"It isn't a handout, Claire," Henry said, his voice unusually soft, stripped of its sarcasm. "Think of it as a loan from someone who's seen too many fighters end up as smears on the pavement. That thing is old tech, but it's tough. Take it because I want you to come back alive to pay me back for it."
Claire hesitated, her fingers tracing the jagged scratches on the black metal. She looked at Henry, then back at the amulet, and finally gave a reluctant nod. She pressed the center, and the black metal surged up her arms, coating her in a matte-finish, lightweight tactical suit that seemed to drink in the surrounding light.
Albus Lionheart stepped toward the edge of the hangar bay, where the transport ship's engines were beginning to whine.
"The Bastion Ten are loaded," the General rumbled. "The city of Dredge is three hundred miles out, but the 'Spores' start fifty miles before the walls. Once you cross that line, you are on your own."