Trevor Byrne kept his arms folded across his chest as he watched the newest batch of budding soldiers try to learn a basic Animus technique. As expected, Knight-Captain Davar’s child was just as much of a prodigy as the man himself.

It wasn’t a bad thing that the girl didn’t inherit the Davar Heritage; he expected she’d received something from the Mishala line. He suppressed a shudder when his thoughts dwelt on that particular clan. She had inherited her mother’s looks while all three of her brothers took after their father. There were whispers back at the Capital that the Mishalas were Chaos-touched but, if they were, it was in the distant past and only the effect on their appearance remained. That and the penchant for Animus manipulation.

Already, Yuriko was able to manifest Animus outside of her body, something the other kids would have taken far longer to do. Using Animatech was less of a help and more of a crutch, Trevor knew, despite what many people thought. Rely on the machines too much, and the child wouldn’t be able to do without. He had to train Marron, and later on Kato, out of that reliance. It was only because they were marksmen like their father that they were able to adjust easily and, even then, take away their guns and their effectiveness halved.

He fought the urge to rub his hands in anticipation. Now, if only Virgil would leave the training to him and his colleague, they’d make a great soldier out of her no matter what her Facet turned out to be.

Ishika Reyn, on the other hand, had an easier time manipulating her Animus since her Facet demanded it. The girl’s glow was barely perceptible, as with anyone in the Reyn family. Ishika’s difficulty was in making her Animus stick to the weapon instead of floating freely.

Half an hour later he called a halt to free practice and had all the children come to the sparring ring.

“We will have a half-hour for sparring. Focus on using the technique you just learned. You can find protective equipment in the changing room.” Trevor eyed the students who looked at each other without moving. There was an uneven number of students, with the boys outnumbering the girls but that was fine. “All of you, please.”

After leaving the training spears on the racks, the kids marched to the changing rooms segregated by gender. A few minutes later, Yuriko was the first one out while Heron came out a minute later.

Trevor wordlessly charged the suits’ protective enchantments and waved at the weapon racks. “You two can go first.”

“Can I pick a different weapon?” Yuriko asked.

“Whatever suits your fancy.” Trevor looked at Heron, “What about you, boy? You don’t mind sparring with her?”

“Yes, I mean no, I don’t mind at all.” He stuttered when his voice broke mid-sentence. Ah, youth.

“Pick your weapon then.”

Heron picked a training spear but Yuriko grabbed a wooden short sword about the length of a side-blade. She swung it a few times, checking its balance before she strode back to the ring. The other children had emerged from the rooms and Trevor powered the suits when they came up to him.

“Are you sure you want to use that?” Heron demanded of the girl, raising an eyebrow mockingly, “You’re fighting with a handicap.”

Yuriko shrugged. “I’m more used to this than the spear. Besides, it’s more how you use it than anything else.” If Yuriko’s face had any other emotion other than focus, Trevor would have thought she was commenting on something else. The thought must have crossed Heron’s mind because he visibly reddened.

“You may begin,” Trevor said simply.

The boy was already in a battle stance, but Yuriko was still standing casually. He lunged, leading with the spearpoint. No Animus was channelled into the weapon but it would still hurt if it connected hard enough.

Just as he thought Heron’s spearpoint would hit Yuriko’s chest, she stepped back so smoothly it seemed like the spear had moved her. The point reached just an inch away but did not come any closer. She stopped moving as soon as he did, arms fully extended, and quite clearly overbalanced.

Just as the boy tried to recover his stance, Yuriko stuck the spear shaft from below with the wooden blade and slid it down the haft while matching Heron’s movement. The training sword struck against his fingers with a loud smack and, as his hand flew away from the haft, she smoothly stepped closer, the blade flying straight to his face.

It was only his Facet that saved him from immediate defeat and as soon as the hexagon of hardened air appeared, Yuriko’s blade rebounded off it. She twirled the blade in her hand, stepping quickly to the side, keeping herself within the optimum striking distance while staying inside his effective reach.

Twice more, the sword flickered and struck, once at his shoulder, and another at his hip all while Yuriko manoeuvred around him, keeping his arm in the way of his counter attack. The only thing stopping her from winning was his Facet. But every time a new shield appeared, the old one faded away, taking with it the Animus he invested in the skill.

Finally, Heron scrambled away, flailing the spear to gain distance. She let him step back, standing slightly sideways, with the blade between them, her captivating blue eyes staring imperiously down at Heron.

The boy hesitated as he shifted back into a battle stance. He flexed his fingers where Yuriko had struck him. He edged close, half a step at a time before committing to another attack, taking care not to overextend this time.

Every cautious strike was met by the blade with just enough force to deflect. She didn’t retaliate, letting him thrust as he will while she deflected or dodged. His strikes grew faster as he sought to overwhelm her defences and, at one point, he tried to kick her leg while he swung the spear like a quarterstaff.

With a smooth motion, she sidestepped and ducked, caught his ankle and yanked back changing the trajectory of his swing as the wood whiffed over her head. Her sword darted and struck his other leg near the knee. The wooden blade smacked against the protective field which saved his knee from injury. The jade studs dimmed, and Trevor reckoned it could take about three or four more hits before breaking.

Yuriko hadn’t used her Animus yet, he noted with some amusement.

Heron staggered, almost falling on his back, but he managed to regain his balance. Yuriko dove in for the kill, aiming the blade at his neck. The barrier was thinner there, and even unpowered, that strike would have signified her victory.

When she shifted from defence to offence, the flow of her graceful movements faltered and she was almost hit in the ribs by the spear haft when Heron flailed. She managed to block the blow with her forearm, while her blade scored a slash across his shoulder instead.

She danced back, shaking her head ruefully as she started to circle the boy. Just when Heron got used to her pace, she suddenly switched the sword over to her left hand and attacked from that side, catching him flatfooted.

He still managed to avoid getting the barrier broken by not letting her hit the same place more than a couple of times. Whenever she managed to use Empowered Strike, he used his Facet to block the blow. His breath was ragged by the time Trevor called their sparring to a halt.

Yuriko brushed her hair off her shoulder and left the sparring ring with barely a glance back at Heron. Heron looked lost for a couple of moments before he shook himself. His eyes burned with determination as he gazed at Yuriko’s back.

The kids sparred for half an hour, changing partners every two minutes or so. Heron wiped the floor with every other opponent, while none of the kids managed to touch Yuriko’s sleeves.

“That’s enough. Go rest, practice the technique, and come back tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Armsmaster!” The kids gave a short ceremonial bow before they piled into the changing room. There was an attached shower but Trevor didn’t think any of the kids brought spare clothes to change into. He left them to their business and headed to his office for a cup of kaf.

For the next few days, the routine was much the same. The only Animus technique Trevor taught the kids was Empowered Strike, though he often taught them the use of melee weapons as well, owing to his title as Armsmaster.

Yuriko improved the fastest in terms of Animus technique, oddly enough, considering she hadn’t inlaid her Facet. In terms of martial skill, Heron improved quickly thanks to spending most of their training time sparring with Yuriko. Virgil’s daughter had a remarkably well-rounded foundation when it came to the physical, probably a result of her father’s obsessions. The girl was naturally quick and agile though Trevor suspected that had more to do with her genetics than any kind of training on Virgil’s part.

That little kid, Mikel, resumed attended the training hall classes two days after his first session. From the look of it, he was still uncertain of what to do with his Facet. Mikel honestly should be in Eilis’s class instead of his, the Armsmaster thought, but body training is important for everyone.

The short and long spears were what he taught the most. People needed reach to deal with Wyldlings, even if they would mostly encounter the lowest class, those were often at least the size of a full-grown man. The spear was also the easiest to use in a group and no one fought alone if they could help it.

After class one day, Trevor made his way to the faculty lounge and was surprised to hear voices coming from inside. Prep school was on break, of course, until past the Harvest Festival in a few weeks. The training camp for all of the freshly Awakened kids was timed to end just before that festival. He pushed open the door and found his colleague, Spellweaver Eilis Merill, and Knight-Captain Virgil Davar seated across each other on a round table, talking over cups of kaf.

“Speak of Chaos and here he is.” Eilis smiled over her cup. The Spellweaver was younger than Trevor by a few years but like any other Awakened, she looked like a woman in her prime. Her curly brown hair was held in a tight bun, leaving only a few strands to frame her oval face. If she were to stand, she would be taller than Trevor by a head though he was three times as wide she.

“Trevor, nice to see you,” Virgil said quietly.

Trevor made himself a cup of kaf and sat in the closest empty chair. “So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company? Wait, let me guess, your daughter?”

“Who else?” Eilis snorted. “You dote on your kids too much. Don’t tell me you’ve told her how to inlay her Facet too?”

“Of course not,” Virgil grunted. “Each of us has to discover it on our own. Even if it's similar, no direction must be given otherwise, they will never grow into their own.” He shook his head, “That’s not the only reason, however.”

“Something to do with the Inquisitor?” Trevor hazarded a guess. Aside from the upcoming theatre troupe, Inquisitor Gorlyn was the only stranger in town. Well, the other Awakened kids from the nearby villages would also be arriving soon, but they weren’t due for another week.

“Yes. We’re going on a Hunt.”

Eilis’s sharp breath hissed through clenched teeth. “Is it that bad?”

“Sarra thinks so, yes.”

“Burning Moon! I’d join you, if I could,” Trevor growled, feeling adrenaline pump into his bloodstream.

“But you cannot, you have your duties,” Virgil nodded. “I’ve let the town council know since I will be absent in the upcoming one. Nonetheless, the Tides of Chaos are anything but predictable. I hope we find only a Hunter or a Wyld Knight. Ancestors help us if there’s a Chaos Lord. But we must know, if only to lead an evacuation.”

Trevor stood up and strode to a locked cabinet. He opened it and pulled out a bottle of distilled spirits and three shot glasses. At the table, he solemnly poured for all three.

“Ancestors help us,” he intoned, and all three drank down the liquor.

It burned all the way down to his stomach.

_______

Far from the shores of Rumiga, where the draining rays of the Traitor Sun and the damning light of the Fickle Moon’s cycle held no sway, a being floated in the multi-hued Primordial Chaos. It had no name nor form, existing only as a Consciousness that drifted along with the tides.

Every now and then, it felt from the edges of its perception the movement of great bodies; frightening members of the species that were as different from the consciousness as an ant was to the sun and skies.

The Great Ones would not notice the consciousness but even in ignorance, their passage could spell its annihilation. It sensed lesser beings, still greater than itself, swirling around the Great One. These beings would notice it if it came too close. And they would feed.

The Consciousness, the wisp, moved with the tides. The wave of the Great One’s passage served to propel it further away. It knew not where it would end up, any place but away was good.

An indeterminate time later, though time held little meaning in the Deep Chaos, the wisp noticed something. It’s surroundings changed from the multi-hued nothingness to something with only a few swirls of colour. The tides were receding, it noted, but because of it, the movements were more pronounced. Something stronger and more violent.

Nearly helpless, the Chaos pushed it further than it wanted to go, to more violent tides and currents where it collided with stuff that wasn’t Chaos. It was of Chaos, but no longer. It could feel the change.

More, it could feel something…calling.

It held the sweet promise of food. Of growth, safety, and…power.

This time, it propelled itself toward the strangeness. Eventually, it passed a threshold. Its current form was an amorphous blob, though sometimes it was an arrow or a wedge. Maybe something with wings, fins, and a tail.

At the threshold, it knew that it had to change. Not just its form, but its very essence. It would not survive otherwise. It hesitated, not knowing if it would be able to return once it crossed. Away from freedom of form and function.

It crossed the line. The wisp felt it, the rules of the plane, the Sun, and the Moon pressing down on it. It needed to form flesh, to create a mind to house its consciousness. But how? It had no idea what to do. It would be forced to a form if it did not decide soon.

It had six limbs, four behind to stand on, two in front tapering down to a point. Skin, grey with flecks of green or red. A viscous fluid soon covered its skin, hardening unevenly at places. It knew it had to move, else its skin would lock it completely in place. Around it, others of its kind shifted while they walked, flexing limbs while they shuffled further away. The nearest one hissed at it, prodding it to move away from the threshold, and into the Tidelands. Blue eyes glowed as it took in everything around it.

The source of the call was there, it knew. And soon they would feed. They would take the Dead Chaos and give it new life within their bodies. The multitudes of Wyldlings all thought the same thing.

They would feed. Soon.