The California City sun was cruel, but it wasn’t what made Gussa sweat.

John stood barefoot in the sand, sleeves rolled up, radiant glyphs trailing lazily around his arms like drifting petals. He didn’t speak—he waited. Patient. Still.

Gussa’s heartbeat thundered in his ears as he circled the man slowly, barefoot as well, shirtless under the desert heat. The thorn scars along his ribs shimmered faintly. The air shimmered between them, not from heat—but from power.

It had been a tense night. The firehouse compound had grown loud with complaints. Survivors arguing over sleeping space, ration portions, makeshift latrines, and the lack of privacy. Forty-five people crammed into a structure meant for a dozen. It was suffocating.

“I’m not sharing a cot with some stranger again!”

“The kids need space, dammit—somebody give up a bunk!”

“We’re running out of clean water, John! And I’m not washing dishes in a gutter!”

It had gotten ugly. Old folks grumbling, parents snapping. Tensions rising in the too-thick heat. Gussa heard every word. The firehouse walls were thin, and none of them realized he was still awake, still listening.

He’d trained harder that morning because of it. Because he knew what was coming.

Now, John’s voice cut through the haze.

“Again.”

Gussa lunged.

He summoned his aura, thorns sprouting from his forearm mid-strike. The ground cracked beneath his sprint. His fist collided with radiant force as John blinked sideways, teleporting a short burst across the sand. Gussa’s punch hit nothing but air, and he grunted, spinning into a backhand that was caught easily.

“You’re still leaking energy,” John said calmly. “Stop flaring your aura with every thought. Focus. Breathe.”

“I am focusing.”

“No—you’re bracing. There’s a difference.”

John vanished again, reappearing behind him with a radiant sigil already burning in his palm. Gussa ducked, barely avoiding the strike, then slammed his foot down—vines shot up from the sand, snaring John’s leg. He didn’t fight it.

Instead, he smiled.

“Better.”

A pulse of Radiance detonated from his chest, breaking the vines in a burst of searing light. Gussa stumbled back, vision white with aftershock.

“You’re a conduit,” John said, walking toward him. “You can channel all three branches of the Trifold Radiance. That makes you rare—but unstable. If you don’t learn to center your mana, it’ll eat you from the inside out.”

Gussa wiped blood from his lip. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past year?”

“Surviving. Now it’s time to refine.”

He placed a hand on Gussa’s chest. A calm warmth spread from his palm, pushing aside the swirling chaos of mana inside. For a moment, Gussa’s body felt… quiet. Aligned. Whole.

“Feel that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s balance. That’s what you fight for. Not just the kill. Not just the vengeance.”

Gussa nodded slowly. “Again?”

John smiled. “Again.”

The sun rose higher, and the dust began to glow.

From the edge of the training field, the others watched.

Michelle leaned against the compound wall, chewing sunflower seeds. “I still don’t understand how he doesn’t pass out from that. That’s like, what, his third pulse blast to the chest today?”

Natalya sat cross-legged nearby, sipping from a mason jar of lemon water. “It’s because he doesn’t want to lose. Not to John. Not to anyone. Not again.”

Milo chuckled. “That boy’s got issues. But I respect the grind.”

Martina said nothing, arms folded, bone-plated knuckles twitching slightly. She watched every move like a surgeon—memorizing, studying.

Lina sat next to Hailie, who was etching healing glyphs into the dirt absentmindedly.

“He’s getting better,” Lina said.

“He’s scared,” Hailie replied softly. “But yeah. He’s better.”

Around them, the mutters of other survivors carried.

“It’s too damn crowded in there,” someone grumbled.

“I haven’t slept right in a week. Some kid peed in my boots yesterday.”

“When the hell are we moving somewhere else?”

“I didn’t survive the first breach to live like a sardine in a can.”

Natalya sighed, closing her eyes. “It’s starting to boil over.”

“It always does before a push,” Milo said quietly. “They’ll hold it together once they see we’re fighting for something.”

The sparring resumed.

This time, Gussa let his aura settle before striking. He didn’t force it—he channeled it. The thorns grew smoother, more deliberate. His strike came like a flash of wind—quick, quiet, precise.

John caught it again—but this time, he staggered a step.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “There you go.”

Gussa stepped forward and drove a second fist upward. This one glowed—not with aura, but with something else.

Life-Force.

The earth responded. A spiral of green and bone shot up beneath John’s feet, knocking him back.

Gussa stood panting, eyes wide. “Did I just—?”

“You wove two types of mana,” John’s voice was breathless, impressed. “Aura and Life-Force. That’s a first.”

The others stood.

“Well, damn,” Michelle muttered.

John straightened up, dusted off, and cracked a smile.

That evening, the compound buzzed with frayed nerves.

Inside the crowded firehouse, people bickered over supplies, chores, and sleeping arrangements. Children cried. Parents snapped. Elders muttered curses under their breath. Two survivors almost came to blows over a corner of floor space.

“It’s like a damn oven in here.”

“I swear if somebody touches my blanket again—”

“Why are they always outside training while the rest of us live like rats?”

The frustration was real. And heavy.

But around the firepit outside, the Awakened gathered.

Plates of scavenged food rested on crates. The air was filled with laughter, light teasing, and the rare sound of peace.

Michelle tossed a grape at Milo. “You know, for someone who got bodied by a history professor, you’re awfully smug.”

Milo caught the grape in his mouth. “I let him win. Part of the lesson.”

Lina smirked, leaning her head on Hailie’s shoulder. “You’re lucky he doesn’t fight dirty.”

Natalya poked at the fire with a stick. “We’re getting stronger.”

Gussa stared into the flames, silent for a while. “We have to.”

John stood then, voice carrying like a thrown spear.

“Tomorrow’s the first test run. We’re reclaiming California City all the way up to Mojave.”

The words settled like a drop of water into oil.

Milo leaned forward. “All of it?”

“Every inch,” John said. “We clear it. We find supplies, weapons, maybe even homes. Somewhere to stretch out. No more of this sardine can life.”

The tension in the air cracked, some of it easing, some of it tightening with nerves.

Natalya exhaled. “About time.”

Michelle grinned. “Then let’s take it back.”

The fire burned brighter in the gathering dusk.

Tomorrow, the Saint of Thorns would lead them into blood and dust.