The headquarters of the Castorian Warriors stood at the North Pole of Castore.
There, the greatest Singularity in the universe lay open.

An arc of violet light, one hundred meters tall, embedded in the planet’s barren ground.
The space within it quivered, dense, like boiling oil.
Its outline cut across the horizon
like a dark mouth stitched into the fabric of the universe.

Before the Singularity stretched a plain two kilometers wide:
the Plain of Gommhon.

Gray land, unnaturally smooth.
Stained by the blood of countless battles
between the forces of light
and those of darkness.

On the far side of the plain, the terrain rose into three rocky promontories, separated by deep chasms and connected by two stone bridges.
Upon each promontory stood a fortress.

All three faced the Singularity.
Like stone sentinels.

Behind them, rising even higher, stood a fourth rocky mass.
There stood the Tower.

Gray.
Conical.
Sharp as a stone needle driven into the sky.

At its flat summit pulsed a sphere of blue energy,
linked to the Singularity by a beam of light.

The first days in the First Company were a constant disorientation for Finde.
Not only because of the pace,
but because of the perfect order governing everything.

The Company numbered about one hundred warriors, divided into two platoons of fifty.
The first was led by Gladyo.
The second by Kato—a name Finde knew, but still could not put a face to.

The spaces were immense:
gardens, open-air cloisters, long colonnades.
Areas dedicated to training,
the mess hall,
the dormitories,
the infirmaries,
the regenerative centers.

Everything was shared.

And yet, the two platoons lived apart.
Like two armies under the same roof.

Finde ended up bonding mostly with Gladyo’s men.
He barely crossed paths with the others.
Quick glances.
Silence.

Gladyo became his guide.

The days began at dawn.
Breakfast.
Individual or group training.

After lunch, drills.
Or wellness centers.
Or study.

There was an immense library,
with volumes from every corner of the universe.

The most frequented section was the Hall of the Art of War:
strategies, simulations, maps.
There were even military board games,
used to train the mind in tactics.

In the evening, dinner.
Then, finally, some time for oneself.

Three or four times a month, platoon exercises were organized.
More rarely, full Company drills.
Those were led by the Company Commander.

Beatrix “of the Light.”

A figure Finde had not yet seen.

Her quarters were off-limits to everyone.
Only the squad leaders and Teremus, her assistant, were allowed inside.

The primary task of the Castorian warriors
was to cleanse Singularities.

“I can’t wait to be sent on a mission,” Finde said one day.

Gladyo answered with a half-smile.

“You’ll have time, boy.
First, you must become worthy of the name Castorian.”

Training with Gladyo was hell.

Finde thought he knew what exhaustion was.
He was wrong.

Every muscle screamed.
Every mistake was punished with endless repetitions.

And yet, within that suffering, there was a strange peace.
The feeling of being
finally in the right place.

There was, however, a problem that tormented him.

He couldn’t correct a flaw in his posture
when handling the double-bladed sword.

He failed.
Every time.

In the end, he let himself fall to the ground, face in his hands.

Gladyo sat beside him.
“What is it, boy?
You didn’t really think it would all be easy.”

“I know,” Finde murmured.
“But the movements you teach me… they don’t feel natural.”

Gladyo remained silent for a moment.
“Have you ever considered that maybe
the double-bladed sword
is not the right weapon for you?”

Finde looked up.
“In the arena I used the dagger… but I never really thought about it.”

“With training, you can wield any weapon,” Gladyo said.
“But true strength is born from harmony.”

“And how do I understand which weapon is meant for me?”

Gladyo smiled faintly.
“There is a way.
Though I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone in their right mind.”

“Which one?”

“The Cemetery of Legendary Weapons.
On the planet Erevos.”

Finde’s eyes widened.

Gladyo continued to speak.
“It is guarded by a spiritual elemental.
If you are judged worthy…
a legendary weapon will choose you.”

Finde’s eyes shone.
“I want to do it!”

Gladyo sighed.
“Hold your enthusiasm.
Only madmen try.”

“Why?”

Gladyo looked him straight in the eyes.
“Because the elemental may demand your soul in return.”

He paused.

“And if no weapon chooses you…
you’re dead.”