The glint of the sun burned into his retinas.
In truth, a staring match with the sun was the only way to mask his terror. Something about its warmth felt almost familiar to him — soothing in a way. It comforted him, even through the pain.
With the harsh winds and fear of damage to the eye looming over his consciousness, he was sure to always let it win. His eyes blinked and squinted frequently and occasionally would trail off, only to fall right back into place. Many had warned him of this practice's consequences, yet none had taken effect. That being said, he wasn't naive and foolish enough to disregard them.
'Maybe...' he thought to himself, 'maybe going blind in this world wouldn't be such a bad thing.'
A depressing reality, a foolish notion.
After what felt like an eternity, the boy finally called the match over. By now, it had already been just a little over an hour since the speech, and not a single finger had been lifted by him. Sungazing mixed with the occasional glimpse out over the training grounds before him filled the time, somehow both excruciatingly slow yet heart-wrenchingly fast.
He didn't know which was worse.
He knew, deep within his heart, that it would be in his best interest to train with the others. That being said, as his eyes traced over each and every one of their faces, there was an almost somber presence beginning to swell in his mind.
To him, training now would only mean acceptance — acceptance that something will go wrong. That one or more of them could die. He didn't want to accept that.
So instead, he sulked from within the shade of the hall, dust and dirt kicking up from the field he looked out over filling his nose. He gave a quick sigh, then moments later giving another, then another shortly after that.
He had been training with these people, whom he once considered to be nobody but strangers, for an entire year. Now, faced with the potential for death, he wasn't sure if he could do this. He began to waver in his resolve. He didn't want them to go if it meant they might not come back. His scars still hadn't healed, and he wouldn't let them reopen.
Almost as if sensing his moral conflictions, a cheerful yet partially concerned voice echoed out from his side. "You okay, Nyx?"
Before he could even turn his head to see who it was, the pressure of his hand began to weigh against his shoulder. That being said, Nyx could tell the person simply by his voice alone; It was Silas.
"Yeah," He muttered in response, "I think I'm okay."
"You think or you are?"
He sighed. "Can't it be both?"
"…No, I don't think so." He now stood just off to Nyx's side, gazing out into the field of dirt before them. "I know you, Nyx."
"...Then you already know I'm not."
"None of us are, but that doesn't mean you should skip out on some last-minute training with the others. It could save your life-"
"-That's exactly it, Silas," Nyx interjected, a hint of vigor in his voice, "We're cadets, and they're already sending us to a warzone. We could fight an actual Terror. Not the sprouting weaklings kept for ascension, but a true, wild Terror. That'd be nothing but suicide."
Silas' eyes paced towards the ground. "I understand that," he murmured, "And that's all the more reason to train."
For a brief moment, the two of them locked eyes. Silas' we're so kind. Fragile. A drastic conflict when met with Nyx's. He had the look of death and distance.
Even still, he knew Silas was right.
"I know you don't want them to die," Silas smiled, "you don't want me to die. That's why you train. You train, and we'll make it out alive. Together."
Nyx chuckled. "Right… you're always right, aren't you?"
"I always am." He reaffirmed. "Come on, let's go to the depot."
He nodded.
The depot was only a short walk away, being positioned off the side of the training field for easy access. Poking their head within the gaping double-door sat at its front, they fully expected more of a line to make itself apparent. On the contrary, students were occasionally scattered about the rows of hard-wooded tables, a messy collection of weapons loosely scattered overhead.
Known to the routine, calmly did they step within, walking alongside one of the rows as their eyes looked for their preferred choice of weapon.
Tools of all sorts were spread over its surface: rusted spears, shimmering swords, weighted bows leaning against the table's edge. Even a few pistols and muskets made themselves apparent within the mass — a rarity due to how expensive and difficult they are to manufacture.
It didn't take Silas long to pick out a slim bow far from elegant in design. Briefly did he test its weight and the strength required to pull the string before finalizing his choice, sure that he would be able to wield the instrument effectively.
Nyx, on the other hand, found a lot more of a struggle. He wasn't sure what would be best for him.
In past sessions, he found the most comfort in hefting a light sword, having enough mobility and knowledge to get by. On the other hand, he wasn't blind to the advantages of a spear or ranged weapon in the heat of combat. Against a Terror, it be best to keep your distance, after all.
Terrors, like most other creatures, carry a baseline amount of consciousness. They can plan and they can plot, just as well as they can adapt. More horrifically, they adapt not just on a mental level, but a biological one.
They can grow thicker skin. They can gain a resistance to elements. They can change the density of their own bones. They can adapt to life and even remove their own eyes, and similarly with noses and ears. To us, they are truly eldritch in design. How or why is irrelevant, only that it can is important.
When faced against an enemy that can morph its own genetic code, it's best to stay cautious. Phantoms hunt in groups, so a wide array of weaponry is always important for a successful mission. Three hundred years of history, and not once has there been an exception.
'Another dilemma…' he sighed.
In his mind, a bow or gun would be the smart choice to take with him. That being said, he was well aware most other cadets in his unit used ranged weaponry, and he was more skilled with that of a blade.
In the end, he decided to take the best of both worlds.
Carefully did he lift a rather sizable spear — dark iron head a slight amount of rust covering its surface, and even a bit blunt by its tip.
Regardless, something about the thing was attractive to him. Perhaps it was its sturdy design, or even the weight required to hold it in his hands.
Whatever it was, he had made his choice.
"You ready?" Silas muttered just off to his side.
With a quick nod, Nyx tried to give a light smile — perhaps something to signify he was still present. "Yeah. I'm ready."
Walking back towards the front, they jotted their names against a small paper sheet tied to a metal stand, along with their date of birth, Unit of origin, date enlisted, and a whole heap of other information best left private or ignored.
Boots stomping over the rocky soil, they made their way near to the center of the leviathan field. Nyx got a pain in his chest as he did so, though he didn't try and fight it. He knew it was for the best.
* * *
He thrusted the spear forward, glint of the sun waning against its tip and reflecting off from its surface. Partially blinded by the light, Silas was quick to duck towards the ground, rolling against the dirt below before coming to his feet a few meters away.
Tightening his posture, he followed by drawing the string — letting out a quick shot before Nyx could even react. Its shaft tilted and curved, spiraling like a bullet towards its helpless prey.
The accuracy was off, however; A slight error in his positioning bolted the arrow mere inches from Nyx's frame.
And that was a mistake he'd pay dearly for.
Stabbing the spear forward, the head threatened to cut against the boy's cheek if it weren't for the rubber tip coating its surface. A swift grasp on the wooden stock saved him, pushing it just out over his shoulder, though followed by being beaten away with a hefty swing.
He was thrown to the ground, Nyx now standing overhead ready to finish the match. "It's over," he murmured.
Getting ready to spike his weapon into the ground beside him, he towered the shaft above his own head before crashing it down.
Much to his surprise, however, the fight was far from over.
Silas jolted his bow to the side, making sure the spear went straight down its center. With all of his strength, he tugged the curve of the bow, tossing the spear to the side all while Nyx tried desperately to hold firm.
Unfortunately for him, the attack was far too swift. Far to unexpected.
He was flung to the side, weapon slipping from his grasp all while he himself tumbled to the floor — forefoot swayed against gravel and grime. The side of his jaw slid against the ground, not enough to tear or break, but still lingered with pain and now covered in dirt.
"No," Silas sighed, struggling to catch his breath, "now it's over." He pulled back the string, and moments later did the rubber arrow slap against the ground just beside his face.
The match was over.
Nyx began to reposition himself, tilting his body off from its side and face pointed up towards the sky above. As sweat trickled down his face, a sense of worry permeated through his nerves. It was almost time. Moments from now, it'd be time to face the music. They had been training for thirty agonizing minutes, and yet even that felt like a drop in the ocean compared to the skill they'd require against death's elegy.
"It's not enough," He gasped, clinging onto the remnants of air managing to seep into his nose.
Silas reached down with his hand forward and a kind smile kept on his face, Nyx not long after to grasp. "Tell me about it~" He sighed. "Theoretically, you should have every advantage against me in one-on-one combat. This is your sixth loss, Nyx. You haven't won once."
Coming to his feet, he was quick to rub the side of his face. "Don't remind me... I think I'm just feeling out of it today."
"...Of all the days, Nyx? Really???"
He scowled. "That's not funny. I'm concerned."
"Sorry," He rescinded, "just trying to lighten the mood."
"The mood's too heavy to be 'lightened,' though I guess I appreciate the effort."
"Right…"
Feeling almost guilty by his own sense of pragmatism, he refused to meet Silas' gaze. He knew all to well the angel-child and his techniques. A dangerous specimen, to be sure.
Instead, his eyes festered against the marble arches which surrounded them, appearing to be a lifetime away from the center of the field. Not only that, but the blips of moving cadets doing the same routine as them — training. It was only natural a question appeared in his head.
"Who do you think's gonna die?"
Silas' eyes widened. "What?"
"Which one of us is going to die? The cadets, I mean."
He shook his head. "Well aren't you a bundle of optimism..."
"I can't help it," he walloped, "it's not easy for me to ignore things. Especially the truth."
"You could at least have faith, Nyx. If you think it's going to happen, it will happen."
"But I do think it's gonna happen-"
"-Then stop it from happening."
He glared at him. "You make it sound so easy."
"It is easy. You don't want them to die, so stop them from dying."
"Well why me?"
"Why anybody?" Silas' face turned borderline judgmental, looking at him as though he thought Nyx already knew the answer. He didn't.
"Well, for your information, I don't think everyone will die."
"Oh?"
He sighed. "You know… those two?"
It took Silas only a brief moment to figure out who he was talking about. Once it clicked into his head, his eyes subtlety began to peer around the field for them. Surprisingly, it didn't take him long.
Despite the fact they were mere silhouettes in the distance, they stood out like a sore thumb among the other trainees...
Rei and Seren.
The ladder was a boy with brownish-grey hair, skin only a touch darker than everyone else. From appearance to posture, everything about the kid screamed 'noble' — and not the kind which sucked up to the ones in charge, sitting on their asses and stuffing themselves with cake; A true noble. A man of the people.
That being said, he was quite popular with the cadets, regardless of designated Unit. Present day, spotting him was something akin to finding a needle in a haystack — only difference is that it's painfully easy, as the hay tends to circle around instead of mingling.
Since training, Nyx knew Seren's preference in weapons, choosing to go loud and proud with some experimental guns his family shilled out to design for him, all in collaboration with the Phantoms, of course. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't adept at wielding a blade, choosing more often than not to switch between the two mid-combat.
It was a level of skill Nyx could only dream of; No unwasted movements, no overthinking, no mistakes. Everything was precise. Everything was perfect.
Similarly, it'd be wrong to forget the other star of the Epsilon cadets, matching in skill, or if not even better than Seren: Rei.
Nobody knew much about her, the girl more often than not choosing to be alone rather than with others. Currently, she twirled and twisted a rather large spear in her hands back in the far corner of the grounds, at a glance resembling more of a dignified performance over actual combat.
Everything she did came with an unstated grace — her deep red eyes seemingly examining every possible detail before taking the slightest action as her short, snow-colored hair gently swayed with refined dignity.
She exuded loneliness. She exuded a haunting sense of distant existence. She was present, but she was gone, never being able to truly be understood.
"If those two fought, who'd win?" Silas playfully exclaimed, placing his hand up to his mouth. "My money's on Rei."
Nyx gave a slight chuckle before responding, "That's only natural, I suppose."
He had heard the rumors, of course, but had never seen it in person.
Rei had apparently already awakened.
The only way to awaken one's power is to fully connect to the Weave.
None know truly what it even is, but it's known that it can only be reached once you've met complete and total desperation in the face of a Terror.
Only on the verge of death can one awaken.
If Rei has already connected to the Weave, then that means she's already seen death itself. She already knows the terror of a Terror.
"I guess it depends on what it is." Silas murmured, "If her power can't compete with a gun, then it won't be much of a competition."
Nyx gave a subtle nod. Despite being in the same Unit as her, nobody knows the true extent of what her power offers her. All they know is that it exists.
It's that same undetermined variable which gave Nyx a sinking feeling in his chest...
Perhaps it could save them... perhaps not.
It was almost time to gather at the rift, so one way or another... he was sure he'd be quick to find out.
- | Extra information I can share thus far | -
The Weave is unknowable — just as much, or perhaps even more, than the Terror's are. Those who see it fail to describe it, and those who survive it awaken with a sense of odd and unexplainable power.
Seemingly, there is no consistency to the power gained, and could be something depressingly inconsequential or extraordinarily valuable. Based on the history of obtained power, it tends to be something relating to the person it awakens from, though further studies will need to be done to confirm this, and may lead to a potential unknown connection to an individuals very soul if found to be true.