The horn that signaled assembly was not the usual sharp, clipped tone meant to rouse tired recruits. This one rolled across the east quarters of Outpost Vester like a declaration, resonant enough to vibrate in bone and blood. Bright jerked awake in the infirmary cot he'd stolen for the night, heart thumping against bruised ribs. For a moment he thought it was another crawler alarm.
Then he heard the voices outside—neither frantic nor terrified.
Just… budding excitement, and that strange, hollow hunger for the Trials they might very well die in.
Atheon must have called for the meeting.
Bright swung his legs over the cot, wincing at the ache running through every joint. The healers, if he could really call them that, had done what they could, but the march, the fight, the losses — those things clung to him heavier than wounds. He grabbed his jacket and stepped out into the morning light.
