The courtyard hummed with leftover noise—boots scuffing and armor clinking. The last duel’s chalk lines were half-erased, smudged into pale ghosts. Commander Aldric’s voice cut through it all like a drawn blade.
“Class Three,” she said. “Form up. Everyone else, back to work.”
Most recruits scattered, but eight of them stayed. Ray followed the shuffle into a line, standing where there was space. Lexi took the spot beside her quietly, one hand unconsciously stroking the chains that wrapped her other wrist.
Aldric paced the length of their line, every step measured. “You are now Class Three, Cairel Chapter. Five recruits. By the end of the year, maybe one of you will still be standing. All of you will die at least once. Some, more than that. That is the cost of Strength.”
Lexi’s fingers tightened at the word die.
The words hung there. For Ray, they went in one ear and out the other.
She shifted her bat from one shoulder to the other, earning a sharp look from a spearman two places down. His posture reminded her of that fat Jantzen.
She didn’t like fat Jantzen.
Older Jantzen was kind of nice, though.
Aldric pointed to the entrance to the barracks. “Inside,” she ordered.
The group moved.
The barracks swallowed them whole; the air inside was cooler, while the light was dimmer. The clang of the courtyard gate cut off the outside world, leaving only faint echoes behind.
Ray trailed in the back, her eyes drifting up. The walls were carved with words in bold, square font, gouged deep into the stone like someone wanted them to last forever.
Strength is tested by fire.
Strength is shaped by pressure.
Strength is struck into purpose.
Strength is measured by restraint.
Strength begins in imperfection.
For only what endures deserves to rule.
It was both longer and shorter than she expected. Simple, in a complex sort of way. She tilted her head. “They really like the word ‘Strength’,” she muttered.
Lexi’s ears twitched. “That’s their purpose,” she whispered. “They worship it.”
“I mean, there are worse things to worship than ‘Strength’. Seems kinda dull, though. No depth, just muscle brains like me.”
The noble spearman gave her a withering look. “It’s scripture,” he said, as though the word itself should shut her up.
Ray smiled sweetly. “So?”
A low laugh came from further down the line—the big axeman. He had a deep voice that made every word sound like thunder. “Careful, girl. You’ll make him cry.”
The spearman stiffened. Lexi looked away with the ghost of a smile on her lips.
They passed under the last archway. The next room opened wide into a training hall, half classroom, half battlefield. Chalk grids scarred the floor. Benches climbed the walls like an audience waiting for the show. Older recruits sat there, silent and armored, eyes forward.
Ray straightened her shoulders automatically. Then briefly wondered why she did that. It didn’t feel good that she did…
A man stood at the far end of the room. He was taller than Aldric, with broader shoulders and a face full of hard lines and scars.
“Candidates,” he said, voice like scraped gravel. “You stand now in the duke’s house. Your strength belongs to the church. Remember this: the king does not need cowards. He does not suffer the weak.”
He began calling names.
“Ven, Drosh, Deyne, Bloodclaw.”
His eyes stopped on Ray. “And the vampire.”
She raised her hand. “That’s me. I’m here!”.
The man stared at her for a moment before continuing. “You will eat together. Train together. Fail together. Die together. And when you’re unlucky enough to survive, you’ll bleed together.”
He stepped closer, his presence swallowing the room. “Look left. Look right. These are the only people who matter until the year is done.”
Ray glanced left and saw Lexi, eyes down.
To her right was the big axeman—Drosh, apparently. He looked solid enough to stop a vampiric rabbit bear, and going by those things called ‘stereotypes’ that Nick told her about, he was probably dumb enough to try.
The man’s hand curled into a fist. “Forget home. Forget glory. Forget tomorrow. Think of the strike. Think of the shield. Think of the weight of steel in your hands. That is all you are.”
Ray looked at her bat, then raised her hand again.
“Sir… uh, I don’t know your name. My weapon isn’t made of steel.”
His expression distorted, and he turned his baleful gaze toward her. “I didn’t ask for any commentary.”
“But you told me to think about steel in my hands, but I don’t have steel…”
The instructor’s face barely moved. Only the faint crease between his brows deepened.
The silence stretched long enough for the others to start shifting uneasily.
Then he said, “Let me see that.”
Ray frowned but obediently handed over her baseball bat. She could always retrieve it by force if she needed to…
The instructor swung the bat at her head.
He was fast, for a human. But to Ray, it looked like he was moving through syrup.
‘Mmm, syrup…’ she licked her lips.
She leaned aside just enough. The bat sliced the air, whistling past her cheek.
He blinked, surprised. Then swung again.
Ray ducked once, twice, three times. Her movements were lazy, almost playful.
“You done?” she asked.
The instructor’s jaw clenched. He brought the bat down in a two-handed arc aimed square at her skull.
Figuring that he wouldn’t stop until he hit her, she sighed and stopped moving.
The baseball bat hit the top of her head.
The impact was monstrous. Her skull folded inward under the hit, the sound wet and hollow, and a bloom of red mist sprayed across the floor. Her body crumpled against the floor, bouncing once before going limp.
The recruits recoiled. Someone gagged.
Ray’s world spun sideways. Her vision stuttered—light, dark, then light again. Everything tilted at the wrong angle. She was aware, distantly, of her jaw hanging loose. Her eye socket collapsed, bone grinding inside her skull like broken glass.
She blinked twice, idly noting the way her skull grated as it knit back together—another texture to file away for later.
Then her neck twitched. The fractured bone slithered back into place with a muffled crunch. Her face reformed under her own skin like something crawling beneath the surface. Blood ran from her hairline, thick and dark, before reversing course and sinking back into her pores.
Ray sat up slowly, brushing dirt from her coat. Her voice came out perfectly even.
“Ow.”
The instructor took a step back, eyes wide. Around them, the recruits had gone silent. Even Aldric stared at her with a hint of shock in her eyes.
Ray tilted her head, testing the motion. She casually popped her neck. “That actually stung a little,” she said.
The instructor’s face turned crimson. He raised the bat again and swung for her ribs this time using his full force.
It connected with a meaty thud.
Her torso crumpled inward. Bones snapped like twigs, and a spray of blood misted from her mouth as she folded around the blow. She hit the wall hard enough to crater the thick stone. For a moment, she looked mangled—an ugly twist of limbs and angles that didn’t fit together at all.
Then she laughed.
Low at first, then louder, until it filled the training hall. The sound was wrong—half amusement, half delight.
Her spine snapped back straight with a single jerking motion. Ribs rippled beneath her skin as they slid back into place. The hollow collapse of her chest filled out again with a wet sucking sound.
She pushed herself up to standing, blood still drying down her chin. “Feel better?” she asked.
The instructor stumbled back half a step. His knuckles were white on the grip.
Commander Aldric’s voice cut through the stunned silence.
“Enough.”
The instructor froze, every muscle rigid.
Aldric stepped forward, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked from the perfectly intact baseball bat to Ray’s unmarked skin. “Explain yourself.”
Ray blinked. “What’s there to explain?”
Aldric studied her for a long moment, then turned to the class. “You’ve just learned your second lesson,” she said evenly. “Pain can be a teacher, and fear can sharpen your senses, but neither will save you from what you don’t understand.”
Her gaze lingered on Ray for a beat longer. “Some of you will learn to endure. Others,” she said, “already have that ability.”
Ray smiled faintly. “So I passed before we started?”
“Try not to lose your head again, vampire.”
Ray shrugged and tilted her head, watching the instructor still clutched her bat like a demonic relic.
“I’ll be needing that back.”
He blinked. “I—”
And then it wasn’t in his hands anymore.
One blink—just one—and Ray was standing exactly where she’d been, idly tapping the bat against her shoulder. A faint smear of dust drifted off the floor where she’d been standing a heartbeat before.
The instructor stared at his empty hands like the weapon had simply vanished.
Aldric’s eyes narrowed, following the motion that no one else could. She’d seen the blur, just barely.
She inhaled once, slow and sharp. “Baseline. Now.”
The order cut through the stunned recruits like a blade restoring silence.
Trainers began moving at once, hauling racks of dull weapons, sand weights, and rune-marked rods into place. The noise of bootsteps and scraping metal filled the air, washing away the shock as easily as blood down a drain.
“Lane formation!” barked the scarred instructor, his voice still shaking. “Four trials—endurance, speed, focus, scripture. Rotate on the whistle.”
Ray twirled her bat lazily. “This might be fun…”
Lexi, still pale, whispered under her breath. “You’re terrifying.”
“I get that a lot,” Ray replied, already stepping toward the first lane. “But hey, better scary than weak, right?”
Lexi stared at her retreating form for a moment, mouthing those words.
‘Better scary than weak.’
The others shuffled uncertainly into formation.
He didn’t look at Ray.
Nobody did, except for Aldric and Lexi.
Aldric stood at the edge of the hall, hands clasped behind her back.
“Lane one!” the instructor snapped. “Shield hold!”
Rows of recruits lined up, each handed a wooden practice shield. The test was simple—hold steady while the trainer pressed down. Ray got hers last. The wood looked fragile, and the grip was too big for her hands.
The trainer pressed a palm to her shield. The pressure came down. The wood groaned.
Ray sighed. “Does the shield need to survive?”
“Hold,” he shouted, his voice cracking.
She pushed back with a single arm. The strain vanished like it wasn’t there. The man grunted, leaning in with both arms this time. His boots slid on the floor before he stumbled backward.
The whistle blew.
“Rotate!”
Ray tossed the shield aside carelessly and it splintered against the wall.
“Oops.”
She jogged to the next lane.
Speed trials.
Chalk lines stretched the length of the hall. The recruits crouched, ready to sprint.
“Go!” the trainer ordered.
The air cracked.
Ray didn’t just run. She was gone.
It was only for an instant, like the space she’d occupied forgot her for a breath. Her feet made no sound. When she reached the far end, the trainer was still lifting his whistle. By the time it touched his lips, she was already back at the starting line.
He blinked. “Again.”
She went again, slower this time.
Everyone else hadn’t even hit the halfway mark when she stopped, looking mildly bored.
The whistle cut again. “Rotate!”
Lane three—focus.
A rack of dull rods waited, each inscribed with runes that shimmered faintly. Ray picked one up. It buzzed like an angry wasp.
“Channel mana,” the trainer said. “Hold the output steady.”
She squinted. “How do I do that?”
“Just do it.”
She sighed and held the rod up. Nobody had ever told her anything about channeling mana, but she figured it had something to do with that energy that was used whenever she activated her skills.
So she simply commanded the energy to move into the rod.
The rod lit up. Then it glowed brighter. Then brighter still until it turned white-hot and split down the middle with a sharp crack.
The trainer jumped back, swearing. “I said steady!”
“I was steady,” Ray said innocently, handing him the smoking halves. “Steadily increasing, right?”
The smell of burnt runes filled the air.
“Rotate!”
The final lane—scripture.
A scribe shoved a tablet toward her, finger tapping impatiently. “Recite.”
Ray frowned. “Strength is the Law.” she began, glancing at the wall. “ Endurance is the proof. Discipline is its form. Will gives it meaning. Control defines its worth. Failure is the start of mastery.”
The scribe nodded. “For only what endures deserves to rule,” he recited. “The rest will be forgotten.”
“Does everyone have to recite this out loud? It’s kinda a mouthful.”
He hesitated, then scribbled something on his slate.
‘Understands the words but not the meaning. Irreverent and likely dim in the head.’
Ray peeked at it. “Hey! That’s rude.”
The whistle blew again.
The scarred instructor stepped forward. His voice carried over the rhythmic breathing of exhausted recruits.
“This is measure,” he said. “Judgment comes later.”
Ray’s eyes drifted toward Aldric. The commander hadn’t moved from her spot.
She bared her fangs in a playful, half-smile.
Aldric didn’t smile back.
“Return your gear,” the instructor called. “Wash. Training hall in fifteen. If you’re late, you’re out.”
The class dispersed. Lexi caught up to Ray, her expression pale but steady. “You’re an actual monster,” she whispered.
Ray stretched, joints popping audibly. “Yeah, well. So are you, right?”
“That’s… different,” Lexi said, her voice trembling. “You’re unnatural. Wrong.”
“Is that what you think?” Ray replied indifferently. “I mean, obviously you’re wrong, but so what?”
Lexi hesitated, unsure how to respond.
Steam curled around the washroom like ghost-breath. The air smelled faintly of metal and soap. Rows of buckets lined the troughs where others scrubbed off sweat and blood in silence.
Ray dunked her head into a basin, shook the water through her hair, and wiped a streak of red from her collar. The blood had dried fast, and it clung stubbornly. She didn’t bother trying too hard.
“You should clean that properly,” Lexi murmured. “People are already staring.”
Ray grinned, still scrubbing lazily. “They’re staring because I’m pretty.”
“That’s not why.”
“Sure it is.” Ray flicked a drop of water at her. “C’mon, lighten up a little. Not everything has to be all doom and gloom. You guys are all too sad all the time.”
Lexi’s hands froze mid-motion. “Sad?” Her voice cracked slightly. “You think I’m too sad?” Her voice bristled with barely restrained fury.
Ray’s grin faltered. “Uh, I mean—”
“You think it’s sadness that makes me like this?” Lexi’s voice rose, trembling. The chains at her wrists rattled as she turned toward her. “You think it’s sadness when I wake up every day and remember—” She cut herself off, breathing hard.
The room went quiet except for dripping water.
Ray stared at her reflection in the basin, her own expression blurred beside Lexi’s pale, furious one. “…Yes,” she said finally. “Sadness isn’t weakness. But you let it make you weak.”
Lexi didn’t answer.
She knew that Ray was wrong, but she couldn’t prove it.
So what was the point?
“I don’t like you,” she finally replied.
Ray grinned. “Likewise. Friends?”
Lexi stared at her for a long moment and finally shook her head.
“I really don’t like you…” she murmured, turning away.
The faintest hint of a smile fought to reveal itself at the edge of her lips.
Of course, she told it no, so it didn’t appear.
Project Knightfall 