The problem with being a "biological marvel" at six years old is that biology still has limits.
My legs ached. My lungs felt like I had inhaled a handful of broken glass. My Red Core -that spinning marble of power-was pumping so hard I thought it might vibrate out of my chest.
"Pick it up, Aaron," Edgar's voice drifted from ahead.
Edgar was the third member of our little suicide squad. He was a peak Rank 2 Swordsman- Iron Bone. To my eyes, his body was a dense, tightly woven mesh of white particles, far more solid than the recruits but lacking the terrifying "slab" that was Marcus.
He moved through the dense undergrowth like a ghost. Valen and Marcus were even further ahead, cutting through the forst with a terrifying efficiency.
I, however, was a six-year-old plow horse trying to keep up with three jaguars.
"We're losing daylight," Edgar muttered, pausing to let me catch up. The white particles around his head were spiking with a jagged rhythm. Anxiety. "We should have left him at the camp. He's turning a one-day march into two."
I leaned against a tree, wheezing. "I'm... strategic... weight," I gasped. "Building... character."
Edgar scoffed, checking the perimeter. "We're hitting a Governor's column, kid. Not a tavern. Character doesn't stop a fireball."
"You're awfully twitchy for a Squad Leader," I retorted, finally catching my breath. "You need a drink? I know a guy."
Edgar stiffened. His aura flared-not with anger, but with a sharp, nervous spike that he quickly clamped down. "Just keep moving. The Captain is waiting."
He turned and vanished into the brush. I watched his trail for a second. Most people would just see a grumpy bandit. I saw a man whose particles were vibrating at a frequency that screamed dread.
Everyone is nervous, I told myself. We're hunting mages.
But the feeling stuck with me as I forced my tired legs to move.
We reached the ridge overlooking the gorge on the evening of the second day. The sun was already sinking beneath the western peaks, casting long, bruised shadows across the valley floor, casting long, shadows across the valley floor.
Valen was waiting. His Green Core- the Rank 4 Wind Engine-was spinning slowly, dormant but ready. Marcus knelt to his side, a silent statue of white light.
"We're late," Valen said, his voice low."The column has already set up camp. We missed the ambush window on the road."
"Recon?" Marcus asked.
"No time," Valen shook his head. "If we wait for morning, they'll be on the move again. We have to hit them tonight. While they sleep."
He turned to look at me. I was trying to massage the cramps out of my calves.
He knelt down, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. I waited for the tactical briefing. I waited for the fatherly advice. I waited for the detailed plan on how not to die.
"You got this." Valen said.
Then he stood up and turned back to the cliff.
I stared back at his back. "Thanks," I whispered to the dirt. "Very inspiring. I feel invincible."
Inside, however, I was sh*tting bricks.
This wasn't sparring with Brian. This wasn't stealing ale from Henry. This was real. Down there were men paid to kill people like me.
"Aaron," Marcus hissed. "Eyes."
I took a deep breath. I crawled to the edge of the ridge and looked down.
The camp was a cluster of auras arranged in a tight circle. Firelight motes flickered. But I ignored the fire. I worked my "Understanding" and studied the energy.
And then I saw it.
Right in the center of the camp, inside the largest tent, was a sun.
It was a Yellow Core. Rank 3.
But it didn't look like the Yellow Core I'd imagined.
Henry and Valen were Magic Swordsmen. Their core felt like engines- pressurized, burning inside the machine to make it run. Their mana felt forged.
This Mage? This was different.
The Yellow Core down there didn't feel like an engine. It felt like... a bloat.
It was 'sloppy'. It was massive. And it was terrifying.
"Yellow Core," I reported, my voice trembling slightly. "Rank 3 Mage. Earth Element. It feels... heavy. Gritty."
I shifted my gaze. "And the aura... it's huge. It's bleeding out of the tent. He's not containing it at all."
I scanned the rest of the camp. I saw the dense white shapes of the soldiers-Rank 1 and 2. And then, in a smaller tent near the edge, I saw a second light.
"There's another one," I wispered. "Orange Core. Rank 2. Fire Element. Scorching heat."
I looked back at the Yellow Core. The gap between my tiny, initial Red Core and that Yellow sun was nauseating. It was the difference between a sparkler and a lighthouse. If I went near that Yellow Mage, his ambient pressure alone might crush me.
Valen hummed. He watched the camp, calculating.
"We don't need the head," Valen decided. "We need intel. The orange will know the troop movements just as well."
"Less risk," Marcus agreed.
"It feels like you're talking about me," I muttered.
Valen ignored me. He looked at the team. "We bag the orange one. In and out. Silent."
He looked at me. "Lead the way."
We moved down the slope like shadows.
I took point. My Red Core was humming, pushing my senses to the limit. I scanned every tree, every rock, every patch of grass for the tell-tale tightness of a magical trap or the dense particles of a hidden sentry.
We reached the valley floor. The tree line ended fifty yards from the camp perimeter.
I stopped.
"What is it?" Edgar hissed, right behind me.
"Nothing," I whispered.
"Exactly, keep moving."
"No," I said, holding up a hand. "I mean nothing."
I pointed at the ground ahead of us. "No tripwires. No mana wards. No sentries in the trees. I don't see any particles bunching up."
I looked at the route towards the camp. "It's... naked."
Valen stopped. His aura flaring slightly. "Suspicious."
"Maybe they're arrogant." Marcus suggested. "They have a Rank 3 Mage. Maybe they think no one is stupid enough to attack them."
"Or maybe they're waiting," Valen murmured. He hesitated, his weight shifting back.
"Captain," Edgar whispered, his voice tight. "We already here. We need to know what the Governor is planning. If we turn back now, we're blind."
I glanced at Edgar. His aura was spiking again. The same jagged anxiety.
Valen looked at the camp, then at Edgar, then at the darkness. He made a choice.
"Aaron," he signaled. "Proceed. But slow."
I nodded. We crept forward.
Twenty yards. Ten yards. Five.
We breached the perimeter. Still nothing. The soldiers around the fire were asleep- their auras rhythmic and dull.
We moved toward the small tent on the edge- the one with the Orange Core.
I stopped outside the canvas. I focused on the aura inside.
It was weird.
Usually, a sleeping person's aura drifts. It's lazy. This aura was... sharp. It wasn't drifting. It was vibrating.
Is he awake?
I looked closer. The Orange Core was steady. But the white particles around it...
Valen tapped my shoulder. He signaled for breach.
I stepped back to the middle. Marcus took to the front with Valen while Edgar took the rear.
Valen held up three fingers. Three. Two. One.
He sliced the canvas open.
We rushed in, weapons drawn, ready to gag and bag a sleeping Mage.
But there was no one sleeping.
The tent was empty of furniture. No bedroll. No chest. Just a single wooden chair in the center of the room.
Sitting on the chair was a man in robes. He wasn't asleep. He was sitting perfectly upright, his hands folded in his lap.
The Orange Core in his chest was burning bright. But it was the white particles around him-his aura- that froze my blood.
They weren't jagged with fear. They weren't spiking with suprise.
They were swirling in soft, bright loops.
Delight. Triumph.
The man smiled. He didn't reach for a weapon. He just looked at Valen, then at me.
"You're late," he said.