Henry's night was a battlefield of loyalty and logic. He lay staring at the ceiling, the ghost of Ana's kiss still warm on his cheek. She's brilliant, sharp, and undeniably beautiful, he admitted to himself. But his heart was already crowded. Back home, there was Mia, sweet, supportive, and his sanctuarywho had helped him through the mental stress he had underwent while failing the F rank trial. Then there was Ashley, the fierce, independent woman he was officially engaged to, despite having never met her in this lifetime.
Though their engagement was official, she was a stranger to him. Just a name from a verbal agreement between barons. He could brush aside a political engagement, but the thought of hurting Mia felt like a betrayal of his own soul.
I can't accept anyone's feelings without Mia knowing, he decided, his conscience finally finding a foothold. It wouldn't be right.
It wasn't a hard no to Ana, but it was a not yet to his own heart. With that bit of moral clarity, the tension finally drained from his muscles, and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The peace of his decision lasted only until the morning bell. As Henry stepped out to begin his routine, Ana was already there, looking as beautiful as ever, yesterday's day off giving her a noticeable boost to her normal glow and energy level.
"Good morning, Fourteen," Ana greeted him, her voice a warm melody that cut through the early chill. "How did you sleep? I imagine you had quite a lot to think about."
The resolve Henry had carefully built overnight wavered and then crumbled completely in under eight seconds. He felt his face heat up, his tongue suddenly feeling two sizes too large for his mouth. "I—I haven't come to a conclusion yet," he stammered, the words he had originally committed to saying disappearing like a magic act replaced with a white lie.
Anna let out a soft, musical laugh that made Henry feel even more ridiculous. "No need to be nervous," she said, stepping close enough that he could see the playful glint in her eyes. "I don't bite. And I'm very patient, so think long and hard." She reached up, her palm lingering on his right cheek for a lingering moment before she turned and ran off to begin her stretches.
Henry stood there, frozen. Why couldn't I just tell her? he cursed himself.
He shook his head, forcing his focus back to reality.
Confused feelings were a luxury; growth was a necessity.
With that in mind the rest of Henry's morning routine went by as efficiently as always.
Sir Red arrived at the training pad looking like he was in a particularly foul mood. He gathered the Level 9s and 10s on the right side of the training pad.
"Listen up," he barked, his voice cutting through the morning chill. "I'm not in the mood to talk. Anyone who fucks up and doesn't follow directions will get a supplemental training from hell tonight. Do I make myself clear?"
His question was met with a resounding yes sir as they stood like statues, their backs snapping straight.
"Today, you practice all foundational strikes of the Lower Regium in succession," Sir Red commanded. "Start with the Center Balanced Strike and end with the Regium Quick Thrust. Every move must be executed from a short guard. No wasteful flourishes. Prioritize hand and heel leverage for power. If you aren't using your body weight to generate power, you're just waving a stick."
The morning was a blur of dominant-hand repetitions. Henry focused on the mechanical click of his joints as he leveraged his heels into each strike, fine-tuning the short guard until the transition between defense and offense was nearly invisible. After lunch, the nightmare began: switching to his non-dominant hand. It felt like learning to walk again, his brain screaming at his left arm to coordinate movements that had felt natural hours before with his right.
"Two weeks of this," Sir Red warned, pacing the line. "If you don't meet the minimum proficiency with both hands, you'll spend a third week with Blue or White. Except for you, One," he added, glancing at the silent Recruit 1. "I doubt you'll need the extra time."
A ripple of envy went through the group hearing the rare compliment coming from Sir Red, but it was quickly suppressed by the need to keep their arms moving.
Henry began to find a flow in the repetition, feeling the way the short guard allowed him to transition instantly, his heels digging into the stone to drive the power upward through his frame.
By the time the sun dipped, Henry was physically drained but mentally satisfied. He made his way to the cafeteria, joined by the group that had slowly become his permanent orbit.
Recruit 4 sat by Henry—his unofficial shadow since the squat incident on the first day of training while Recruit 7 hovered nearby, eyes darting to Henry's plate as if trying to win a competition on who could eat rice the most intensively. His delusions of his self proclaimed rivalry with Henry on full display. Anna sat beside Henry, weaving stories of her life between pointed questions about his own. She was persistent, peeling back his layers with the same precision she used on a training dummy.
Across the table, Recruit 13 watched them with a pained expression. He knew something had shifted between Henry and the girl he admired, but he couldn't let go, still desperately searching for a scrap of Ana's attention or anything that could validate his feelings for her.
As Henry dug into his chicken and mushroom stew, he realized something that would have shocked his former self: he liked this. Despite the burning muscles, the complicated love life, and the looming system test, there was a comfort in the routine.
The physical toll of the new routine hit Henry all at once. As he scraped the last bit of mushroom stew from his wooden bowl, a wave of exhaustion washed over him that felt heavier than the training swords. Every time the instructors pivoted their focus, the mental and physical adjustment drained his battery to zero.
"I'm heading out. Goodnight, everyone," Henry said, pushing back his bench.
Ana looked up, her expression a mix of surprise and disappointment. "Where are you going? We still have three hours of free time. The sun isn't even fully down!"
"I'm exhausted," Henry admitted, not even trying to hide the fatigue in his voice. "If I don't get extra rest now, I'mnot sure I'll make it through tomorrow's training."
Recruit 4 stood up immediately, nodding in solidarity. "I'm with Fourteen. My left arm feels like it's made of lead after those non-dominant reps."
"I'll race you both!" Recruit 7 barked, seizing the chance for one last victory. Before they could even respond, he was a blur of movement, sprinting toward the barracks as if his life depended on arriving first. Henry and 4 just watched him go, neither of them having the energy to even lift a foot faster than a walking pace.
"You guys are no fun," Ana sighed, though her eyes softened. "Fine. Have a good night, then. I guess I'll have to find something else to do."
As Henry turned the corner of the cafeteria, the last thing he heard was Recruit 13's eager, slightly desperate voice: "I'm free! I can hang out with you, Ana!" Henry was too far away to catch her reply, and frankly, he was too tired to care.
The moment his head hit the mattress, the world of Fort Hope vanished. There was no transition, no drifting off—just the immediate, dark pull of sleep.
Right into a dream.