Chapter Twelve - Becoming

  The first morning aboard the Valiant Reach began not with combat drills or emergency alarms, but with quiet responsibility.

  A soft chime echoed through the barracks as the sun crested the edge of the sky, filtered through the small round windows lining the walls. The subtle vibration of the engines was a steady rhythm beneath their feet, ever-present and oddly calming.

  Vecht sat up first. His hair was tousled from sleep, and the faint glow of dawn glimmered through the crystal-glass port by his bunk. Across the room, Lucan groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.

  “Up,” Vecht said as he reached for his boots. “They’re starting rounds in fifteen minutes.”

  “Too early to be responsible,” Lucan mumbled.

  Alura was already on her feet, methodically folding the blanket at the edge of her bunk. “It’s not about being responsible. It’s about not getting chewed out before breakfast.”

  Lysa moved quietly, brushing her curls back with one hand as she tucked her journal away. Jorin, stretching and yawning like a waking bear, sat up with a grin. “Anyone want to make bets on who gets stuck cleaning the privies?”

  “Don’t tempt fate,” Alura warned.

  By the time they stepped out of their shared quarters, the corridors were alive with motion. Crew members moved with practiced ease, checking gauges, adjusting tether anchors, and running maintenance along the outer walkways. Students and new recruits were guided by posted instructions: assist with deck cleaning, bunk inspections, and emergency latch drills.

  Their unit was assigned to general ship duties for the morning—nothing dangerous, just the kind of discipline the Seraphel Preservation Initiative valued.

  Vecht and Alura checked and re-secured emergency gear along the hallway railings, ensuring that hooks and rope coils were properly stowed. Lucan and Jorin were tasked with sweeping the upper deck—though Jorin seemed to do most of the work while Lucan grumbled about the angle of the sunrise.

  Lysa assisted one of the safety officers with a checklist on the primary midship ladder, double-checking seal latches and crystal stabilizers. Her notes were detailed and neat, and the officer seemed genuinely impressed.

  “Efficient group,” the officer remarked as he passed by Vecht.

  “We try,” Vecht said, wiping sweat from his brow.

  By mid-morning, the first chime sounded from the central deck, followed by a louder call echoing across the intercom crystal:

  “Ember Team 3, report to the rear sparring deck. Coordination drills begin in fifteen minutes.”

  Lucan tilted his head, sweat still on his brow from hauling a barrel to the loading hold. “Coordination drills? Already?”

  Alura slung her towel over her shoulder. “You thought we were just going to clean today?”

  “I was hoping,” he muttered.

  When they arrived at the sparring deck, they found a circular training ring outlined by padded flooring and reinforced railings. A weapons rack stood nearby, stocked with wooden and blunted replicas of standard field arms—blades, staves, spears, and daggers.

  Tomas was already there, arms crossed, watching as another unit finished their last drill. He gave Ember Team 3 a nod as they approached.

  “Morning,” he said. “Today’s focus is coordination. No fancy footwork, no solo heroics—just team structure. Phrases, positioning, execution. You’re six now, not three.”

  Lucan raised an eyebrow. “So, what? We yell ‘flank left’ and hope everyone listens?”

  Tomas gave him a flat look. “If you’re still asking that after the first hour, I’ll have you running laps around the top deck.”

  Lucan shut up.

  Tomas gestured toward the center ring. “Pick your weapons. Keep it simple. You’ll rotate between defensive and offensive formations. Think, act, move—together.”

  He stepped forward, rolling a small length of parchment between his fingers.

  “We’ll start with basic movement and role confirmation. Everyone to your standard position. Vecht, front-left. Lucan, front-right. Jorin, center-front. Alura, midline—support left or right as needed. Lysa, fallback position, support and crystal reading. I’ll observe for now.”

  The group moved into formation swiftly, the quiet stomp of boots on wood echoing in tandem. Jorin’s massive shield glinted in the light, its polished surface already bearing a few shallow scrapes from older engagements. Vecht adjusted the grip on his longsword, his stance disciplined, shoulders square. Lucan twirled his daggers once before settling in—agile, weight forward, eyes constantly scanning. Alura slid into her spot behind the frontline, bow slung and blade ready, already reading their spacing. Lysa stood at the rear, her satchel secured at her hip.

  “Good,” Tomas said. “Now move.”

  They began slowly—standard advance and retreat formations. Jorin shifted forward with practiced steadiness, shield leading. Vecht and Lucan flanked either side, offensive arcs tight and clean. Alura moved like water behind them, shifting fluidly as needed to cover gaps. Lysa kept distance but tracked them all with precise eyes.

  “Solid pacing,” Tomas called. “Try a split pivot. Vecht, call it.”

  Vecht gave a sharp nod. “Jorin—center push. Lucan, rotate left. Alura with me.”

  The team snapped into motion. Jorin barreled forward, shield up. Lucan spun off left, drawing an invisible enemy wide. Vecht moved diagonally with Alura shadowing his steps, the two slicing in toward the flanks. Lysa repositioned smoothly behind them, shifting her attention with methodical precision.

  “Good control,” Tomas said, voice louder over the motion. “Now reverse. Lucan, lead the next phase.”

  Lucan’s eyes flicked across the others. “Feint collapse, backstep left—Vecht, cover Alura’s right!”

  It wasn’t perfect—Vecht’s pivot lagged a half-second, and Alura nearly clipped Lucan’s shoulder—but they corrected swiftly. Tomas said nothing, just nodded once, and scribbled something on the parchment in his hand.

  They ran through the patterns again, switching leads, testing callouts, spacing, response times.

  When they paused to catch their breath, Tomas stepped forward.

  “Not bad,” he said. “A little tight on the midline collapse, and Lucan, your left-hand pivot’s too shallow. Someone will sweep that leg if you don’t widen your stance.”

  Lucan huffed. “Guess we’re not perfect yet.”

  “We don’t need perfect,” Tomas assured. “We need precise under pressure.”

  He let that settle before his tone shifted. “Now we test leadership rotation. It doesn’t matter how strong your lead is if one of you drops and the rest freeze.”

  His eyes landed on Lysa.

  “You’re next.”

  Lysa blinked, startled. “Me?”

  “You’re part of the unit,” Tomas said firmly. “And one day, you might be the only one standing. Get used to calling commands.”

  Vecht glanced toward her and offered a small nod of encouragement. Alura shifted closer, a quiet show of support. Lysa exhaled and stepped forward, her voice quiet but steady.

  “Same positions,” she said. “Standard formation, but Jorin stagger left. I want more line-of-sight between Lucan and Vecht for coverage.”

  The others moved without complaint.

  She hesitated for a breath, then raised her voice—not loud, but sharper. “Advance two. Watch for left field interference.”

  They moved again—this time slower, more controlled. Lysa kept behind them, her gaze calculating, her voice growing more confident with each order.

  Tomas gave no praise, but he didn’t interrupt. And that, from him, was almost as good.

  When the drill ended and they returned to rest positions, Tomas finally spoke. “Good start. Everyone return to quarters, clean up. We meet on the lower deck after midday for live engagement exercises.”

  Lysa exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening.

  “You did well,” Alura said, patting her shoulder.

  Lysa gave a small, grateful smile.

  Lucan clapped Jorin on the back. “Alright, you get to tank. Next time, I’m calling dibs on boss killer.”

  “You mean until your legs give out from over-dodging?” Jorin teased.

  “Please. I was born to dodge. You were born to soak punches.”

  “Not wrong,” Jorin said with a grin.

  By the time the morning drills wrapped up, the sun had risen high enough to spill golden light across the deck beams, casting long, slanted shadows through the corridor slats. The final whistle blew, and Tomas called out over the training yard.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “That’s it for the morning rotation. You’ve got several hours before the afternoon session. Clean up, get something to eat, and be back in position by midday. Don’t be late.”

  Lucan let out a long breath, flopping down onto a bench just outside the training hall as the others gathered near the washbasins. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m fairly certain my legs just declared mutiny.”

  “You mean the same legs that nearly tripped you over Jorin’s shield?” Alura teased as she toweled sweat from her brow.

  “Hey, I tripped gracefully,” Lucan shot back. “That’s the difference between a fall and an exit strategy.”

  They all chuckled, even Vecht, who looked far more relaxed now that the pressure of the drills had eased. He glanced at Lysa, who had kept mostly to herself during the exercise, sticking to the back and focusing more on observation than action.

  Lucan seemed to notice too. As they walked toward the corridor leading back to their bunks, he tilted his head her way.

  “Hey, Lysa,” he said. “I noticed something during drills. You didn’t really… y’know, draw a weapon. What exactly do you use out there?”

  She hesitated for a moment, then reached down to the side of her belt. From a snug leather holster, she withdrew a small, compact launcher no larger than her forearm. Its surface was smooth but marked with elegant crystal inlays, a softly glowing core pulsing within the base of the frame.

  “This is the Arclet Mk.1,” she explained. “It’s a resonance-based support tool. I load it with different orbs—each one shaped from refined resonance crystals, designed for specific tasks.”

  Vecht leaned in slightly, intrigued. “Tasks like what?”

  “One orb emits a healing pulse—it cleanses wounds and cauterizes bleeding. Another sends out a soundwave burst strong enough to disrupt crystal fields or disorient enemies. I also have one for scanning—locating traps, unstable resonance pockets, or energy shifts in the terrain. There’s a fourth orb that channels a concentrated burst of raw resonance energy—made from typical crystals—but it’s usually not strong enough to affect monsters. More often than not, it just makes them angrier.”

  Lucan blinked. “Wait, so all those things fit in that little device?”

  Lysa gave a faint smile. “Not all at once. I can only load one at a time. I have to switch out the orb manually between each use.”

  “Does it hurt?” Lucan asked, raising an eyebrow. “Getting shot with one of those green ones, I mean?”

  “A little,” Lysa admitted. “The healing orb burns the wound shut after cleansing it. Better than bleeding out… but not pleasant.”

  Lucan whistled low. “Still, if I’m ever bleeding out, I’ll definitely be happy to get hit by one of those green ones you’ve got.”

  Alura raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it that lets it do all that?”

  Lysa tapped the green crystal she kept in a padded case on her belt. “This one’s made from a highly refined strain of the same crystal used in Glint.”

  That got their attention.

  Vecht narrowed his eyes. “The same base crystal?”

  “Yes,” Lysa said. “But without the unregulated processing or corruption. Glint amplifies the resonance energy in a way that overwhelms the nervous system. The version I use is distilled through controlled alchemical and crystal-forging methods. It’s stable, safe, and tightly monitored by the Initiative.”

  Lucan gave a half-smile. “So Glint turns people into twitchy addicts, and yours saves lives.”

  Lysa nodded. “More or less.”

  Vecht looked down at the Arclet Mk.1 again. “That’s incredibly efficient. A support tool like that could save lives in the field.”

  Jorin—who’d been leaning against a bulkhead and lazily undoing the strap on his gauntlet—grinned. “Told you she was sharp. Saw her use it once to fix a gut wound mid-skirmish. The guy was up again before we even repositioned.”

  Lucan blinked. “And he lived?”

  “He screamed first,” Jorin said helpfully. “Then lived.”

  Lysa tucked the Arclet away again, her expression growing a little shy under the attention. “It’s not flashy. But it’s reliable. I’m not a frontline fighter—I know that. But I won’t let any of you go down if I can help it.”

  “You’re a lot more than support,” Alura said quietly. “You’re essential.”

  The group lingered in the corridor a bit longer before parting ways—some heading to wash up, others bound for the mess to eat.

  After washing up and eating, the group took the remainder of the break at a slow pace. A few crew members passed through the hallway with fresh supplies, and the scent of roasted herbs still clung faintly to the air from the mess. Vecht leaned against the wall outside the barracks, flipping through one of his journals while Lucan sprawled on a bench nearby, head tilted back and eyes half-closed.

  Alura sat a few paces away, stretching one leg at a time in quiet focus. Lysa, as usual, had retreated into her notebook, her pen moving in delicate, deliberate strokes. Even during downtime, she seemed driven by purpose.

  Jorin eventually wandered back toward them, a pastry in hand and a smug grin on his face.

  “Alright,” he said, flopping down beside Lucan, “I’m officially declaring this the calm before the storm.”

  Lucan cracked an eye open. “You mean the live engagement drills?”

  Jorin nodded, mouth full. “Yup. Tomas said we’ll be doing controlled combat trials with real simulated threats. Crystal beasts, shifting terrain, resonance feedback—he said it’s the closest thing to field pressure we’ll get before Lunehaven.”

  Vecht closed his journal with a soft snap. “Good. I’d rather make mistakes here than when things actually count.”

  “Same,” Alura said. “We’ve seen how quickly things can go wrong in the field.”

  Lucan sat up slowly. “Think they’ll throw us straight into formation? Or do we get a little warmup?”

  “I heard they let units observe a round or two before jumping in,” Jorin said, licking sugar from his thumb.

  Vecht’s gaze drifted toward the upper corridor where the sparring decks sat just beneath the ship’s secondary command node. The faint hum of resonance pulses had been consistent all morning—but now, it was stronger. A rhythmic tremor through the hull. Something was being charged.

  Just then, Tomas’s voice echoed from a crystal speaker embedded along the ceiling.

  “Ember Team 3, report to the lower sparring hold. Ten minutes.”

  Lucan groaned. “He does this on purpose.”

  Jorin stood and dusted off his coat. “Of course he does.”

  They gathered their gear once more. Lysa checked the vial slots on her Arclet Mk.1 and adjusted the holster at her side. Vecht noted her movements—not nervous, but focused, with each motion practiced and deliberate.

  As they made their way down the stairwell, Alura broke the silence.

  “We held up well this morning,” she said. “Let’s carry that forward.”

  Lucan gave a lopsided grin. “Right. No pressure. Just simulated death.”

  Jorin clapped him on the back. “Exactly. Let’s try not to scream this time.”

  The corridor opened into a lower chamber lined with thick resonance plating and observation rails overhead. It wasn’t just a sparring floor—it was a miniature arena. Arcane conduits glowed faintly from beneath the tiles, and along the far wall, several large crates bore the Seraphel Initiative seal—housing likely filled with crystal-forged dummies, projection glyphs, and obstacle nodes.

  Tomas waited near the center, already outfitted in light training armor, arms folded.

  “This,” he said as they approached, “is where we see what you’ve learned.”

  He stepped aside and gestured to a nearby control platform.

  “You’ll be up against a mixture of simulated threats—some humanoid, some beast-type. Projected through anchored illusion glyphs and weighted training dummies. You’ll feel every impact. These aren’t soft hits.”

  Lucan tilted his head. “And what happens if we fail?”

  Tomas gave a dry smile. “Then I hope you enjoy running laps around the top deck until dusk.”

  That woke everyone up.

  Vecht stepped forward. “We’re ready.”

  Tomas nodded, his eyes briefly scanning each of them.

  “We’ll see.”

  Vecht and the others stood at the edge of the lower sparring hold, a vast chamber enclosed in reinforced plating and crystal-etched glyphs that shimmered faintly against the walls. The floor was constructed of overlapping hexagonal plates, each one capable of shifting to simulate different terrain patterns. A small cluster of instructors stood off to one side, adjusting the projection glyphs embedded into the walls.

  Lucan looked around with a raised brow. “Okay… this is fancier than I expected.”

  “You’ve clearly never been below decks on a Seraphi combat vessel,” Jorin said with a grin. “This place is basically a playroom for people who like controlled chaos.”

  Alura, standing beside Vecht, surveyed the terrain settings quietly. “I don’t like that forest pattern on the corner plates. Looks like they’re simulating a thicket.”

  “Probably testing visibility and tight formations,” Vecht muttered, adjusting the strap on his longsword. “It’ll force us into tighter spacing.”

  Tomas appeared near the far wall, arms folded behind his back. “Ember Team 3—front and center.”

  They moved into position.

  “Today’s exercise,” Tomas began, “isn’t just about how well you strike or defend. We’ve seen that already. This drill is about how you adapt—how you handle real-time change, and how well you trust each other when the field isn’t fair.”

  He nodded to one of the instructors. A low hum pulsed through the room as the glyphs activated. In a blur of shifting energy, the sparring floor transformed.

  Trees rose from the outer plates, their bark formed from hardened projections and reinforced fibers. Rocks jutted out of the floor, and trenches opened where the panels retracted. A mock ruin formed in the center—half-standing stone pillars and collapsed debris crafted by resonance manipulation.

  “Simulation will run in three escalating waves,” Tomas continued. “Each wave introduces a new variable. Combat dummies will respond with programmed movement and unpredictability. Some will be marked as beasts, others as humanoid threats. Injuries can be simulated through resonance feedback—if you’re ‘hit,’ your equipment will lock briefly to simulate damage. Lysa, your Arclet will remain active. You’ll utilize orbs specific to this training ground. Monitor resonance spikes. That bay gets unstable during higher energy surges.”

  Lysa gave a quick nod, her Arclet already clipped to her wrist and ready.

  “Rules are simple,” Tomas finished. “Work as a unit. Keep each other alive. Learn your rhythm. Begin when ready.”

  The floor vibrated again as glowing marks appeared along the perimeter. A soft hiss of energy sounded from the side walls, and five projection platforms ignited—each forming the shape of a humanoid figure armored in simulated gear.

  “Positions,” Vecht said automatically, his voice clear and controlled.

  Jorin stepped forward, shield drawn. Lucan and Vecht flanked him on either side, with Alura at the midline, arrow already nocked and drawn. Lysa took her place at the rear, scanning her Arclet. Her eyes flicked over the terrain layout.

  “Minimal instability,” she called. “Everything looks stable—for now.”

  The projections charged.

  The first two enemies lunged toward Jorin, their axes swinging low. He caught both strikes against his shield with a grunt, anchoring in place while Lucan darted around to intercept the third projection closing from the flank.

  Vecht struck next, cutting low with a sweeping arc to disable the legs of a fourth attacker. Sparks flared across the dummy’s knee joints as it buckled under the resonance impact. Alura loosed a quick shot into the fifth, aiming for the shoulder plate to draw it away from Lysa.

  “Two regrouping!” Lysa called. “Right side! Fast movement—beast simulation!”

  “Split and cover!” Vecht ordered.

  Jorin and Lucan held the front line while Alura pivoted, ducking behind a fallen pillar to get a clean angle. The simulation beasts moved quickly, darting in zigzags to disorient the group.

  “I’ve got one!” Lucan shouted. He ducked low, slid beneath a swipe, and plunged a dagger into the projection’s side. The glyph matrix flared red as it collapsed.

  Jorin took a hard hit to the shoulder that caused his sword to lock. “My blade’s offline—briefly!”

  “I’ve got you!” Lysa called.

  She quickly swapped out an orb and raised her Arclet. A soft green pulse surged across the field, catching Jorin in a burst of light. His shield shimmered, stabilizing the feedback loop, and a soft click sounded as his sword unlocked.

  “Thanks!” he called.

  “Wave two incoming!” Tomas shouted from the edge of the field.

  The floor shifted again. Terrain retracted and reshaped—tighter quarters, more debris, and dimmer lighting. A high-pitched hum signaled unstable resonance fields activating.

  “Instability in the far left quadrant!” Lysa warned. “Avoid the fractured tiles—too much energy build-up.”

  More dummies materialized—this time using projectile weapons. A simulated mage flared to life near the ruin, launching a cone of illusory fire toward their position.

  “Push the right flank!” Vecht called. “Lysa, scan and support!”

  Lucan and Alura dashed forward while Vecht and Jorin drew the fire. Lysa took a position behind a stone outcropping, switching to a blue orb and launching a focused pulse. It exploded in a cone of vibrating energy, disrupting two dummies mid-cast and causing their projection glyphs to overload.

  The final wave hit harder.

  Three simulants designated as ‘monsters’ charged from the rear, forcing the group into a defensive circle. One slammed into Jorin’s shield with enough force to push him backward, while another leapt high toward Lysa’s position.

  Alura pivoted fast, tackling the projection mid-air with her shoulder, just enough to send it skidding. Vecht followed with a clean sword strike across the chest.

  “I owe you,” Lysa breathed.

  “I’ll collect later,” Alura muttered, already tracking the next one.

  After another minute of coordinated chaos—dodges, pulses, yells, and support calls—the field dimmed, and the simulation flickered off.

  Silence returned, broken only by their labored breathing.

  Tomas stepped forward. “Better. Fast correction, tighter spacing. Still some gaps in your fallbacks and callouts, but that will come with time.”

  Lucan slumped down onto one of the padded benches, panting. “Can I officially call this the most fun training drill ever?”

  “You’re not wrong,” Jorin said, wiping sweat from his brow.

  Lysa sat beside them, quietly checking the remaining orbs she hadn’t used.

  Vecht watched them all—bruised, tired, winded—but stronger.

  They were becoming a unit.