Rowan woke to silence.
The ceiling above him creaked softly with the wind, and a thin crack ran across it like a lazy scar. Dust motes drifted through a shaft of morning light slipping between warped window slats. The air inside was cold, dry, and still. Helena's bunk—usually scattered with half-folded laundry and weapons left out for cleaning—sat empty, the blanket tucked tight. Her boots were gone. Her voice too.
He sat up slowly, the springs in his mattress groaning beneath him. The floor was rough and splintered in places, and he avoided the spot near the corner that always dipped too far inward. The tiny home had served them since they got shipped here three years ago, patched together from scavenged parts and donated materials. Most of the other houses in the village were the same—weather-worn, uneven, barely holding together under the strain of time and wind.
Rowan shuffled into the kitchen, passed the water pump that sputtered more than it poured, and pulled open the pantry. Mostly stale ration packs and dry mixes. He grabbed a half-used bag of pre-mixed batter and fired up the stove, coaxing the flame with a few taps. The waffle iron hissed and spit as he poured the mix in, overfilling it slightly. They came out a little burnt, but he didn't care.
He sat at the small wooden table, one leg shorter than the rest, forcing him to adjust his plate every few minutes. Across from him, Helena's usual seat felt too empty. Her mug still sat on the counter, unwashed from yesterday.
He ate in silence.
Outside, the village was starting to wake as well.
Merchants hoisted tattered tarps over carts creaking under the weight of mismatched goods—salted meat, brittle bread, scraps of cloth. Parents guided children along the cracked dirt streets, their voices a mixture of caution and routine. Nearby, a group of kids ran excitedly, chasing a patchwork kite that danced clumsily in the weak morning breeze, its torn plastic tail fluttering wildly.
Dogs barked in the distance, and the faint clang of hammers rang from the repair shop where the blacksmith hammered out tools with practiced rhythm. Smoke curled from chimney stacks, mingling with the cool dawn air.
Rowan walked through it all, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust. The village was worn but alive—holding on.
He paused before the central square's battered bulletin board—a tall slab of bent metal hammered into the ground and plastered with parchment. Fresh postings fluttered in the wind:
Class-1 Beast spotted west of Timbergrove. Strike Team en route. Evacuation underway.
Escort request: Etherium shipment through Rift Pass—Grade 3 or higher only.
Missing: Squad of two Grade 4 operatives, last seen near Hollowdrop Ridge.
Request for volunteers: Scouting ruins near Old Ferrum. Hazard rating: Medium.
Rowan read them twice. Most weren't relevant to their village, but they painted a picture—a wide world still groaning under the weight of what is comeing through the rifts. Even when it didn't reach them directly, it always felt close.
"Trying to make both of us late now?" a voice called.
Rowan turned to see Niko leaning against a lamp post, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"You were waiting for me?"
"I knew you'd drag your feet without your sister around," Niko said, falling into step beside him. "Figured I'd better make sure you didn't end up staring at a wall all day. And looks like I was right to assume that."
Rowan blinked, then cracked a grin. "Didn't know you cared."
"I don't," Niko said, nudging him with an elbow. "I just want someone to copy off during formations."
Rowan sighed and slumped his shoulders. "That seem a little more like you."
They walked side by side toward the schoolhouse. As they passed the guard stationed at the school entrance—a tall man with neat facial hair and a sharp jawline, wearing a Grade 2 armband—Rowan gave a quick nod. The guard nodded back, his grip steady on the spear at his side.
—
As Rowan and Niko stepped into their room nestled on the upper floor, they were greeted not by desks and lectures, but the sounds of boots scuffing against the old floorboards and students filing out the rear exit. The chatter was lively—nervous energy mixed with the rush of something new.
Niko and Rowan both glanced on the writing on the chalkboard
"Real experience day?" Niko raised an eyebrow, looking around. "Guess we're lucky we didn't sleep in."
"Wouldn't've been my fault," Rowan muttered as they moved into the flow of students.
Near the door, Tarin leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. His shaggy grey hair fell just over one eye, his usual sleepy expression glued to his face.
"Took you long enough," he said without looking up. "Figured Niko was dragging his feet again."
"It's the other way around," Niko said, rolling his eyes. "He was busy making out with the bulletin board."
A snort came from behind them. Elira stepped in, adjusting her gloves as her dim silver hair glinted under the classroom's hanging lights. "Maybe if you'd paid more attention during last week's lecture, you wouldn't be the last one in class wondering why we're getting 'real experience' today."
"I wasn't last," Niko defended. "Mira's still—"
"I'm here! I'm here!" Mira's voice piped up as she slipped through the door behind them, out of breath and adjusting the straps of her Etherium pack. She barely reached Rowan's shoulder but moved with the kind of frantic energy only someone her size could carry.
"Alright, cut the chatter," came a familiar deep voice.
Professor Renwick stood at the front of the room—already halfway out the door with a worn satchel slung over one shoulder. His long coat swept the ground, and his sharp eyes scanned the group with brisk efficiency.
"You'll do your socializing later. Outskirts. Formation lines. Let's go."
"Real titans?" one student asked, voice tight with curiosity.
"No," Renwick said. "But close enough to make you sweat."
They followed him out into the morning light, the air crisper now as the sun crept higher. The students walked in loose groups, a little quieter now, anticipation thick in the air. Out past the back courtyard, behind the fences, beyond the training dummies and rusted obstacle courses, lay the field used for more advanced drills—a wide patch of rocky, uneven earth that sloped toward a wooded area in the distance.
And there, standing in the center of the clearing, was a shape.
Tall. Broad. Titan-like.
Its flesh was stone-like and pulsing faintly with Etherium. The air around it shimmered just slightly, an illusion of heat or power or both. It was smaller than the true monsters Rowan had seen in archived footage—but still huge, easily twice the height of a man, with exaggerated limbs and a hulking frame. Its eyes glowed faintly with pale, controlled Etherium.
"Whoa," Niko muttered.
Renwick strode ahead, raising a hand. "This," he said, voice projecting over the murmurs, "is one of my constructs. It's not a true titan—but it's based on the behavior of low-grade ravaged types. It moves, reacts, and fights according to what I've programmed through my resonance. It can't kill you. But it will knock your head clean off if you get stupid."
He gestured toward the line of weapons on a nearby rack—blunt training swords, spears with rubber tips, and reinforced shields. "Pairs. You'll rotate in and out. And don't overuse your resonance to show off or something, the more you use it, the quicker you run out of etherium, you put your team in jeopardy"
Niko was already grinning, practically bouncing in place.
"I call first," he said.
"You'd get flattened," Tarin replied, deadpan.
Elira brushed past them both, pointing at Niko "He can go first. It'll be a good demonstration of what not to do."
Renwick sighed then started to walk into the crowd of students, as he walked past Niko and Tarin, he shouted, "Group 1!" Niko grinned, bumping fists with Tarin.
He moved through the line of students, raising his voice over the murmurs. "Group 2!" he called to a pair near the back. "Group 3!" to another.
Nearby, Mira and Elira exchanged a quick glance. Renwick called out, "Group 5, Mira and Elira."
When he renwick reached Rowan and another girl next to him, he shouted "group 7!" Rowan's gaze drifted to the girl standing beside him as Renwick continued to callout numbers. She was quiet, but there was something steady about her—dark brown hair pulled back tightly into a braid that swung slightly with her movements, sharp eyes that scanned the area with focused intensity, and a stance that spoke of readiness, as if she was already calculating every possible outcome. Slightly taller than Mira but still a bit shorter than Rowan, she carried herself with a calm confidence that set her apart from the restless chatter around them.
Renwick finished assigning numbers, then turned back to face the class.
"Group 1, be ready in five. Everyone else—talk to your partner. Figure out their resonance and how they fight. You'll need each other out there."