The air reeked of smoke and charred wood. Stacy pressed her back against the trunk of a splintered oak, her chest heaving, Bramble Belle gripped tightly in her hands. The launcher’s vine-carved casing was warm, thrumming with the aftershock of its last volley. The flower-shaped barrel still smoked faintly, curling wisps dancing in the forest air. She let out a strained whine, half frustration, half exhaustion.

  A thunderous crack split the clearing a moment later. Explosions tore across the canopy behind her, rattling leaves loose from their branches. The shockwave forced her hair into her face. Stacy grit her teeth and clutched Belle tighter.

  “Still hiding?” Akane’s voice rang out sharp and mocking, carried on the wind. From her perch across the treeline, she stood balanced on a craggy branch as if it were solid ground. Her bow shimmered with golden circuitry, sleek and otherworldly, already nocked with another arrow. A metallic flare pulsed at the tip before she released. The arrow streaked like a comet, slamming into the earth with a whump, scattering soil and sparks.

  “Face me directly, or I’ll bury you all under these trees!”

  Caleb raised Piece Maker in shield form, bracing against the incoming concussive blasts. Dirt and shrapnel rained down his forearms as the shield shimmered with kinetic feedback. “She’s relentless,” he muttered, the edge of his voice swallowed by the forest’s booming chaos.

  “Tell me about it,” Carter grunted, opening a shimmering oval in the air. One arrow shot clean through where Stacy had been crouching seconds ago, only to vanish into the portal’s ripple. Carter twisted his wrist, opening a twin oval ten feet above Akane. The arrow fell through but the fox-eared instructor was already gone, her tail whipping as she darted away in a blur.

  “She’s toying with us,” Iris said coolly. Her violet-toned umbrella was propped open, the faint gleam of a scope overlay projected against one eye. She pulled the trigger hidden along its stem. A sharp *ping* echoed through the forest, a bullet streaking toward Akane’s silhouette. Yet the instructor twisted midair, tail flicking, letting the shot whistle past her cheek.

  “Cute,” Akane teased, landing lightly atop another branch. She drew three arrows at once, all of them glowing, before launching them in an arcing rain.

  “Scatter!” Daisy yelled, dragging Stacy back as the ground erupted around them in three sharp detonations. Splinters ripped through her sleeve, but Daisy kept running, weaving vines from her bandolier into makeshift shields.

  Stacy steadied Belle again, teeth clenched. She fired. The grenade launcher bloomed like a flower, hurling a burst of shells into the canopy. The rounds detonated midair, a flurry of green and gold sparks. Akane bent backward, flipping as the barrage streaked past, but one shell clipped her branch, blowing it apart. She landed in a crouch, eyes glinting, grin wide.

  “Better.”

  The fight pressed on like a storm overhead, each of them burning energy just to stay afloat against Akane’s graceful, merciless rain.

  ---

  Meanwhile, not too far away, Zane sat cross-legged on a flat boulder, his arms crossed, watching Lysander kneel on the ground. A jagged stone slab rose slowly beneath Lys’s hands, trembling as if it wanted to crumble. Sweat dripped from his temple as the molecules knitted reluctantly into form.

  “There,” Lys panted, lifting his palm. The block held. Solid, square, compact. He brushed his bangs back with a huff of pride.

  Zane tilted his head, unimpressed. “That’s it? A rock?”

  “It’s not just a rock!” Lys snapped, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you know how hard it is to manipulate matter that isn’t bonded together? These molecules—” he gestured furiously at the ground— “are stubborn. They don’t want to move the way you want them to. It’s precision, control. Something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

  Zane smirked. “Yeah, yeah. I thought you were about to show me something cool. Like a giant golem or…I don’t know, a cannon made out of earth.”

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  Lys bristled, his violet eyes narrowing. “You think this is easy? Why don’t you try controlling matter at the molecular level, huh? See how fast you fail.” He jabbed a finger toward Zane’s chest. “You wouldn’t last a second.”

  “Oh, I’d last,” Zane shot back, rising to his feet. “Maybe I’d even do it better.”

  “You want to test that?” Lysander’s voice sharpened, his hands curling into fists.

  The tension hung like a stretched cord, both boys leaning forward, heat practically radiating off them until Raphael’s voice thundered across the camp, amplified and commanding.

  “Everyone, return to camp. Now.”

  Both froze mid-bicker, exchanging a reluctant glance.

  “…Saved by the bell,” Zane muttered, dusting his pants.

  “Don’t think this is over,” Lys warned, adjusting his glasses with an indignant flick.

  Together, they trudged back, the forest echoing faintly with the last rumbles of Akane’s bombardment.

  ---

  The squads gathered in the wide training yard, sweat-slick and weary, but curious. The instructors stood aligned near the central platform. Raphael stepped forward, his cloak of authority undeniable, his voice heavy as steel.

  “There are six days left,” he announced. “Six days until we march on the Syndicate base.” His eyes swept across them, piercing. “Before that, a meeting will take place. One that requires all four factions of the WEO. When this camp concludes, you won’t be going home. You’ll be heading directly to Avionis, the capital of Sierra Nexus.”

  The name alone sparked a ripple through the crowd. Avionis. The fabled sky city.

  “Wait—Avionis? The sky capital?” Oliver muttered, his eyes wide.

  “No way,” Caleb breathed, lowering Piece Maker from his shoulder. “That’s…real?”

  “I’ve only seen it in the archives,” Iris said softly, awe flickering in her voice.

  Excitement buzzed among them like static. Zane whistled low, unable to hide his grin. Even Lysander’s annoyed scowl slipped, replaced by a spark of wonder.

  Raphael raised a hand, silencing the murmur. His expression darkened. “Don’t think of it as a reward. You’ll be there as soldiers, not sightseers.” His tone shifted, slower. “And…we have a guest.”

  The crowd parted as a figure stepped forward, her presence commanding before she even spoke.

  Long, wavy black hair, fading into electric violet, framed her sharp amber eyes. Her asymmetrical combat jacket shifted with her steps, plum fabric catching light. Boots crunched against gravel. She carried herself like a blade unsheathed.

  “Violet Willow,” Raphael said, his voice weighted. “Of the Monster Generation.”

  A hush fell. The name landed heavy, some of the younger recruits stiffening in recognition.

  Violet’s eyes scanned the group with a glint of disinterest, until they landed sharply on two figures. She raised her hand, finger pointed.

  “I’m here for one thing.” Her voice carried easily, sharp and cool. “A spar. With those two.”

  Her finger aimed squarely at Zane. Then at Elisa.

  Both froze.

  “…Me?” Elisa asked, voice small, hand half-lifted to her chest.

  “Wait—seriously?” Zane barked, eyes wide. “Why me?”

  “Because,” Violet said simply, lowering her hand. “I want to see if the next generation is worth a damn.”

  ---

  Minutes later, the group had shifted to an empty field at the camp’s edge. The grass rustled in a soft breeze, the ground flattened and bare. Everyone else stood at the perimeter, watching, murmuring, anticipation buzzing in the air.

  Violet stepped onto the field, the sun catching the violet fade of her hair. She unwound something from her back—a long metallic rope, gleaming faintly. She coiled it around her palm with ease, the metal glinting like a serpent.

  “To make this fair,” Violet said evenly, her eyes never leaving Zane and Elisa, “a few conditions.” She lifted a finger. “First, I will only defend for the first two minutes. Second, I won’t use my grace until those two minutes pass. And third…” She tilted her head slightly, smirking. “You’re allowed to use your graces however you want. No restrictions.”

  Zane scoffed. “So you’re holding back. Great.”

  “Zane,” Elisa hissed, tugging his sleeve. “Don’t. If she didn’t hold back, we’d already be face-down in the dirt.”

  Violet chuckled lowly, a sound that wasn’t unkind but hardly soft. “Smart girl. You’ve been watching the archive fights, haven’t you?”

  Elisa stiffened, surprised she’d noticed. Violet’s amber eyes glinted with faint approval.

  She stepped back, widening the gap between them until a clear two meters stretched across the field. Her rope uncoiled with a hiss, the metallic threads rippling through the air as she gave it a few lazy swings.

  “Elijah’s weapon, Serpent Shaft,” she said idly, almost like trivia. “A prototype of this one.” She flicked the rope, making it crack like a whip. “He never quite tamed it. Shame, really.”

  The coil slithered around her arm, catching sunlight. She tilted her head, lips curling into something between a grin and a taunt.

  “Let’s see if either of you can do better.”

  The crowd leaned in as the wind picked up. The spar was about to begin.

  Violet Redesign model

  Elisa design