... The doors hissed open, and a breath of cool, perfumed air brushed Soren's face.
The interior of the "train" did not look like the trains Soren had read about in those worn-out magazines Machos hustled for him whenever he went out of town.
Instead, it looked like a luxury aircraft carved from glass and silver.
Soft white lights ran in smooth lines along the ceiling, curving like veins, reminding him of stars in the night.
The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting the cadets as they stepped inside.
If they still wore their rag clothes, the contrast with the environment would have been painful to watch.
Rows of wide seats stretched down the cabin, arranged in pairs. Each chair was a deep navy blue, stitched with golden thread in the pattern of the academy.
But the really cool part was when the cadets touched them—the seats adjusted automatically, reshaping themselves to fit each person's posture.
Above them, luggage compartments slid open with a gentle whrrr.
One by one, cadets lifted their bags—those that had them anyway—and placed them inside. The compartments sealed softly, vapor misting around their edges as if the train itself were swallowing their belongings.
Soren was a crazy fan of mechanics. For a moment, the death of his father had left his mind, and his nose steamed with desire to know the inner workings of such a marvel.
Thin holographic screens shimmered on the walls beside each seat, displaying maps of the Empire and the glowing route toward the Imperial Soulforge Academy.
Soft orchestral music played somewhere above, calm and proud, like a hymn sung before battle.
Soren ran his fingers across the seat fabric. It was softer than anything he had touched in years.
It was like resting his hand on warm, living velvet. For a moment, it made him forget his bruises, the exhaustion, and the pain in his ribs.
The cadets around him whispered with awe. Even Vass had hesitated, and his arrogance cracked just long enough for the luxury to impress him.
Down the aisle, Instructor Marcus walked with his hands behind his back, boots echoing sharply against the reflective floor.
"Settle in," he announced. And the cadets obeyed immediately.
Discipline amongst cadets was enforced with the whip.
No one wanted to face it.
This much had sunk into their heads.
Soren and Tommy sat next to each other.
"It's a two-day trip. They shall be certain stops to pick up more cargo. Regardless, I assure you this. We leave immediately. By nightfall, you will see the horizon of the capital's walls. By dawn of the second day, you will stand before the gates of the Academy."
His voice carried like a general's command in a war room.
"But before that, remember that for a certain reason," his eyes fell on Soren, definitely blaming him. "You have lost about a week of your curriculum time. Unfortunately..." he continued his pacing down the aisle, "...that would not be a viable excuse. Therefore, training continues."
Training on the train?
Soren thought to himself. But when he looked around, he noticed the other students were not bothered. As if everyone expected this except him.
"The Imperial Soulforge Academy of the Almace Empire is not going to be a fun place. Many of you will fail, some will die, and others will suffer." As he spoke, he walked back and forth in the aisle that separated the row of seats.
By now, the train had given a low hum and begun movement, but if one did not look outside the oval window, they would have never noticed. The train remained like it did at rest.
Another marvel of the Empire's engineering.
"If you look underneath your seats, you will find a little compartment labelled in red."
Immediately, all the cadets checked. The compartment was far smaller than the large one above their heads for luggage.
Within it was a black box, carrying the sigil of two blades crossed together on its lid.
Soren opened it. There, encased in a soft red pelt, was a dagger. The blade was 6 inches long and two inches thick.
It was small, but the crafting was exquisite.
It was not one Soren had seen before. But he clearly knew the material used to make it.
Soulsteel.
Apparently, this material would become inseparable from their lives as Soulbound warriors.
And he was right.
Many admired its slick craftsmanship. It looked like neither water nor oil could stain its double edges.
Marcus's voice drew their attention from the blade.
"Soulbound warriors are blessed with the ability to bond with their Shades and take upon them their properties. This is called the soul transference. And just as you take from your Shade, it also takes from you."
Soren listened carefully. He had gone through a lot of problems with his Shade in those eight hundred and forty days. This guidance was very much appreciated.
As much as one takes from the Shade, the Shade also takes from you.
As much as one gives, so does the Shade.
Meaning that you eventually share likes, dislikes, wants, and desires. But at the same time, you also share comprehension.
And this was another layer of growth that separated one who was lower in rank from one who was higher.
'Giving' and 'Taking' were two sides of the same coin.
Soren had already experienced a part of this. He had taken upon himself the Hunger of Chronovore, and it had given back the abilities of the Shades it had devoured.
But this lesson was unlike what Soren expected.
While the goal of the lesson was simple in theory, its actualization was not.
After all, this involved taking from the Shade without giving.
The idea was to take the soul energy of the shade and transfer its properties unto an object.
In this case, the dagger in his hand.
But the trick was not in the taking. But in taking without giving, even when it was expected.
To put it simply, the goal of the lesson was to learn how to extort from one's Shade.
No. It was to steal from the Shade.
Instructor Macus looked the cadets in the eyes as he continued.
"This technique is called. The First Form."