The transition was like being plunged into ice water. One moment, Elian was standing before the majestic, terrifying White Tree in a sea of obsidian silence; the next, the sensory overload of the slave barracks hit him like a physical blow.
"He's awake! Look, his eyes are moving!"
Elian's vision was a blur of grey stone and flickering torchlight. As his focus sharpened, he saw three faces hovering over him. Talin's weathered features were etched with deep lines of exhaustion; Baraq's wolf-ears were flattened against his head in distress; and even Kaelen, usually a statue of indifference, was leaning forward with a strange intensity in his gaze.
The Sea... the Tree... where did it go? Elian's internal thoughts were a chaotic whirlpool. He remembered the primordial pressure of the Voice. Kaito. It had called him by his true name. It had given him a "task."
He tried to push himself up, but a silent scream caught in his throat. His skin looked healed—the bruises from the guard's beating had vanished into pale, unmarred flesh—but internally, he felt like his veins had been filled with molten lead. Every fiber of his nervous system ached with a dull, pulsing heat. It felt like a "rebirth". The Mid-Grade Aether had reconstructed him, but the mortal frame was struggling to hold the new "Logic."
"Careful, lad," Talin whispered, his hand steadying Elian's shoulder. "You've been dead to the world for two days. We thought... well, it doesn't matter now."
Elian didn't have time to process the "task" or the aching of his soul. The heavy iron door of the barracks groaned open, and the rhythmic thud-thud of steel-toed boots echoed against the walls.
"Up! All of you, up!"
It was the butcher-build guard. He stepped into the room, his devious smile wider than ever. He looked at Elian, his eyes lingering on the boy's healed face with a flicker of suspicion, but his greed had found a new outlet.
"You lot are lucky," the guard chuckled, a sound like grinding gravel. "The Knight Commander himself has come to see the 'talented' sappers I've been telling him about."
Behind the guard, a man in gleaming, silver-plate armor stepped into the dim light. The Knight Commander didn't look like a man; he looked like a statue of law and cold iron. His presence alone seemed to suck the warmth out of the room. He didn't look at the slaves as people; he looked at them as equipment.
The guard gestured toward the Crows. "This is the unit, Commander. High efficiency. The group make up a good all-round unit. They contain a good variety from Dwarf , Sensory- type Beastkin , Human to even a Umbra-boy. They'll be perfect for the scouting detail in the Vanguard Unit."
Talin's face didn't just turn grim; it turned ghostly pale. His hands, usually steady, began to tremble.
The Knight Commander gave a curt, stiff nod. "Very well. If they are as 'resourceful' as you claim, they will serve Oakhaven well in the breach zones. Transfer their duties to the West Gate at dawn."
Without a single word to the children, the Commander turned and left. The butcher-build guard followed him, pausing only to spit on the floor and throw a final, mocking look at Elian. "Try not to die in the first hour, runt. It'll ruin my commission."
The door slammed shut, and the silence that followed was heavier than the stone above them.
"Scouting... in the Vanguard?" Talin's voice was ragged with fury. He kicked a discarded bucket, the metal clanging uselessly. "That's not a job. That's a death sentence. They send the 'Outcasts' ahead of the army to draw out the Tier 2s. We're being used as live bait!"
Talin paced the small room, his anger boiling over. "No rations. No extra water since two days and they want us to mine the Aether veins but now....now a 'promotion' to the front lines where the meat gets ground up.
He stopped, his breath coming in jagged hitches. He looked at Elian, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity but more of rage. But before he could speak again, the world tilted.
A sound tore through the air—a screech that bypassed the ears and vibrated directly in the bone. It was the sound of tearing parchment.
CRACK.
The ceiling of the barracks didn't just drip; it shattered. A massive, obsidian-clad talon ripped through the timber and stone. Dust blinded them, and the screams from the neighboring pens began.
Elian looked up through the settling debris. The Cliff-Shredder had breached the slave pens.
But as Elian looked at the beast, the aching in his chest suddenly went cold. His vision began to "glitch" into shades of bruised purple.