**The Indomitable Spirit Warrior: Lucas Grey**
**Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past**
The probationary trainee dorms were on the 18th floor of Vanguard Dojo — nothing luxurious, but worlds away from Rust Garden.
Lucas's new room was small: single bed, narrow desk, wall locker, one window overlooking the training fields below. The mattress didn't sag in the middle. The lights didn't flicker. There was even hot water in the shower for more than three minutes.
He stood in the doorway for a full minute just staring.
Then he dropped his duffel bag and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, head in hands.
He had made it.
Barely.
Now the real pressure began.
Morning reveille was at 0500.
Physical conditioning until 0800.
Theory classes until noon.
Combat drills until dusk.
Then personal cultivation time — if your body could still move.
The first week tried to kill him.
Not with beasts. With routine.
Endless laps around the outer track while carrying weighted orbs that grew heavier every day.
Sparring sessions where instructors paired him against trainees two ranks above him just to "test adaptability."
Meditation chambers where he was supposed to draw Nova Essence from the environment — except his Spirit Sense kept latching onto nearby objects instead of the ambient energy, yanking dumbbells and water bottles into the air mid-session.
Master Thorne — the legendary scarred veteran who ran Vanguard's advanced combat division — watched every failure with cold gray eyes.
"You're not here because you're special, Grey," he said during their first one-on-one evaluation. "You're here because something inside you woke up. Now you have to decide whether that something is worth keeping alive."
Lucas nodded.
He didn't speak.
He just listened.
Every night after lights-out, he slipped out again.
Not to the old filtration yard — that place belonged to the old Lucas.
Now he went to the outer perimeter training grounds: a sprawling wasteland simulation zone just inside the city wall. Low-level beasts were released there nightly for controlled culling. Trainees with clearance could hunt them for cores — the glowing crystalline organs that concentrated Nova Essence and could be refined into cultivation resources.
Lucas hunted alone.
He learned fast.
A single thrown rebar could pierce a shadow cat's spine if aimed at the right angle.
A floating slab could block a charging boar long enough to crush its skull with a second strike.
He started collecting cores — small, warm, pulsing things the size of walnuts. He sold most on the black market near the eastern slums, keeping just enough to buy basic cultivation pills and nutrient paste for his family.
The money he sent home every week.
His mother cried the first time the transfer hit their account.
Mia sent him a voice message:
"Big brother, are you eating enough? Mom says you're a real warrior now. Don't forget us, okay?"
He listened to it on repeat until the battery died.
But not everything was progress.
During week three, a routine sparring session turned ugly.
Vance Korr had been assigned to the same advanced combat group — punishment detail after he was caught trying to bribe an instructor for easier pairings. He moved like liquid mercury, faster than before, clearly burning through expensive acceleration serums behind closed doors.
The instructor called for pairs.
Lucas vs. Vance.
No protective gear.
Full contact.
Spirit techniques allowed.
The bell rang.
Vance didn't waste time on words.
He blurred forward — a silver streak aimed straight at Lucas's throat.
Lucas reacted on instinct.
He seized Vance's leading foot with his mind, yanking it sideways mid-stride.
Vance stumbled — but recovered faster than should have been possible. He spun, lashing out with a spinning kick trailing afterimages.
Lucas ducked.
A chunk of training mat tore free and slammed into Vance's back like a battering ram.
Vance snarled, flipped backward, and landed in a crouch.
"You think that parlor trick makes you my equal?" he hissed.
Lucas didn't answer.
He just raised both hands.
Every loose object in a twenty-meter radius — broken training dummies, discarded weights, shards of shattered armor — rose into the air.
They began to orbit him slowly.
A storm of steel and rubber and composite.
Vance's eyes widened.
Then he charged again.
This time Lucas didn't pull.
He pushed.
A wall of debris surged forward like a tidal wave.
Vance tried to dodge — too slow.
The leading edge caught him across the chest and hurled him into the far wall.
He hit hard.
Cracked the padding.
Slid down and stayed down.
The instructor blew the whistle.
"Match over. Grey wins."
The training field went silent.
Trainees stared.
Even Master Thorne raised one scarred eyebrow.
Vance coughed blood onto the mat.
He looked up at Lucas with pure venom.
"You'll regret that, slum-rat," he rasped. "My father has friends in places you can't even imagine. And I have friends who don't need daddy's permission."
Lucas walked over, crouched so only Vance could hear.
"I know who your friends are," he said quietly. "I've seen the black-market tags on the high-grade serums you've been using. Eclipse markings. Tell your 'friends' I'm coming for the cores they're stealing from the outer zones. And if they send anyone after my family…"
He let a single, small metal weight rise and hover an inch from Vance's left eye.
"…I'll bury them."
He released the weight.
It dropped harmlessly onto Vance's chest.
Then Lucas stood and walked away.
That night, in the darkness of his dorm room, Lucas sat cross-legged on the floor.
He held a single low-grade beast core between his palms.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time, he didn't fight his Spirit Sense.
He let it expand.
He felt the core's energy — bright, jagged, hungry.
He felt the Nova Essence drifting through the air like invisible mist.
And deeper still — faint, almost imperceptible — he felt something else.
Threads.
Thin golden threads connecting every living thing in the building: the sleeping trainees, the patrolling guards, even the rats in the walls.
Life-force.
He could sense it now.
Not just objects.
People.
Beasts.
Everything.
His eyes snapped open.
A soft golden glow flickered in his irises for just a second, then faded.
He exhaled slowly.
"I'm not just a Spirit Warrior anymore," he whispered to the empty room.
"I'm starting to see what they really are."
And somewhere in the city, in a shadowed warehouse marked with a faint crescent-moon sigil, a man in a dark coat received a encrypted message.
Subject: Lucas Grey — Vanguard probationer.
Spirit Sense confirmed. Rapid progress noted.
Threat level: rising.
Recommendation: observe. If he interferes with supply lines again — eliminate.
The man smiled thinly.
"Interesting," he murmured.
"Very interesting."
To be continued...