- Leo -
The first day of training was nothing short of hell.
No easing into it. No slow introduction.
Just pain.
The instructors threw them straight into the fire, shouting commands before the recruits had even adjusted to the morning light. Sleep hadn't healed the damage done by days of imprisonment. If anything, the weakness still clung to their skin like damp chains.
And now, those chains were being ripped away—one scream, one breathless sprint at a time.
They began with endurance.
Run.
They ran.
Again.
They ran again.
Legs turned to lead. Arms trembled with every push-up. Their breathing became ragged, shallow—a dull rhythm of suffering that echoed across the training field. The instructors barked without mercy, their eyes sharp as blades. No one was spared.
Leo pushed forward through the agony, sweat running into his eyes, heart pounding in his ears.
No one's coming to save you now. You either become stronger—or you die.
The training ground was rough—packed dirt scattered with roots and stones, bordered by a fence of sharpened stakes. Beyond that, only forest and mist.
The instructors moved like shadows among the trainees, never stopping, never slowing. Their uniforms matched those of the regular rebels: dark, practical, stripped of excess. But one detail set them apart—a single green braided cord looped over the left shoulder.
It wasn't flashy.
But it marked them clearly.
The color of growth in a world where survival came first—and every fighter needed someone to follow.
Their presence wasn't loud. It was watchful. Stern. The kind of presence that shaped you whether you wanted it or not.
By the time the physical drills ended, Leo's lungs burned and his vision blurred at the edges. But it wasn't over.
Not even close.
"Pick your weapon," one of the instructors barked, gesturing toward two organized rows. "Swordfighters on the left. Archers on the right."
But this wasn't a choice.
Every trainee would be forced to train in both.
Leo stepped toward the wooden swords.
The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, something clicked.
The weight of it. The way it moved through the air. The balance.
It wasn't perfect—but it felt right.
He barely had time to process it before the next command came.
"Line up! Stance! Now!"
Drills began. Step. Slash. Parry. Reset.
Again. And again. And again.
Some struggled to keep up. Others flailed wildly, too impatient to listen. Kaito was the worst offender, lunging like a wild beast, his swings wide and reckless.
Whack!
The instructor slapped him hard on the back of the head.
"Power means nothing without control!" he snapped. "One wrong move in battle, and you're dead!"
Leo adjusted his grip. Reset his stance. Focused.
Not just force… timing. Precision. Read their body. Anticipate before they move.
He stole a glance at Touma.
The silent boy moved like he had been born for this. Calm. Efficient. Deadly. His blade danced with eerie focus, as if the weapon itself obeyed him.
Leo gritted his teeth and kept swinging.
He wasn't perfect. But he was learning.
After what felt like hours, a new command came.
"Switch!"
Leo dropped the sword and picked up a bow. The shift was jarring. Gone was the grounded stance of a blade. Now, he had to rely on breath. Patience. Steadiness.
The string bit into his fingers as he drew it back, trying to align the arrow.
Too loose. The shot veered wide.
Too tense. The next arrow snapped off his knuckle.
His arms ached in new ways now. His shoulders screamed.
He wasn't alone.
Yuuji's hands shook, his shots flying wild. Hinami—so small, so fragile—struggled to even draw her bow fully. Takumi overthought every step, wasting precious seconds on every shot.
But one stood out.
Sayaka.
Her arrows cut the air with confidence. Her stance was solid. Her expression was calm, focused. Each shot struck near center.
But as she lowered her bow after another clean hit, Leo saw it—just for a moment.
A tremble in her fingers. A shallow breath she tried to steady. Sweat clinging to her forehead, despite her calm face.
She was good.
But she wasn't untouchable.
She was pushing herself just like the rest of them.
The instructor's eyes narrowed.
"Most of you will never be great archers," he muttered. Then, nodding at Sayaka: "But some of you just might be."
Sayaka didn't smile. She didn't need to.
She's built for this, Leo thought, watching the fire in her bright green eyes.
The instructor stepped forward.
"Archery isn't about hitting your target. It's about killing it. Every arrow wasted is a life lost."
The words sank like cold iron in their chests.
This wasn't a game. This wasn't fantasy.
This was war.
And war meant killing.
Leo clenched his jaw.
He wasn't ready.
Not yet.
But he would be.
Because next time—there won't be room for hesitation.
The barracks were eerily silent, broken only by the occasional rustle of blankets and the soft rhythm of steady breathing. Another brutal day had carved its mark into their bones, and most of the recruits had already slipped into unconsciousness, their bodies surrendering to the exhaustion without resistance.
But Leo couldn't sleep.
He lay on his back, eyes locked on the wooden ceiling above, while his thoughts spiraled deeper into the same black current.
The Dark Flame… the Bright Flame…
Those words had haunted him ever since they were whispered in that cursed fortress. Even now—after the escape, after joining the rebellion, after days of grueling training—they still burned in the back of his mind like coals that refused to die.
What are they? Why do the vampires want them so badly?
He clenched his fists beneath the thin blanket. No one had offered answers. Not the instructors. Not the commanders. Even Nora had sidestepped the question.
That wasn't coincidence.
They're hiding something.
And if it's being hidden… it has to matter.
I'm sick of walking in circles, of silence and half-truths. If no one's going to tell me the truth—then I'll tear it out of this world myself.
A quiet sigh broke the silence beside him.
"You're still awake?"
Ryo's voice drifted over, soft and familiar.
Leo turned his head slightly. Ryo was lying on his side, arms folded behind his head, half-smiling through the shadows.
"So are you," Leo muttered back.
Ryo chuckled. "Guess we're both stuck thinking too much."
Leo hesitated. "It's not just thinking. I keep going back to what we heard… in the castle. About the Dark Flame and Bright Flame. It won't leave me alone."
Ryo's smirk faded.
"…Still on that?"
Leo turned fully now, eyes serious, voice low. "We don't know anything, Ryo. They're hiding something. Something big. If we want answers, we need to rise through the ranks. Earn their trust."
Ryo didn't respond immediately. Rain had begun to tap softly against the rooftop, the rhythm faint but persistent—like a warning.
Then, he exhaled.
"So that's what's eating you."
Leo stayed quiet.
Ryo rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Leo… not everything has to happen right away."
Leo frowned.
"You're chasing after something that might not even matter yet," Ryo continued. "You want answers? Fine. But pushing too fast too soon—" He turned his head. "That's how people die."
The words sank deeper than Leo expected.
He's right. I know he's right… but I can't let this go. I feel it. Deep in my bones—this isn't just a mystery. It's connected to everything. To me. To what's coming.
Leo said nothing more. Even after Ryo's breathing slowed and the boy drifted into sleep, Leo remained awake.
The rain kept falling.
And Leo kept thinking.
If the vampires are after these "Flame Virtues"… then maybe… maybe I'm connected to one of them.
He didn't know where the thought came from.
But once it appeared, it refused to leave.
Sleep never came.
No matter how heavy his body felt, no matter how tightly he closed his eyes—his mind refused to rest.
And just before dawn, the world reminded them why rest was a luxury they couldn't afford.
Crash!
The barracks door slammed open, crashing against the wall with a violent clang. A cold wind burst into the room, slicing through the warmth like a blade of ice.
Leo was already halfway up before he registered it.
"Everyone outside. Now."
That voice—sharp, unwavering, merciless—could only belong to one man.
Ryosuke Sakamoto.
Boots thudded against the floor as the room exploded into silent urgency. No one dared speak. Uniforms were pulled on in haste, weapons clutched tightly. Eyes still bleary from sleep.
Outside, the storm waited like a beast unleashed.
Rain fell in violent sheets, hammering the ground without pause. The wind screamed through the trees, and the dirt below had turned to mud—deep, cold, and suffocating.
Ryosuke stood near the edge of the field, his long coat soaked and clinging to his frame, black hair plastered to his forehead. Lightning flashed behind him, casting his scarred face in sharp, ghostly relief.
"This is your next trial," he said, voice carrying through the storm. "Endurance."
He let his gaze sweep across their soaked, shivering forms.
"You're not running alone tonight. You're following me."
Confusion passed between some of the recruits.
Ryosuke smirked coldly.
"If you can't keep up with one man in a storm… what makes you think you'll survive when the real monsters come?"
He pointed toward the forest—an endless silhouette of twisted trees and shadow.
"No map. No shortcuts. No hand-holding. You fall behind—you're not coming back."
He turned his back.
"Try not to embarrass yourselves."
And then—
He ran.
No signal. No warning. Just motion.
The recruits stared for a heartbeat too long.
Then chaos erupted.
Leo bolted forward, boots slamming into the mud. The storm lashed at him from every angle, tearing at his clothes, biting at his face. Ryosuke was already vanishing into the trees ahead—moving like a phantom. A shadow in a storm.
I can't lose sight of him.
Branches tore at Leo's arms. Water blurred his vision. His lungs burned. But he didn't stop.
Behind him, the group scattered like shattered glass.
Ryo sprinted beside him, muttering curses through clenched teeth.
"God, I miss blankets…"
Leo barely heard him.
Sayaka was up ahead, guiding Hinami with firm determination. Her grip never loosened—but her jaw was clenched tight, her breath short and uneven. Sweat mingled with the rain on her forehead.
She was strong.
But she was human, too.
Yuuji's grin had vanished. His expression was twisted in focus, teeth grinding as he kept pace.
Takumi whispered strategies, trying to calculate slope, direction, and terrain through the storm.
Touma was quieter than ever, but even his calm was beginning to crack—his breath heavy and uneven.
Arata's eyes moved constantly, scanning for Ryosuke's path like a hawk hunting through fog.
Makoto pressed forward like a machine, dragging Kaito by the shoulder, who was already half-collapsed.
And Ryosuke?
He never looked back.
The forest grew darker. The ground deeper. The wind louder. Every turn felt like a trap.
Leo's legs screamed. His chest heaved.
But he pushed forward.
I'm not going to break.
I'm not going to fade.
The storm howled around him like it wanted to swallow him whole.
But in the chaos—he found something else.
I'm not just running anymore. I'm chasing something.
I won't stop until I reach it.
This wasn't just a test of endurance.
It was a test of will.
And he refused to fail.
The storm only grew worse.
Lightning ripped through the sky in jagged veins of white, revealing the twisted forest in brief, blinding flashes—only to vanish and plunge us into darkness again. The ground beneath us had turned to sludge, dragging at our feet like it wanted to swallow us whole. Every step was a war.
Hinami's breath hitched beside me. Her small hands clutched her soaked sleeves, her legs trembling.
And then she collapsed.
She hit the mud hard, her arms unable to catch her fall. For a split second, the world froze.
Her voice cracked, barely audible over the storm. "I… I can't…"
She tried to push herself up—failed. Her body trembled, her strength drained. Her lips were pale. She was freezing.
No. Not her. Not now. Not like this.
I surged forward and dropped to my knees beside her, the cold biting straight through my soaked uniform. My thoughts burned louder than the rain.
I'm sick of walking in circles. Of silence and half-truths. If no one's going to tell me the truth—then I'll tear it out of this world myself. But I'm not letting her fall while I'm still breathing.
Without thinking, I grabbed her arms and pulled.
"Get up," I said, my voice low but firm. "You're not stopping here."
She looked at me through wide, teary eyes, too weak to answer.
I glanced back at the others. They had stopped moving—just watching.
What the hell are you doing? MOVE.
"No one gets left behind," I said louder, locking eyes with them one by one. "You hear me?! No one."
There was a pause—just a heartbeat of hesitation.
Then Touma stepped forward and grabbed Yuuji by the shoulder, steadying him.
Takumi pushed through the mud to reach Arata, who had slumped against a tree.
Makoto moved toward Kaito, throwing his arm around his shoulder with a grunt of effort.
Sayaka helped Hinami to her feet beside me. Her grip never loosened—but her jaw clenched tight, her breath short and uneven. Even she was nearing her limit.
Ryo met my gaze.
Then he smiled.
"Guess we're really doing this, huh?"
He glanced down at his soaked pants and sighed.
"God, I miss blankets."
I exhaled, standing beside him.
"Damn right we are."
We moved.
Together.
The rain still fell like a curse, the wind screaming like it wanted us gone—but we didn't stop. We leaned on each other. Carried those who couldn't walk. Dragged the fallen to their feet. Inch by inch, step by step.
We didn't break.
We refused.
My legs felt like steel rods—shaking, rusted, about to snap. My lungs burned with every breath. My hands were so numb I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. But I didn't care.
This is what it means to fight. This is what it means to endure.
Lightning lit the clearing ahead.
And there—they stood.
The instructors.
Their silhouettes stood motionless in the rain like statues, waiting. Judging.
We stumbled forward, breathless and broken and soaked to the bone. Mud clung to us like armor made of despair. Our boots squelched with every step, our eyes hollow from pain.
But we were still standing.
All of us.
Ten.
Leo. Ryo. Sayaka. Hinami. Kaito. Touma. Makoto. Yuuji. Takumi. Arata.
We made it.
We made it.
My eyes locked on Nora.
She stood at the front, her arms crossed, her golden hair soaked and sticking to her skin, her uniform plastered to her frame. The storm hadn't moved her an inch.
Her piercing blue eyes scanned each of us, expression unreadable.
Silence.
Then, finally, she nodded.
"Not bad."
Her voice was calm. Controlled. Almost… proud.
Then she looked at me.
"You finally look like a team worth fighting for."
My chest tightened—not with exhaustion this time, but something else. Something warm.
We did it… together.
Ryo collapsed beside me, panting. "Next time… let's just say no."
I laughed, the sound hoarse but real.
There was no next time.
We were already in it.
This wasn't just training.
This was war.
And we were finally ready to fight it.