The dorm lights were low, humming softly against the silence.

  The smell of sterilizing mist still lingered in the air, faintly metallic, clean, but cold.

  Taren knelt beside Nyra’s bunk, one hand pressed to her abdomen, the other bracing herself against the

  wall. A faint shimmer moved beneath her skin, the telltale sign of healing focus. Nyra’s breathing had

  steadied, color returning to her face.

  Across the room, Rixor leaned against his bunk, watching quietly. His own cuts and bruises had already

  faded, Taren had taken care of him first, then herself, and now only fatigue remained. Bash stood near

  the door, arms crossed, silent.

  “You’re next,” Taren said, voice thin.

  Bash shook his head. “Everyone else first.”

  “You’re already halfway sealed,” she countered without looking up.

  “Exactly.” His tone didn’t change. “Finish the others.”

  Taren gave him a look, but said nothing. She focused again, the light in her palms flickering brighter as

  Nyra exhaled a pained groan and then relaxed completely. The glow faded a few seconds later, leaving

  Taren pale and trembling.

  Rixor pushed off the wall. “You’re spent. Sit before you fall.”

  She managed a half-smile and muttered, “That’s the plan.”

  Nyra stirred, eyes opening. “How’s everyone?”

  “Alive,” Bash said. “Mostly.”

  She smiled faintly. “Good enough.”

  Rixor clapped his hands once. “Then we eat before someone heals me again. I don’t think I can take

  any more care.”

  That earned the first laugh of the day, weak, but real. They left the dorm together, Bash closing the door

  last.

  The cafeteria didn’t look like the one they’d left three days earlier. The standard meal dispensers were

  gone, replaced by real serving lines. Actual plates, actual food, textured, seasoned, steaming. For the

  first time, the air smelled like something worth eating.

  They grabbed trays and found a table near the back. Taren’s hands shook slightly as she cut into her

  meal, though the color was coming back to her face. Rixor piled his plate high enough to draw a glance

  from Calen, who muttered, “You planning to hibernate?”

  “If it’s offered,” Rixor replied around a mouthful.

  They ate in relative silence for several minutes before Nyra looked up. “You notice how many tables

  are half-empty?”

  Everyone did. Where there should’ve been at least two dozen Novarch squads, only a handful of full

  teams remained. Many tables had only three or four sitting together. A few had none.

  “Seventeen lost,” Taren said quietly. “I heard one of the medics talking.”

  The group fell silent again.

  Rixor glanced around, eyes narrowing. “Zicof’s team isn’t here.”

  “Maybe they’re still under evaluation,” Liora offered.

  Bash cut a piece of protein from his plate but didn’t eat it. “They’re back. I saw their ID signatures in

  the Nexus stream.”

  Nyra looked at him. “You think they didn’t make it?”

  “They made it,” Bash said, his voice steady. “But not all of them.”

  S-C’s voice flickered quietly in his mind, barely audible.

  “They were two days in. Encountered a volcanic swarm of Tier-two flying Core Hounds.

  Overextended. Two blues lost. Used their emergency beacon.”

  Bash’s jaw tightened slightly.

  Greed, not weakness.”

  He exhaled slowly and let the thought fade before anyone could see it on his face.

  Taren leaned back from her tray. “So who do we think took top score?”

  “Zicof,” Rixor said immediately.

  “Not anymore,” Bash replied.

  That got their attention.

  He looked at them one by one. “You all saw the fragments we collected. If the Nexus counted the

  Summoner and its summons, we’re over three thousand.”

  Calen frowned. “You’re serious?”

  “Do the math,” Liora murmured. “Three thousand… that should put us first.”

  Rixor grinned. “We’re getting upgrades then. Finally.”

  Taren gave him a small smile but didn’t speak. Her eyes drifted toward Bash. “What about the

  Summoner? You never told us how it ended.”

  Everyone turned to him.

  Bash set his fork down, expression unreadable. “When you were down, I took cover behind the

  durability beast. Waited until it charged past. It blocked the predator’s line of sight. I threw my last

  knife. One of the summoned birds went for it, but it missed.”

  Rixor blinked. “Missed?”

  Rixor’s voice dropped. “So if it hadn’t...”

  Bash didn’t finish the thought. He just shook his head.

  The table went quiet.

  Then Nyra spoke, voice steady but softer than usual. “Call it luck if you want, but it wasn’t luck. You

  acted. We’re alive because of that.”

  Bash looked at her, surprised by the certainty in her tone. Their eyes met briefly, something unspoken

  passing between them, before he gave a short nod.

  Taren and Rixor exchanged knowing smirks. Liora elbowed Darik, who was trying and failing to hide

  his grin. Calen said nothing, but his jaw flexed once.

  When the meal ended, they rose together. No one felt hungry anymore.

  By the time they reached the Coordination Facility, it was nearing 1800. Bash’s team sat together,

  middle tier. The space was packed, the noise a low thrum of nervous energy and exhaustion.

  Then Jouk entered. The crowd went still.

  He stopped on the raised dais, hands behind his back, eyes sweeping the room.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Novarchs,” he began, his voice carrying without effort. “You’ve returned from your first full-cycle

  field deployment. Seventeen of your number did not.”

  He let that sink in before continuing.

  “For those of you who stand here now, you’ve done more than survive. You’ve proven coordination,

  discipline, and control under pressure. And, as of this cycle, the results have been verified.”

  A holographic display flickered to life behind him, listing the evaluation categories.

  Beast Fragment Accumulation

  Highest Tier Defeated

  Ability Unlock Percentage

  Survival and Injury Index

  Most Unique Encounter

  “The top three teams in each category will be recognized. Each will receive one to three selection

  credits, weapons or armor, based on placement.”

  He paused, his gaze passing over the crowd. “And for the primary contest, total Beast Fragment count,

  the top three teams will receive ten selections each. Unless a beacon was used. In that case, one

  selection per surviving member.”

  He gestured, and the first rankings appeared.

  “Third place: Unit 14-Delta, one thousand nine hundred twelve fragments.”

  Polite applause followed.

  “Second place: Unit 03-Zeta, Zicof’s team. Three thousand ninety-seven fragments.”

  “Due to emergency beacon deployment on day two, only four members returned. Each will receive one

  selection.”

  Murmurs rippled through the hall.

  “Used their beacon? Cowards.”

  “They were winning until that swarm hit.”

  “Should’ve known Zicof would overextend.”

  Even Bash felt the weight of that. Losing two blues was no small thing.

  S-C whispered softly in his mind,

  “They were going to surpass everyone by hundreds. Overconfidence accelerated their loss.”

  Jouk’s expression didn’t change as the next result appeared.

  “First place: Unit 09-Kappa.”

  A pause.

  “Three thousand one hundred eighteen fragments.”

  The hall broke into a wave of applause. Bash’s team didn’t cheer, they just sat there, stunned,

  exhaustion too deep for celebration.

  Jouk continued, his voice steady and measured, carrying through the hall with the weight of finality.

  “Highest Tier Defeated: Unit 09-Kappa. Confirmed elimination of a Tier-Two Greater.”

  A low murmur rippled through the rows of Novarchs.

  Tier-Two Greater? someone whispered.

  Heads turned toward the small cluster of Bash’s team, three browns, two greys, one blue, and Bash, the

  nearly black-green. Only seven of them, and every one still standing.

  Jouk gave no pause.

  “Highest Unlock Rate: Unit 09-Kappa. Five of seven members, seventy-one percent.”

  The murmuring grew, disbelief spreading.

  “Five? That’s impossible.”

  “Luck. Had to be.”

  “No team’s ever had more than half.”

  Someone else hissed, “Five of seven, and they’re not even all greys.”

  Jouk let the whispers burn themselves out before continuing.

  “Survival and Injury Index, second place: Unit 09-Kappa. One of only three teams to return at full

  strength.”

  More movement among the crowd. Some clapped quietly, others exchanged knowing looks, most

  teams had missing seats in their ranks.

  A few eyes lingered on the empty benches toward the back, spaces belonging to Zicof’s team, the ones

  everyone had expected to win.

  “Most Unique Encounter,” Jouk said, voice firm. “Unit 09-Kappa. Summoner-class entity confirmed.”

  Gasps scattered the hall.

  “Summoner? Has one ever showed up in a Tier One field.”

  “No wonder they look half-dead.”

  Jouk looked directly at them then, a rare, almost imperceptible trace of approval in his tone.

  “Twenty-one total selections. The highest in this cycle.”

  The room erupted, a mix of applause, muttered disbelief, and the rustle of fatigues. Some teams leaned

  forward, others simply stared. For the first time, Bash’s group felt the weight of hundreds of eyes

  measuring them, not with resentment, but wary respect.

  Jouk waited until the sound began to fade. Then, with practiced neutrality, he continued.

  Then came the roll of the final honor.

  Jouk continued, unhurried. “Zicof is hereby recognized as the only Novarch in this cycle to achieve

  multiple ability unlocks, Mineral and Fire. An exceptional feat, even under loss.”

  There were low, shifting murmurs. “Two abilities?” someone whispered. “No one’s done that in many

  cycles.” Another voice cut in, sharper. “Yeah, but it cost them half their team.”

  Bash caught the glances being exchanged, respect and pity in equal measure. Zicof’s empty benches

  said enough.

  Jouk ignored it. His gaze swept the room once more.

  “Unit 09-Kappa, approach the armory tables.”

  The team rose. Every step toward the long tables felt heavier under the collective stare of the hall,

  hundreds of eyes, hundreds of unspoken questions. The air was thick with curiosity and envy.

  As Bash reached the front beside Taren, he again caught fragments of conversation from the rows

  behind.

  “That dark one, such a dark green.”

  “Three browns in a record-setting team. Impossible.”

  “Five unlocked? That’s not luck, that’s something else.”

  They stopped before Jouk, who gave a single nod of acknowledgment.

  “Select wisely,” he said. “Your choices will define your futures.”