The cup split in his hand, coffee spilling across his wrist and pooling around the shards.

  For a moment, Calen just stared at it, the thin lines of heat crawling over his skin, the faint tremor in

  his fingers.

  Kira didn’t speak. She just watched him, wide-eyed, as if afraid that one wrong word might set him off

  again.

  He set the cup down carefully, the fragments clinking against the tray. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t

  mean to…”

  The words trailed off.

  Silence stretched between them, thick and uneven. The voices from the nearby table still carried,

  laughter, the scrape of armor, talk of Bash’s squad and their perfect runs.

  Calen’s jaw flexed. The sound dug into him, low and steady, until his pulse matched it.

  Thirteen in a row. A game.

  He could still hear it.

  He could still see Bash’s face in his mind, calm, confident, untouchable.

  He wiped his wrist with a napkin and exhaled slowly, forcing his voice into something almost steady.

  “Bash’s team,” he said under his breath. “They’re still running Greys today, right?”

  Kira blinked. “I think so. Why?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. The thought had started small, an impulse, a flicker of anger, but it

  spread quickly, forming shape and purpose.

  “They’ll be back soon,” he said finally. “They always stop here after debrief.”

  Kira tilted her head. “Calen…?”

  He looked up, meeting her eyes. “The swarm’s still out there, Kira. Portal 111. It’s active.”

  Her expression faltered.

  “What if,” he continued, voice quiet but sharp at the edges, “we got Bash’s team to clear it? For them.

  For closure. You said you wanted to do something, right?”

  She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “For closure,” she whispered.

  He gave a faint, reassuring smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Exactly. For closure.”

  But inside, the plan was already assembling, lines, faces, outcomes. Bash’s name back beside his on the

  Nexus record, a clean slate, guild eyes drawn to the report.

  A perfect opportunity to prove he still belonged.

  He leaned back, glancing toward the cafeteria doors. He didn’t need to check the chrono; he already

  knew their routine.

  “Good,” he said quietly. “Then we’ll wait.”

  And so they did.

  The lights shifted slowly to evening cycle. Voices came and went, trays clattered, the room emptied and

  refilled. Calen never moved.

  Finally, the doors hissed open again.

  Six familiar figures stepped through, laughter cutting across the low hum of the room. Bash led the

  group, his armor scorched from combat but his posture relaxed, the same steady presence as always.

  Nyra followed, wiping a line of dust from her gauntlet, while Rixor and Taren traded quiet words

  behind them.

  Calen watched them take their usual table near the center. He didn’t move at first. Let them eat. Let the

  easy rhythm of conversation fill the space.

  Then, when the timing felt right, when laughs faded and the moment between words stretched just

  enough, Calen stood.

  He took a slow breath, straightened his collar, and glanced once at Kira.

  “Time to ask,” he murmured.

  She rose beside him, uncertain but resolute.

  Together, they crossed the cafeteria floor. The low murmur of conversation, the clatter of trays, the faint

  hum of resonance vents, all of it seemed to fade beneath the weight of their footsteps.

  At the center of the room, Bash’s team sat gathered around a table, mid-laughter, plates scattered with

  the remnants of their meal. For a moment, Calen hesitated, watching them, the same easy rhythm he

  remembered, the same unity that used to include him.

  He forced a smile and stepped closer.

  “Well,” he said, voice smooth, carrying just enough to reach them. “Looks like I’m not the only one

  who’s been busy.”

  The conversation died instantly.

  Rixor froze mid-laugh. Liora’s smile faltered. Even Taren’s hands went still above her cup.

  Bash didn’t turn right away. He didn’t have to.

  He already knew that voice.

  Calen stepped closer, the faint clack of his boots against the floor sharp in the silence. The noise of the

  cafeteria seemed to thin around him.

  “I come in peace,” he said, lifting both hands slightly. “No lectures, no hard feelings.”

  Bash finally looked over his shoulder. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Calen gave a faint, self-deprecating smile. “That makes two of us.” He stopped beside the table, posture

  calm but deliberate. “Mind if I sit for a second?”

  Rixor grunted but didn’t object. Bash gestured to the empty seat across from him. Calen sat.

  “I owe you an apology,” Calen began, his voice steady but lower than before. “For before, how I acted,

  how I left. I wasn’t a team player. I kept trying to prove something instead of listening.”

  His eyes flicked toward Rixor for just a second. “You nearly paid for that. You all did. I wouldn’t take

  gear that benefited the group because I wanted to outpace it. I thought being stronger alone made me

  better.”

  He paused, drawing a slow breath. “It didn’t. It almost got one of you killed.”

  The words hung there, uncomfortably honest.

  “I blamed everyone but myself when it fell apart,” he added quietly. “But it was on me.”

  Bash said nothing, expression unreadable.

  “I’m not here to make excuses,” Calen continued, “just to ask for something small.”

  He turned slightly, motioning to the woman who had followed him across the room. “This is Kira. She

  was my squad’s healer.”

  Kira hesitated, then stepped forward. The pale blue of a regeneration patch flickered faintly on her

  neck. “Was,” she said quietly. “They’re gone.”

  Taren’s gaze softened immediately. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What happened?”

  Calen drew a slow breath. “Portal 111. Swarm. It was supposed to be a white-tier harvest, calmer, safer.

  We found healing myriads in the woods, same as ones we’d seen before, but I missed the signs of what

  came with them.”

  He paused, jaw tight. “When I realized, it was too late. The canopy moved. The sky turned into wings,

  thousands, maybe ten thousand. They fell on us before we even formed a line.”

  Kira looked down, her fingers trembling. Calen’s voice stayed steady, but quieter now. “The air turned

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  thick with dust from their wings. Poison. Half blinding us. I took shots at the myriads to thin their

  healing links, but the pulses hit Kira too hard. Dropped her.”

  He rubbed his hands together once, as if remembering the weight. “I grabbed her and forced a retreat

  path, cut through the swarm with arrows just long enough for everyone to run for the portal. I thought

  they would. But they didn’t.”

  He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the table. “They saw how many there were. Jerrin said it himself,

  ‘thousands of fragments.’ Before I could stop them, they turned back in.”

  Kira’s voice cracked. “I remember him yelling to run… then everything went white.”

  Calen nodded faintly. “By the time we cleared the line, I carried her out. The others went silient in the

  fight. I called for help the second we crossed the portal, but the retrieval team came back with eight

  bodies.”

  The table had gone silent. Even Rixor’s restless foot had stopped tapping.

  Calen’s voice lowered. “That swarm’s still there. Same spot. Same marker. It’s waiting for the next

  team that wanders in blind.”

  He looked down again, quiet. “I don’t care about fragments. I just… thought we could finish it. For

  them. For closure. Kira hasn’t slept since we got out. She blames herself for the ones we lost.”

  Kira’s voice was barely a whisper. “I just want it over. I want to know they’re not still out there.”

  Silence spread around the table. Even Rixor’s usual sarcasm died under the weight of her words.

  Taren was the first to speak, her tone gentle but firm. “She deserves that.” She looked to Bash. “They

  both do.”

  Bash leaned back slightly, studying Calen for a long moment. The rest of the team stayed quiet, Nyra’s

  expression thoughtful, Rixor’s guarded, Taren’s eyes still fixed on Kira.

  Finally, Bash spoke. “All right. We’ll go.”

  A flicker of relief crossed Kira’s face. Calen exhaled quietly through his nose, hiding the tension in his

  shoulders.

  “But,” Bash added, voice steady, “we’re going in as eight, just for this run. After that, we go back to

  six. We’ve established our rhythm with six, and with fourteen days left in the cycle, I’m not risking that

  balance.”

  Calen nodded quickly, keeping his tone respectful. “Of course. I understand. I wasn’t asking to rejoin,

  just to help. You’re team is the best chance that swarm ever has of being put down.”

  Bash’s expression softened slightly, the edge in his voice easing. “Tomorrow morning. We’ll enter first

  thing. You’ll guide us to the site.”

  He turned to Kira. “You’ll stay back behind Calen and Nyra. Minor heals for them only, if either of

  them needs a patch, you keep them stable from range. You follow every direction without hesitation. If

  at any point you’re ordered to retreat, you will be first through the portal. Understood?”

  Kira’s eyes shone. “Understood.”

  Taren squeezed her arm. “We’ll make sure you get to see it done,” she said quietly.

  Bash nodded once, the decision made. “Good. Tomorrow morning, first light. Be ready.”

  Kira swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  Bash looked around the table once more, then back to Calen. “Get some rest. You both look

  exhausted.”

  Calen gave a tight smile, the picture of calm professionalism. “Appreciate it, Captain.”

  But as he turned away, a faint spark lit behind his eyes, the first trace of the old Calen, buried beneath

  practiced humility.

  Bash gave a single nod, the conversation already moving on to logistics. Calen let the sound of their

  voices wash over him, the same rhythm he’d once belonged to, the same cadence of trust and skill.

  He told himself this was for Kira. For closure.

  But inside, another thought pulsed steady and cold:

  Tomorrow, they’ll see I still belong here.

  Morning came pale and cold. The cafeteria lights glowed a muted white, reflecting off brushed steel

  and trays lined with untouched rations.

  All eight Spartors gathered at a long table, Bash’s six, plus Calen and Kira. Gear lay scattered across

  the surface: armor plates, resonance cores, recharged weapons. The air thrummed with the quiet hum of

  calibrations.

  Taren stood beside Kira, eyes flicking over the healer’s equipment. The girl’s armor was the dull brown

  of standard military issue, the kind handed out to Novarch before the first white portal run.

  Taren said nothing, but the thought burned behind her calm expression. All this way… and still running

  with training-stock gear.

  It wasn’t judgment, it was sorrow. Kira had survived more than most and been given less than anyone.

  Across the table, Calen checked the alignment on his bowstring, the faint silver hum steady in the early

  light. Bash’s team worked with quiet precision, their motions practiced and rhythmic, a contrast to

  Kira’s hesitant movements and Calen’s restrained energy.

  When the last weapon locked into place, Bash gave a single nod. “That’s everyone. Final checks done.”

  Nyra tapped her wrist console. “Portal 111 still marked active.”

  “Not for long,” Bash said.

  They rose in unison, trays forgotten, gear sealed, visors lowering with the soft click of engagement

  locks. The group moved through the hallways in a line, boots striking in measured rhythm.

  The white-portal chamber hissed open before them, resonance light spilling across the floor like mist.

  The gate shimmered, calm, deceptive, almost beautiful.

  Calen’s pulse quickened. He’d been here before. The scent of burnt sap lingered faintly in his memory.

  “Positions,” Bash ordered. “Kira, behind Calen and Nyra. You move only when they do.”

  Kira nodded, hands tightening on her staff.

  The gate flared once, expanding to full activation.

  Bash gave a final glance across the line, then stepped forward.

  “Let’s finish what they started.”

  One by one, they entered the light.

  The transition hit like pressure and silence at once, then air, heat, the faint shimmer of humidity.

  They emerged on the same windswept ridge where Calen’s last team had stood, staring toward the

  mouth of the forest.

  The trees swayed slowly in the distance, leaves whispering against the wind. The entrance to the woods

  waited ahead, dark and still.