The first mission came sooner than I expected. A border patrol had gone missing, their remains found charred along the outskirts of Azov. Hedar's forces were advancing again.
"You're coming with us," Varlen said. "It's time to see if all that training means something."
Cyrus stood nearby, his expression unreadable. He had trained me for this moment, and now, I would prove myself.
That night, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I was ready. I had trained for this. And yet, something lingered beneath my confidence—a quiet, unspoken tension in my chest. Not fear. Not doubt. But something heavier. The moment I stepped onto the battlefield, I would no longer be just a trainee. I would be a soldier. A killer.
I exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to my curse mark. The heat of my own body pulsed against my palm, a reminder of what I was and what I had become.
War waited for no one. And neither would I.