Thorne spent another day in the infirmary, his body still healing from the brutal trial. The woman acting as the healer—stoic and efficient—tended to his wounds with a cold detachment. She didn't speak much, simply ensuring he was stable before allowing him to leave. When she finally escorted him out, Thorne couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The infirmary was situated in the higher levels of the base, a place he had never ventured before.

As they walked through the tunnels, Thorne noticed the difference immediately. The passageways were better lit, the green glow from the torches casting an eerie luminescence on the polished walls. Unlike the lower levels, these tunnels were meticulously maintained, with gleaming black marble and granite lining the walls. In some areas, he saw sculpted scenes—carvings depicting battles, figures of power, and moments of victory. The craftsmanship was surprising, almost out of place in such a brutal environment.

The silence between him and the healer was heavy, only broken by the occasional clink of metal from deeper within the tunnels. As they approached the round room with the bridges, Thorne's eyes were drawn to the intricate network of walkways crisscrossing above and below them. He had always known the room was large, but from this vantage point, it was even more impressive. The room itself, he realized, was a massive air vent for the base, its size and design carefully calculated to serve both form and function.

As they descended one of the bridges, an ominous creaking echoed from below. Thorne's sharp ears picked up on it immediately, and he peered over the edge of the bridge, searching for the source of the sound. When he finally saw it, his heart skipped a beat. Two dark forms were swinging slightly, hanging from thick ropes. It took him a moment to realize that they were the bodies of his torturers, strung up as a grim reminder of the consequences of disobeying Uncle.

Thorne stopped, his eyes narrowing as he studied their faces. During the days of his captivity, he had never seen their faces, never known who they were. Now, looking at them, he saw that they weren't much older than him—perhaps eighteen, nineteen at most. They were barely adults, yet they had inflicted such suffering upon him. He searched for any emotion—anger, sadness, even relief—but found nothing. They were just empty vessels, and their deaths meant nothing to him.

With a careless shrug, Thorne turned to the healer, who had been watching him closely. "Let's go," he said, his voice steady. She gave a curt nod and continued leading him down the bridges, their footsteps echoing in the vast space.

As they descended further, passing from the higher levels into the more familiar lower tunnels, Thorne noticed the stares. Recruits and older cousins—now known as the Lost Ones—passed by them, their eyes lingering on him longer than usual. They appeared engrossed in their tasks, but Thorne could feel the weight of their gazes, could sense the curiosity, the fear, the respect that had now become a part of his presence.

When they finally reached the bottom floor, Thorne saw a group of recruits from his class waiting. They had clearly heard about his return and were gathered in a loose circle, talking in hushed tones. The moment they spotted him, they fell silent, their eyes wide as they took in his appearance.

Thorne's Mask of Deceit was securely in place, his expression unreadable as he approached them. A small smirk played on his lips as he watched their reactions—some were fearful, others merely curious. A girl from his class stepped forward hesitantly. He recognized her—Cynthia, one of the quieter ones. Her eyes were filled with concern as she looked at him, and after a moment's hesitation, she asked, "Are you okay?"

Thorne followed her gaze upward, to where the bodies of his torturers still swung in the air. He stared at them for a long moment, then looked back at Cynthia. A wide, almost unnerving smile spread across his face, and with a playful wink, he said, "I'm splendid."

The girl blinked, clearly taken aback by his response, but before she could say anything more, Thorne walked past her, his steps light and confident. He had no time for their pity or their questions. He had survived, and that was all that mattered.

He continued through the tunnels, searching for his friends. The familiar sights and sounds of the base greeted him, but everything felt different somehow. The days of torture, the brush with death, had changed him in ways he was only beginning to understand.

But for now, all he wanted was to find his friends, to surround himself with the familiar faces that grounded him. He would deal with everything else later.

*

Thorne found his friends in their usual spot, a small sitting room that was more like a storage room than a place to relax. When he reached the small sitting room that he and his friends had claimed as their own, he hesitated outside the door. A wave of anxiety washed over him, but he pushed it down, reminding himself that these were his friends, the people he trusted most. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The moment he entered, Vance was on his feet, talking nonstop, his questions rapid and insistent.

"Where were you? What happened? Are you okay? Why did they keep you so long?"

Thorne could barely keep up with the barrage, his mind still reeling from everything that had happened. But as he tried to answer, Rhea cut in, her concern focused elsewhere.

"Thorne, forget about that," she said, her voice serious. "What's going on with you and Uncle?"

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Thorne raised an eyebrow, surprised by her shift in focus. "You're more concerned about my ties with Uncle than what I went through?"

Rhea laughed, though it was a humorless sound. "If anyone would survive, it would be you, Thorne. I'm not worried about that."

Her confidence in him was unsettling, almost dismissive of the torment he'd endured. Before he could respond, Thorne noticed Rielle sitting quietly in the corner, holding her bow. She hadn't said a word since he entered, her eyes fixed on him with an inscrutable gaze, her face impassive as ever.

Thorne felt a flicker of curiosity. Rielle's ability to remain so emotionless made him wonder if she had already formed her core. Only a skill or a significant level of emotional control could allow someone to mask their feelings so effectively. Her grip on her bow was her only show of emotion.

Trying to shift the topic, Thorne asked, "So, what about your trials? How did they go?"

The group exchanged glances before Vance spoke up. "We've all gone through it," he said, his voice subdued. "Not at the same time, though. The day after we got back from our free day, half the class was missing. It caused a panic, but they all returned after a day or two. Then the rest of us were taken for our own trials."

Thorne frowned. "I was gone for so long…"

"Yeah," Vance nodded. "We noticed. You were the only one who didn't come back with the rest."

Thorne downplayed what had happened to him, giving them an abbreviated rundown of his experience. His Deception and Echoes of Truth skills worked together, helping him sound convincing even as he twisted the truth.

Skill level up: Deception!

Despite his efforts, he could tell that his friends weren't entirely convinced. They exchanged uneasy looks, clearly sensing that he wasn't telling them everything. But they didn't press him further, perhaps out of respect for what he had been through.

That night, they all decided to sleep in the sitting room, the closeness of their group providing a sense of safety and comfort. Thorne wasn't in the mood to face the stares and whispers of the other recruits, and his friends seemed to understand that. They huddled together, finding solace in each other's presence, even if they didn't talk much.

As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, Thorne couldn't help but reflect on how easily the lies had come to him. He had lied to his friends once again, the people he trusted most, and it had felt disturbingly natural. A part of him was unsettled by this, but another part—the part that had survived the torture—knew it was necessary.

The next morning, they got ready and headed to their first class—physical conditioning. When they arrived, Talon and Sid were waiting for them. The group formed a semi-circle around their instructors, sitting like children waiting for a story. Thorne noticed excited murmurs among his fellow recruits, but he had no idea why.

In the far back of the cavernous room, he spotted older recruits going through their daily drills, their movements sharp and precise under the shouts of their own trainers. Talon began talking, introducing Sid as their new instructor. Sid simply nodded, his expression unreadable, but didn't speak.

When one of the guys asked about Lock, Talon silenced him with a glare before continuing. "Earlier today, we had the first recruit from your group form his core."

Thorne jolted in surprise, his eyes scanning the familiar faces around him to see who was missing. To his dismay, he noticed that Marcus, the guy that always challenged him, wasn't there.

"He's being guided through the process by a senior member of the guild," Talon continued. "Given the importance of such an occasion, we thought it was prudent to inform you. It's a rite of passage for everyone, and we expect your group to start forming their cores soon."

Talon stepped back, and Sid took over. "Forming your core is a monumental change for everyone. You stop being children and become adults overnight, with all the responsibilities that come with it. It's a magical transformation that reveals your true self. And it's as close to actual magic as one can get. There's a reason your training is so intense and brutal—your experiences shape your core. Skills are unlocked, and levels are gained depending on your affinities and your achievements throughout your earlier years. Those excelling in physical feats, for instance, will unlock corresponding skills, and the longer they've trained, the more levels they'll gain. Of course, there's a cap to the levels one can gain, but anyone gaining a couple of levels would be miles above the rest."

Cynthia, the girl who had spoken to Thorne yesterday, raised her hand. Talon nodded, giving her permission to speak.

"Will we be gaining character levels as well?" Cynthia asked.

Talon shook her head. "Character levels are obtained through experience… through killing."

Cynthia frowned, and Sid added, "There is a chance to gain a level or two initially if you've unlocked a large number of skills and gain several levels when forming your core, but that is rare."

Another boy raised his hand. "But if we have to kill to gain levels, how are we supposed to level up if we're kept here?"

Talon responded with a cold smile. "Those with formed cores will eventually be assigned missions. In those cases, you will have plenty of opportunities to level up… if you don't die, of course."

Sid and Talon shared a look before Sid added, "We also use the catacombs for training."

The recruits exchanged confused glances, but when Sid elaborated, silence fell over the group.

"You've ventured into the catacombs during your survival trial."

Horrified expressions spread across the recruits' faces as they realized Sid was referring to the tunnels full of zombies.

Talon stepped in to steer the conversation back on track. "During the formation of your core, you will be accompanied by one of the senior members to guide you through the process and advise you on the best way to build your character sheet. Skills are respected as confidential, but we encourage you to disclose the necessary information to better guide you. There are balances that must be kept depending on your affinities, and without knowing your skills, we won't be able to help you."

Thorne frowned, not fully understanding what they were talking about. In all his years, he had never known about affinities or the importance of balance. He made a mental note to ask Sid about it later. Now that he knew the truth about his situation, he had the chance to fill the gaps in his knowledge.

"Now," Sid began, "the moment you feel your core awakening, you are to find us or another member of the guild so we can take you to safety."

More frowns appeared among the recruits. Vance was the one to ask the obvious question. "Why? What happens?"

"Forming your core is a taxing process for your body," Sid explained. "For the first time, you get in touch with the aether. Our bodies aren't acclimated to it, to containing the aether inside us. Once you've formed your core, your body needs to recuperate, and you'll be unconscious for a day or two. So, given where we are, it's better to be in a safe environment than be defenseless and at the mercy of your fellow recruits."

Several recruits nodded in agreement.

"Now," Talon said, her green eyes sweeping over the group. "Let's begin your training. I hope our words will incentivize some of you to train harder."

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