The sky above Outpost Vester was the dull color of scraped steel—flat, tired, and carrying that thin fog that made all sound feel damp. It was early, too early for most soldiers, but Bright had been awake before the bells. His mind wouldn't let him rest.

Last night's patrol had been short but intense. The air in the barracks had been thick with whispers afterward—about the adepts being gathered, about the nobles taking interest in the trials, about the sudden spike in Shroud beasts around the outskirts. Everyone pretended things were normal, but Bright knew better. Change was coming to Vester like a slow, rolling tide.

He stepped down from the barrack steps, stretching his shoulders. Cold air bit at his cheeks. Figures moved through the yard—recruits doing morning drills, supply clerks hauling crates, a few bored privates leaning on spears. The routine steadiness of it all almost made him forget the chaos on the road here.

Almost.

A familiar figure trudged across the training yard, posture stiff, jaw set. Rolf looked as though he hadn't slept in a week. His armor was half buckled, his hair uncombed, and his expression a storm cloud trying to remember why it was angry.

Bright lifted a hand.

"Rolf."

Rolf stopped mid-stride, blinking as though the voice had dragged him from a dream. When his eyes focused, recognition snapped in—and then relief.

"Private? You're… still alive." Rolf stepped close, scanning him.

"I got my death sentence postponed." Bright said jokingly, offering a half-smile.

Rolf grunted, understanding the unspoken part. Everyone who traveled through the Shroud-brushed woods knew what "postponed" really meant.

"Thanks. For worrying."Bright said.

Rolf sniffed, embarrassed. "Don't make it sentimental, private. We already have too much of that."

Bright laughed, but then his expression shifted into something resolute.

"Actually, that's why I came looking for you first. Rolf… you'll be joining my squad."

Rolf froze. His brows shot up. "Joining? Me?"

"Yeah." Bright held his gaze. "If you'll have it."

Rolf's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He looked toward the barracks as if the answer might be written on the door. After a long moment, his face eased in a way.

"Of course I'm in. I'm not missing the carnage we're about to unleash on Vester," he said, voice carrying far louder than necessary. "You can count on me to deliver."

Bright huffed. "That tracks." Not like he had a choice anyway—Rolf was already registered on their team.

But Rolf wasn't done. He stepped forward and planted a heavy hand on Bright's shoulder, lowering his voice.

"We've had our differences," he said, "but I'm willing to wash that off—if you're cool with it."

"Alright," Bright said. He didn't have the time or the patience to trade jabs with this ego-drunk brute.

Rolf stared at him a moment longer, then nodded. "Let's go meet our crew."

They began walking toward the squad building—but before they reached it, a deep, bone-resonant boom shook the ground.

Rolf halted. "What was that?"

Bright's eyes widened,spatial foresight giving him a glimpse of what was going on.

"Oh no… Duncan."

…

The explosion of energy had come from the rear training lot—the one the instructors jokingly called "The Danger Pen." Squad members spilled from doors and tents, whispering in shock as shimmering air rippled above the dirt.

Bright and Rolf jogged toward the commotion. The crackling pressure in the air grew thicker, vibrating at the edges like a strummed wire. When they rounded the corner, the source became clear.

Duncan stood at the center of the lot, fists clenched, legs shaking, steam rising from his skin. The ground beneath his boots was fractured, spider-webbed with cracks like the earth itself was recoiling from him. His eyes glowed faintly—not with power, but with disbelief.

Mara stood off to the side, blades drawn, unsure whether she was supposed to cut something or someone. Baggen hovered near Duncan, hands half-raised, ready to steady him if he folded. Adam, realizing what was happening—he'd gone through the same ordeal with Silas—clicked his tongue and moved to the perimeter, pushing back curious soldiers who tried to edge closer.

Bright stopped a few paces away, heartbeat quickening.

He'd felt this before—from others, from enemies, from companions.

The unmistakable surge of an advancement and the aura it radiates.

"Duncan?" Bright said carefully.

Duncan looked up—and suddenly laughed. Not a mocking laugh, not a strained laugh, but pure, incredulous release.

"It finally happened," he breathed. "All those battles. All that strain. All that crawling terror on the way to Vester—something inside finally snapped loose."

Then the glow intensified just for a second, flaring outward in a ring of heated air.

Rolf took a step back and grumbled. "That's… definitely Initiate tier."

Adam rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Of course Duncan breaks through while drinking swamp juice and fighting crawlers like some deranged farm dog."

Duncan let out a shaky breath, raising his hands. "I didn't think it would hit me this fast. On the road, I thought my bones felt stiffer. Everything felt—pressurized—like I couldn't contain myself."

Bright stepped forward, the air warm around him. "How do you feel?"

"Like my lungs are bigger. Like my skin is thicker. Like my heart is punching the world from the inside." He grinned, wiping sweat from his jaw. "I feel alive."

Adam cocked his gun with a sharp click. "Good. With you becoming an Initiate, that makes three of you now capable of holding the fort for us wimps during the Trials."

Mara elbowed him. "Be nice. This is a huge moment."

But Duncan's smile faltered.

"Wait… promotions. Bright—do we get rank adjustments with this? Initiates usually get bumped, right?"

Bright exhaled slowly.

"That's the problem. Vester hasn't processed promotions in two months. Everything's frozen with the command reshuffling and the noble oversight."

Adam muttered, "Meaning Duncan is still a common recruit—same as that bum Silas. We're about to fight in some Trials without the rank to match it. Are we even sure there's hazard pay? Pretty sure common recruits don't get any."

Mara scratched the back of her head. "Isn't that… dangerous?"

Adam snorted and sighed. "Everything here is. That's part of the charm."

Duncan forced a laugh, shoulders tensing. "So I break through… and I'm still the same rank."

"Not the same," Bright corrected, stepping closer. "Power changes things even if the paperwork doesn't. What matters is what you can do now."

And Duncan's eyes softened.

"Thanks," he murmured.

Baggen cleared his throat loudly. "Alright, enough sentimental sludge. Fire boy, since you're officially joining, we should finalize the squad matters. Including the name."

That snapped everyone's attention.

Rolf raised a brow. "You still didn't choose?"

Adam crossed his arms. "We tried. Every suggestion Duncan made sounded like a knife brand. Every suggestion Mara made sounded like a pastry."

Mara gasped. "First of all, 'Honeyshield' is adorable."

"No," Adam said instantly.

Bright chuckled. "Fine. Then let's do it together."

…

They settled into a loose circle in the training yard. Duncan and Rolf claimed a pair of crates, Adam perched on the fence rail like a bored lookout, Baggen leaned against a post with the quiet patience of a father watching children scramble about, and Mara sat cross-legged in the dirt, as if this were some calm meditation session instead of a war camp.

Bright stood at the center, guiding their discussion—and the team as a whole. He wasn't the oldest, the smartest, the strongest, or the highest-ranked among them, but he was the glue that held these acquaintances together. In a land strangled by the Shroud, trust was a commodity rarer than gold.

"Okay. We need something that fits who we are—and something that can stand out in the trials."

Duncan flicked his hand dismissively. "Then let's just call ourselves Blades of—"

"No," Mara and Rolf said in unison.

Adam raised a hand. "How about something intimidating? Like The Ironbloods."

Baggen shook his head. "Sounds like a mercenary clan."

"What about something based on the Shroud?" Duncan suggested. "Like Mistwatchers."

Adam wrinkled his nose. "We sound like old men with binoculars—and not the birdwatching kind."

Mara tapped her chin. "We could go bright instead. Something hopeful."

"Hopefulness in the Shroud kinda misses the point," Adam muttered.

Bright watched all of them, thinking. He felt the weight of their journey—the road, the attacks, the nights of fear, the victories earned by inches, the way every single one of them had nearly died with him and still chose to keep going.

Something warm stirred in him.

"There's an old story," Bright said quietly, "my mother used to tell before I enlisted."

Every head turned.

"It was about a wandering hero who survived the Shroud's deepest places. Not because he was the strongest, but because he carried the last light of a fallen star inside his chest. Even in the darkest valleys, he shone—small, stubborn, warm."

Bright exhaled.

"They called him the Sunshine Knight."

Adam blinked. "Sun… what?"

"Sunshine," Bright repeated. "Not the big blazing kind, that's written in the book of old. The thin, stubborn kind that still breaks through a storm."

A long silence followed.

Then Mara smiled slowly. "Sunshine…"

Baggen nodded. "I like it."

Adam shrugged. "It's weird. But in a good way."

Duncan grinned. "It fits us. We're not the biggest squad. Or the strongest. But we keep pushing through anyway."

Rolf stared at all of them like they'd lost their minds.

"Sunshine? That's what we're going with?"

Bright tilted his head. "You got a better suggestion?"

Rolf opened his mouth.

He closed it.

Opened it again.

Closed it.

Finally he groaned. "Fine. Sunshine. But if anyone mocks us, I'm out of here."

"Deal," Mara chirped.

Bright felt something settle inside him. A sense of belonging he had rarely felt with any unit. Something solid. Something real.

Rolf clapped his hands. "Alright. Sunshine it is. Now that the sentimental nonsense is over—let's get ready for the trials."

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