The training that followed was even harsher than the day before, pushing Cale to his limits. Every muscle in his body screamed for relief, but he endured, his movements sharper, his stamina sting longer than he expected. The power he had gained from consuming the veldarion coursed through his veins, strengthening him in ways he was only beginning to understand. Though exhaustion weighed on him, he kept up, refusing to falter. He was a hero in the making and a hero never falters.

  After the grueling session, Isa led him out of the training room. The cool air of the hallway was a stark contrast to the stifling heat inside. They approached the elevator, the faint hum of the mechanisms filling the silence. As the doors slid open, Cale turned to Isa, his brown eyes filled with a quiet but eager hope.

  "Can I see my friends now?" he asked, his voice steady but expectant.

  Isa studied him for a moment before offering a nod. "I will speak to a servant. They will bring them to your room."

  Relief flooded through Cale, and his lips curved into a smile—bright, genuine, and filled with gratitude. It was the first real smile he had shown in days, one that made him look like the ten-year-old boy he still was, beneath all the weight pressing down on his small shoulders.

  With a grateful nod, he turned and headed to his room. As he entered, the first thing he did was walk toward the rge window. His gaze swept over the courtyard below, where a small group of children ran ps under the unyielding eyes of an instructor. His brows furrowed as he took in the sight—their numbers were fewer.

  "Is this their punishment? More work?" he muttered under his breath, his fingers curling into the windowsill. He recognized a few of them from before.

  After a few minutes of staring, lost in thought, he pulled himself away. His body still ached from training, and he needed to wash off the sweat and grime clinging to his skin. He headed to the shower, letting the warm water soothe his sore muscles. When he was done, he grabbed a fresh set of clothes and pulled them on.

  Just as he was adjusting the fabric, a knock sounded at his door.

  Cale’s head snapped up, his heartbeat quickening. He didn’t wait—his feet moved before his mind caught up, and he reached for the door handle. As it creaked open, his breath hitched.

  Tristan stood first, his sharp blue eyes scanning the room instinctively before settling on Cale. Behind him, Mirelle’s green eyes were wide with relief, her fiery red hair tousled, as if she had been fidgeting with it nervously the entire way here. And stly, Davion stepped inside, his sturdy frame tense, his lips pressed into a thin line—but his brown eyes softened when they met Cale’s.

  For a moment, Cale just stared at them. Then, without hesitation, he rushed forward.

  Tristan was the first. Cale threw his arms around him in a tight hug, his small hands gripping the back of Tristan’s shirt. The taller boy flinched slightly, his entire body going rigid. For a second, Cale thought he might push him away.

  But then, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Tristan let out a huff, his lips twitching into a reluctant smirk. He patted Cale on the back—once, twice.

  "Alright, alright," Tristan muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. If anything, there was something warm hidden beneath his gruff tone.

  Cale pulled away and turned to Mirelle.

  Before he could say anything, she was already moving, throwing herself into his arms. She clung to him fiercely, her small frame trembling ever so slightly.

  "I thought—I thought maybe we wouldn’t see you again," she admitted, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

  Cale swallowed hard, hugging her just as tightly. "I’m here," he whispered. "I’m not going anywhere."

  When they finally pulled apart, his gaze met Davion’s. The stocky boy hesitated for only a second before stepping forward. Cale hugged him, feeling the way Davion’s muscles tensed before he slowly rexed.

  "You scared us," Davion mumbled, his voice thick.

  "I scared myself," Cale admitted.

  They pulled away, and the four of them stood there in silence for a moment. No words were needed.

  "Cale? What is happening to your hair?" Mirelle asked, her green eyes wide with confusion as she stared at him.

  Cale frowned. "What’s wrong with my hair?" he asked, puzzled.

  "You have silver hairs," Tristan said bluntly, his sharp blue eyes flicking over Cale’s head. "It’s kinda evident. Your hair is dark, so they stand out."

  Cale blinked at them before bolting toward the bathroom. His heart pounded as he leaned over the sink, gripping its edges before looking up at the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair, his breath catching as he spotted them—thin strands of silver woven into his usual bck locks. They shimmered under the dim light, an unnatural contrast to the rest of his hair.

  "How did this happen?" he murmured, still combing through his strands as if expecting the silver to vanish. "My hair was normal two days ago."

  A sharp whistle cut through his thoughts, making him turn sharply toward the bathroom door. The others were still outside, peering into the vish space.

  "You live like a prince," Tristan remarked, stepping back and scanning the room with a raised brow. "How did you get this room?"

  Cale hesitated before exhaling, running a hand through his hair one st time before stepping away from the mirror. "Come on, I’ll tell you," he said, pointing to the bed.

  They all moved, Tristan and Davion settling on the mattress while Mirelle stretched out, sinking into the plush covers. Cale pulled a chair closer, sitting opposite them.

  "This mattress is so soft!" Mirelle excimed, wriggling into the fabric. "I feel like I’m lying on a cloud."

  Cale took a deep breath. He could feel their anticipation, their gazes locked onto him, waiting.

  "Garret and I had a little accident in our bedroom. Someone came and took me to another room—a small one, with a bed, a desk, and dried herbs in jars," Cale expined, his voice steady but low.

  "Accident?" Davion’s posture stiffened, his brown eyes scanning Cale as if looking for hidden wounds. "Are you hurt?"

  Cale shook his head. "No, I wasn’t hurt."

  "Then why were you in the infirmary?" Tristan asked, arms crossed, his tone sharp with suspicion.

  For a moment, Cale didn’t answer. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. The others watched in silent curiosity, but then their eyes widened in shock as the skin along Cale’s fingers darkened, shifting into gleaming metallic grey. His nails elongated, sharpening into cw-like tips. The transformation was smooth, effortless, and entirely unnatural.

  Mirelle gasped, covering her mouth. Davion paled. Tristan’s eyes shot open wide.

  "Holy shit!" Tristan cursed, his voice breaking the stunned silence.

  Cale flexed his fingers again, watching as the metal receded, his hands returning to normal. He finally looked up, meeting their stunned expressions.

  "Yeah," he muttered, his voice almost amused despite himself. "That’s why I was in the infirmary."

  "What did you do?" Tristan asked, his voice tense as he stared at Cale's hands, his eyes flickering between confusion and something else—something darker.

  "It's called elemental shifting. I can change parts of my body into metal," Cale expined, flexing his fingers as the silver sheen faded back into warm flesh. "You should be able to do this in a few years."

  "Huh." Tristan's jaw tightened. "If it should take us a few years, how are you able to do it now?" There was something sharp in his tone—jealousy, frustration. He tried to swallow it down, but it curled inside his chest like a thorn.

  Cale tilted his head, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "I was told I’m something special," he said, his voice light, but there was a certain pride in it. "That I’m destined to be a great hero one day."

  Tristan scoffed, the sound harsh and sudden. He pushed himself up from the bed abruptly, his movements stiff.

  "What's the problem, Tristan?" Mirelle asked, concern cing her voice.

  Tristan didn’t respond. He just walked away, his footsteps firm against the floor, his shoulders rigid. The room fell into silence as they watched him go. The door creaked open and then shut behind him.

  Cale blinked at the door, puzzled. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked, turning to Mirelle and then Davion. They both looked just as confused as he did.

  "I’ll talk with him ter and see what’s the matter," Davion offered, his voice steady.

  Cale nodded, grateful. "Thanks."

  Mirelle, trying to shift the mood, leaned forward. "What happened after you got to the infirmary?"

  Cale hesitated, memories fshing in his mind—the fear, the uncertainty, the moment he looked down at his own hands and saw something inhuman staring back at him.

  "I was really scared," he admitted. "I thought I was a monster. But then Alden came and expined to me that I had done elemental shifting. He helped me turn my hand back to normal." Cale paused, then his lips curled slightly upward, his eyes lighting up. "Then the director came and told me that one day I could be just as great as Titan."

  At the mention of the legendary figure, there was a shift in the room. Mirelle and Davion listened closely, their expressions intrigued.

  "Then the director brought me here. And ter, Isa came to my room," Cale continued.

  Mirelle suddenly reached out and pced a hand on his forehead. Cale blinked in confusion.

  "You have no fever," she decred. Then she raised three fingers in front of his face. "How many fingers do you see?"

  Cale frowned. "I’m not sick."

  "Are you sure?" Davion asked, his brows furrowing with concern.

  "I’m sure," Cale reassured them. "In fact, I feel better than I ever have."

  Davion still looked unconvinced, but he nodded. "So, what happened after Isa came?"

  "We had breakfast, and then we trained. She made me absorb a bunch of elemental essence from some metal ingots, and then we trained all day. Just like today."

  "Huh. So, there’s not much difference between what we do and what you do," Mirelle mused, tapping her chin.

  Cale turned to her. "I saw some kids training in the courtyard. What were they doing?"

  Mirelle sighed. "That’s their punishment. If they can’t keep up, after the training program is done, they have to do more."

  Her face darkened slightly as she continued. "It felt awful. A full day of training, and when I thought it was finally over, that scary instructor still made me run. I thought I was going to colpse. It was brutal." She shuddered at the memory. "I was so exhausted, I felt like I was going to die. It was awful."

  Cale frowned, then, without thinking, wrapped an arm around her in a side hug. She didn’t protest.

  His lips pressed into a thin line as he gathered his courage.

  "Is Garret... alright?" he asked hesitantly, his voice quieter now.

  "He’s fine," Davion said, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice. "But he’s been really quiet. Did something bad happen to him?"

  Cale looked down at his hands for a moment. His fingers twitched as memories resurfaced—the panic, the way Garret had lunged at him, the moment Cale had felt himself slipping, choking, and then... the sharp edge of his cws raking against Garret’s arm.

  The blood.

  He forced himself to stop thinking about it. His stomach twisted, a sick feeling curling in his gut. He shook his head quickly, trying to clear the images.

  "No," he lied, his voice tight. "Nothing happened."

  Davion and Mirelle exchanged a look, but neither of them pressed him further.

  Cale swallowed hard. He couldn’t tell them. He didn't want to worry them. They would be scared of him.

  They fell into small talk, sharing stories about the past two days, ughing and smiling as they let themselves rex after the long, exhausting day. Cale eagerly showed them some of the moves he had learned from Isa, demonstrating the footwork and stances with enthusiasm. Mirelle giggled, attempting to copy one of his stances but nearly falling over. Davion chuckled, shaking his head.

  For a little while, it felt normal—like they weren’t trapped in a brutal training program, like they were just kids enjoying each other's company. It was a rare moment of peace, and they all silently clung to it. The weight of expectations, punishments, and exhaustion seemed to fade, repced by the warmth of friendship. They talked about everything and nothing—about the meals they had, about the instructors, about which recruits were struggling the most. Cale teased Mirelle about her compints over training, and she dramatically colpsed onto the bed, groaning about how she was going to turn into a "ghost of exhaustion."

  A sudden knock on the door broke the moment.

  They all turned as the door creaked open, revealing a man draped in gray robes. His expression was unreadable, his presence quiet yet authoritative. The air in the room shifted as his gaze swept over them.

  "It is time for sleep," the man announced, his voice calm but firm.

  Cale sighed, gncing at his friends, reluctant for the night to end. He had barely gotten any time with them, and now they had to separate again. He stepped forward and hugged each of them, holding on for just a second longer than usual. He had missed them. He didn’t want them to leave.

  Mirelle was the first to return the hug, squeezing him tightly before pcing a quick kiss on his cheek. "You better not disappear again," she muttered, trying to sound pyful, but there was a thread of real concern beneath her words.

  "I won’t," Cale promised, giving her a reassuring smile. "I'll see you tomorrow. I hope."

  Davion stepped forward next, giving Cale’s shoulder a firm pat before pulling him into a brief, but strong hug. "Don’t do anything reckless, okay?" he said, his tone light, but his grip betrayed his worry.

  "No promises," Cale joked, and Davion rolled his eyes before stepping back.

  The door shut with a quiet click, leaving Cale alone.

  He stared at the door for a few moments, the warmth of their presence lingering in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. They were still here, still together. Even with everything happening, that hadn’t changed.

  Slowly, he turned and made his way to the bed. As he pulled the covers over himself, exhaustion finally caught up to him. His body rexed, sinking into the soft mattress. His thoughts briefly drifted—wondering what tomorrow would bring, wondering how much harder training would get.

  But before he could dwell on any of it, his eyes drifted shut, his breathing slowed, and sleep cimed him instantly.

  For the next three weeks, Cale’s routine remained the same—train hard all day, then meet with his friends in the evening. With each passing day, the training intensified, pushing him beyond his limits. Every muscle in his body ached, and each morning, it became harder to rise. Yet, he never once compined. He bore the pain with a quiet resolve, smiling even when exhaustion threatened to drag him down.

  Davion and Mirelle expined that their training was just as relentless, designed to break them before building them back up. Every day, they were pushed a little harder. The reality of failure loomed over them like a shadow. Already, a boy had been sent away to the Forge of Dominion, removed from the program for falling behind.

  Davion sighed as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "That kid... he was always struggling. Too thin, always looked like he was on the verge of colpsing."

  Mirelle nodded, her expression somber. "He barely made it through the warm-ups most days. It was only a matter of time before something bad happened."

  Cale frowned, staring at the floor. "So they just sent him away? To the Forge of Dominion?"

  "Yeah," Davion muttered. "Guess they figured he'd do better there. Maybe they’ll train him differently, or maybe they just didn’t want him getting hurt here. Either way... he’s gone."

  A heavy silence settled over them.

  Cale's resilience became a source of motivation. His friends listened in awe as he recounted his brutal training sessions with a grin, never once showing doubt or weakness. If he could endure it and still smile, then they could too. His determination was contagious, a quiet force that made them push themselves harder.

  But one thing unsettled Cale—after that day, Tristan never came to his room again.

  At first, he thought maybe Tristan was just tired or needed space. But as days turned to weeks, the absence became gring. Davion had tried talking to him, but Tristan always found a way to dodge the questions, offering vague responses or changing the subject. Eventually, Davion had given up, shaking his head in frustration. "You know how he is. If he doesn’t want to talk, you won’t get anything out of him."

  Cale didn’t push. But it hurt.

  After another grueling day of training, instead of being led to his usual meeting with his friends, Cale was escorted from the training room to an adjacent chamber.

  The moment he stepped inside, a cold wave of unease settled over him. The room was sterile, eerily pristine. Bright lights illuminated stark white walls. A simple bed sat at the center, surrounded by strange-looking metal instruments.

  Men in gray robes moved through the space like ants, their faces partially obscured by white cloth masks. They didn’t speak, only murmured to one another as they checked various instruments. Their hands were methodical as they descended upon Cale, examining him with unnerving precision.

  They checked his pulse, his eyes, his ears. Cold fingers pressed against his skin, lifting his chin, tilting his head from side to side. A hammer tapped against his knees, making them jerk involuntarily. They prodded and measured, each touch clinical and detached.

  Then they took his blood. The sharp prick of the needle made him flinch, but he forced himself to remain still. He swallowed down his nerves. Heroes didn’t falter.

  Finally, they handed him a vial filled with thick, dark liquid.

  "Drink," one of them instructed.

  Cale hesitated. The scent alone was enough to make his stomach churn, bitter and acrid. Still, he lifted it to his lips and swallowed. A horrible taste coated his tongue, making him gag slightly, but he forced it down.

  Almost immediately, a heavy drowsiness washed over him. His eyelids drooped, his limbs sluggish. The room around him blurred, voices becoming distant murmurs.

  "What... what is happening to me?" he mumbled, his words slurred as his body swayed unsteadily.

  "Do not worry," a voice reassured him. A gray-robed man stood before him, his face unreadable. "We need to perform more tests, and for that, we need you asleep."

  Gentle hands guided him onto the bed. He barely registered the coolness of the sheets beneath him before his eyes fluttered shut.

  Darkness swallowed him whole.