CHAPTER 39: CHAPTER 39 — LOCKDOWN AT DAWN

Dawn broke cold and grey over Grim Hollow, bringing with it no warmth, no promise, only the heavy dread of a fortress sealed shut from the inside. Soldiers moved like tightly wound gears in a failing machine—efficient, but strained. Orders barked across courtyards. Doors slammed. Patrol boots hammered the stone pathways.

The outpost was no longer breathing; it was holding its breath.

Bright Morgan arrived in the yard before his squad, having barely slept. Being an Initiate meant he no longer tired like a normal human, but it did nothing for the churn in his gut. His senses—sharper, keener, almost painfully alert—picked up every heartbeat of nervousness in the air. The smell of oil from the generators. The faint metallic sting of weapon crates opened for inspection. The clipped footsteps of officers marching with intent.

Grim Hollow was wounded, gutted from inside its own walls.

A whisper of movement to his left; his squad had gathered.

Lira, arms crossed, tapping her foot.

Fen, quiet and observant.

Rolf, scowling like he had swallowed nails.

Mara and Juno hovering uncertainly behind the older trio.

"Good morning," Bright said.

Rolf snorted. "Nothing good about it, rookie."

Lira shot Rolf a warning look. "Not now."

But the big man wasn’t done. "I don’t like being locked in with a traitor. Especially not when someone like him—" He jabbed a thumb toward Bright—"is suddenly put above us right when everything goes to hell."

Fen exhaled softly. "Rolf..."

Bright didn’t rise to it. Rolf still hadn’t accepted him. It wasn’t surprising; Bright was the youngest squad leader in Grim Hollow, the only one to reach Initiate rank in the chaos of a Tier-2 Shroud encounter. The older three had spent years clawing for recognition.

Bright simply met Rolf’s eyes. "If you want to settle that later, maybe a need for a more thorough beating, we can. But right now, we have bigger problems."

A silence.

Rolf looked away first.

Sergeant Tyven arrived then, expression carved from granite.

"All right! Listen!"

Every conversation in the yard died.

"The outpost is in First-Tier Internal Lockdown. That means: no one enters, no one leaves, and every ration, every weapon, every supply log, every bunk assignment—everything—is being audited."

Groans, curses, tense muttering.

Tyven continued, "Master Sergeant Calren has ordered round-the-clock sweeps. We are to treat this cult infiltration as a live operation. Your squad, Morgan, will be assigned to northern sectors five to nine. You will patrol, question personnel, and inspect routes for hidden passages or unverified movement."

Rolf muttered, "Babysitting."

Tyven ignored him.

"You’re also ordered to report directly to Hailen in the east training yard after your sweep. He wants Morgan’s squad in rotation for combat readiness checks."

"Still need to remove the baby fat in him probably. The youngest initiate in the northern campaign, looks like this good fortune is coming with a lot of baggages". Tyven thought.

Bright nodded. "Understood."

Tyven studied him a moment longer than necessary. "Morgan... watch your back. Initiates stand out, you especially. And the Covenant likes...martyrs."

The unspoken warning hung in the air:

They might target you.

Tyven left.

The squad stood in silence until mara asked quietly, "So... what’s our plan?"

Bright exhaled. "Sector sweeps. We’ll move as one unit. Mara keeps her clear-mind field active. Lira on point. Rolf... rear guard with Juno. Fen with me."

Rolf scoffed. "I don’t take orders—"

"Then you can stand alone like an idiot while the rest of us do this properly," Lira snapped. "He’s the Initiate. Deal with it."

Rolf glared at her.

Bright said calmly, "I’m not giving orders because I want control. I’m giving orders because if we’re sloppy, someone dies."

The big man clenched his jaw but said nothing more.

The sweep began.

Sector Five was a stretch of warehouse-like structures storing tools, spare armor, and old iron cages once used to transport crawlers. Cold metal. Old blood. Dust. Nothing suspicious.

Sector Six contained sleeping quarters for rookies. They were empty now; everyone had been scrambled for lockdown drills. Juno opened footlockers. Lira checked ventilation shafts. Mara stood at the center of each room, her mind-field shimmering faintly as she felt for psychic residue.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Sector Seven...

Different.

Bright paused outside the door.

His danger sense didn’t explode—just stirred, like a faint breeze brushing the back of his mind.

"Wait," he murmured.

Lira stopped instantly. Mara froze. Even Rolf tensed. They had learned to trust an Initiate’s instincts.

Bright pushed the door open.

It was a supply chamber—crates of dried grains, rows of water barrels, stacks of firewood. Everything untouched. Unbroken. Untampered.

No symbol.

No saboteur.

But...

Mara frowned. "There’s... something here."

Bright stepped inside. His enhanced hearing picked it up first—a faint hum; not from generators, not from machinery. Something in the walls.

He approached a stack of crates.

"Help me move these."

Rolf grunted and shoved a crate aside.

Behind it was a ventilation grate with fresh scratches.

Bright crouched. "Someone removed this recently."

"Why hide it behind crates?" Fen asked.

"Because they didn’t want anyone to notice," Lira answered.

Bright put his hand near the grate. Air flowed out—cold, stale, carrying an odd hint of charcoal and ink.

Mara’s eyes widened. "Ink..."

Bright recognized it instantly.

Like the scent lingering around the symbol they found near the water tank.

"It’s a passageway," he whispered.

Rolf kicked the wall. "Damn rats."

Bright grabbed his arm. "Stop. We don’t know if the place is a trap or if someone’s inside, someone stronger. We are not dealing with monsters, but humans with a strong purpose and the will to act on it"

Rolf tensed but didn’t swing.

Bright leaned closer—

The air suddenly shifted.

A voice—muffled, faint—echoed from deeper inside the ventilation network.

"...tonight... last batch... no delays..."

The squad froze.

Voices. There were voices.

A cell. Talking. Planning.

Lira whispered, "We found them. We actually found them."

Rolf’s grin was sharp and savage. "Let’s drag them out."

"NO," Bright hissed.

The older man turned on him. "What?!"

"We don’t know how many they are. If we charge blindly, we die blindly."

Mara nodded quickly. "Bright is right. Cultists never work alone. And they don’t panic. If they’re talking, they’re preparing."

Bright exhaled slowly.

He needed to think. Fast. Carefully.

His senses stretched, listening deeper—

"...purification hall... before first bell..."

"...mark the grain..."

"...Great One... hunger... closer..."

His blood ran cold.

They weren’t finished.

They had another sabotage planned.

And it wasn’t just food.

Purification hall.

The water supply.

Bright whispered, "We need to report this. Immediately."

Rolf clenched his fists. "Coward. If we wait, they vanish."

Bright didn’t snap. He simply looked Rolf dead in the eyes.

"Do you want to die here? Or actually catch them?"

A silence.

Then, grudgingly—

"...Fine."

They sealed the ventilation opening with the crates again. Hid every trace of their discovery. Marked the wall with a tiny chalk sigil—Bright’s idea—to find the exact spot later.

Mara kept her clear-mind aura active, shielding them from the lingering psychic influence.

Juno trembled slightly. "How many do you think there are?"

Bright swallowed. "...More than one. Maybe more than three."

Fen spoke softly. "Do you think they know we heard them?"

Bright shook his head. "Not yet. But they will if we stay too long."

They exited the chamber, silent and tense.

Lira whispered, "private ... what if they attack before we can report?"

Bright answered truthfully.

"Then Grim Hollow burns or in this case starved."

They reached Tyven’s office only to find the Sergeant gone—summoned to a command council. Two warrant officers blocked the door. "No interruptions."

Bright clenched his jaw. "We have critical intel—"

"Take a token and wait."

A wooden block. Number 47.

Bright stared.

The world was about to collapse, and they wanted him to stand in line like he was waiting for bread.

Lira cursed under her breath.

Mara whispered, "Bright... the purification hall..."

Time was ticking.

Bright closed his eyes.

He couldn’t force his way into command. That would only add chaos.

He needed someone with authority.

Someone who would listen.

Someone who trusted him—or at least tolerated him.

And he knew exactly who.

"Hailen," Bright said. "We’re going to him. Now."

The east training yard was alive with movement when they arrived. Hailen stood at the center of a sparring ring, yelling corrections at three squads drilling combat formations.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw Bright sprinting up with his entire squad in tow.

"Bright Morgan," Hailen said, stepping down from the ring. "You’re early for inspection."

"We found something," Bright said quickly. "A hidden passage. Some voices, likely Cult members with a plan to attack again, tonight."

Hailen’s expression changed instantly.

Calm.

Cold.

Deadly serious.

He didn’t doubt. Not even for a second. Because Hailen had seen Bright survive things he shouldn’t. Had seen him grow into an Initiate in chaos. Had seen the light behind his eyes that said he wasn’t lying.

"Show me," Hailen said.

Bright nodded. "Follow us."

Behind them, unnoticed, an officer in grey uniform slipped away into the shadows, heading toward another building entirely.

Larkin Oyesa smiled thinly.

"So the little Initiate has found the vent."

He whispered softly:

"Then the Great One will simply... adapt."