CHAPTER 47: CHAPTER 47 — WHAT REMAINS IN THE DARK

Time after battle was always the quietest.

It wasn’t a peaceful period.

Just... emptied, like a blur to those who partook in its carnage.

The silence that followed violence felt like a debt, a pause before the next scream. Bright Morgan stood over Larkin’s collapsed body—what remained of it—feeling that silence press against his skull like a vice. Ink still pooled around the corpse, glistening under the trembling lantern flames scattered through Grim Hollow. The wind carried the scent of dust, scorched grain, and death.

His breath rose white in the cold air.

Larkin did not move.

He wouldn’t ever again.

But something else did.

A faint glow pulsed beneath the corpse’s ribs.

Bright stiffened. He stepped closer and nudged the body with the tip of his fused blade. The corpse shifted, releasing a soft crunch of congealed ink and bone. And there—beneath the ribcage—rested three small crystalline masses.

Ability cores.

One shimmered pale blue; the spatial awareness core that made Larkin a tad dangerous in combat.

One glowed dull purple; the mental presence reduction core that improved his infiltration capability.

The last pulsed faint red; a basic body enhancement core.

Bright stared.

Cores weren’t supposed to remain behind for humans.

Not like this.

Not clean.

Not accessible.

Every member of the republic was taught the same thing: after death, the soul-shell ruptured, destabilizing ability cores and dissolving them within minutes. Only rare, special circumstances preserved them—and even then, classified operations handled such anomalies. If ability cores simply dropped from corpses...

There would be slaughter across every settlement.

The rich would hunt.

The desperate would kill.

The corrupt would harvest.

Wars would erupt over bodies.

And yet... here they were. Three cores lying openly beneath a dead informant of the Covenant.

Bright swallowed.

"This... isn’t right."

His voice sounded smaller than he intended.

He crouched, wiped ink off his gauntlet, and reached for the cores. The closer he came, the more his danger sense burned—not with threat, but with wrongness. A warning. Something fundamental was out of order. Something that shouldn’t exist.

But knowledge was a weapon.

And weapons kept people alive.

He picked up the first core with two fingers. It vibrated faintly—like it resisted being held, like it wanted something. His palm tingled as he turned it over, studying the fractured lines inside.

Spatial awareness...

He remembered the fight.

How Larkin sensed him even when blindsided.

How he could strike from any angle with unnatural precision.

If Bright could combine that core with his danger sense...

He exhaled slowly.

Power tempted.

Power whispered.

"I’m not a monster," he murmured. "I’m not."

But then the memory of the battles returned. Fen nearly crushed by debris. Juno trembling from the psychic blast. Lira almost having her legs severed by falling supports. Mara burning herself out protecting them.

The squad survived because Bright pushed harder than he ever had—but even then, it wasn’t enough.

Fen had speed and strength, yes, but no real ability.

Juno had intellect, not instincts.

Mara had her Clear Mind, but it was defensive.

Rolf was raw power but nothing else.

Lira was quick but still normal.

Only Bright stood between them and annihilation.

The cores could change that.

Could help.

Could protect.

Could save.

He gathered all three cores in his hand. They pulsed faintly, weak but potent, each one a fragment of power stolen from the fallen.

A shiver crawled up his spine.

He knew what taking them meant.

He knew what it looked like.

People who harvested cores—scavengers, hunters, corrupt guards—were always the first step toward becoming monsters. Even if they meant well, the greed changed them. The hunger overshadowed duty. The need for more, more, more—

Bright closed his fist.

"No," he whispered. "This is different. This is survival."

A voice approached behind him—small footsteps dragging, unsteady.

"P-Private Bright?"

It was Juno.

Bright stood, slipping the cores into an inner pocket as he turned.

Juno’s face showed exhaustion mixed with shame. His hands still shook slightly from the psychic blast earlier. His eyes moved from Bright to Larkin’s corpse—and widened.

"H-he’s dead?"

Bright nodded. "He won’t be hurting anyone else."

Juno didn’t speak for a long moment. He just stared at the ink pooled across the dirt.

"I... I wasn’t much help tonight."

Bright frowned softly. "You held debris off Lira and Fen. That saved lives."

Juno looked away. "But I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t resist the mental pressure. I... froze."

"It happens."Bright said, unconsciously pushing his act as a man with years of experience, although he had so little of it.

"Does it?" Juno’s voice cracked. "Because it looked like everyone else was fighting to their last breath. Fen pushed himself until he nearly passed out. Mara almost killed herself stabilizing our minds. Rolf broke his shoulder slamming that catalyst bomb away. Lira had to carry half the squad out at once."

He swallowed.

"And me? I didn’t even swing."

Bright stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You’re still alive. That’s your contribution. Survival isn’t weakness in my book.There were more than a few out there who outclassed me in the tier 2 shroud incident. Now, look where I’ve risen to, and where they remain."

But Juno didn’t look convinced.

Bright didn’t elaborate further.

Because deep down, part of him agreed.

The squad couldn’t continue like this. Without abilities, they’d fall behind. They’d die.

He needed to give them something more.

Something like—

His hand brushed against the hidden pocket where the cores lay.

He remembered Fen’s frustration, Juno’s fear, the cracks in their cohesion. If he distributed the weaker cores between them, they’d at least have a chance in future fights. An ability—even a basic one—meant a step forward.

As for Bright himself...

The spatial awareness core called to him.

Merged with his danger sense, he could become something more. Something lethal. Something unmistakably initiate-level in combat—not just in rank.

But at what cost?

Did fusing forbidden cores make him more like Larkin?

More like the Covenant’s monsters?

He pushed the thought away.

"Come on," he said to Juno. "We need to regroup."

Juno nodded slowly and followed Bright through the rubble-strewn outpost.

The grain tower still groaned, though it would survive. Guards hurried across the debris, smothering lingering fires while Beacon medics tended to the wounded. The lanterns cast long shadows across the fractured supports, making the entire outpost look darker than usual—like a place half-swallowed by the Shroud.

Bright spotted his squad regrouped near a collapsed barricade.

Rolf sat against a broken beam, breathing heavy. His left shoulder was swollen and badly bruised, but he still grinned upon seeing Bright.

"Good," Rolf rumbled. "You’re still in one piece."

"Barely," Lira muttered, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She flicked her gaze over Bright, noting blood stains and the trembling in his fingers. "Was he alone?"

Bright nodded. "Yes. Alone—and overwhelmed."

Fen wiped dust from his arms, face pale. "If you didn’t kill him when you did... gods."

"Yeah..." Juno whispered, voice small.

Mara stood a little away from them, leaning heavily on her knees as she focused on breathing. Sweat dripped from her chin. Her Clear Mind ability had been pushed far beyond safe limits.

"You okay?" Bright asked gently.

She nodded weakly. "Just exhausted. My mind feels... scraped."

"You saved us," Bright said.

She gave a tired smile. "You saved us harder."

Before Bright could respond, a cry rang out from near the burned fence.

"Hailen! He’s down! We need a medic—now!"

Bright froze.

His stomach twisted.

He sprinted toward the voice with the squad rushing behind him.

Hailen lay on his side, propped against a broken cart. His right arm was covered in blood, and a deep gash crossed his chest, seeping dark fluid. His breaths were shallow and strained. One medic pressed cloth against his wound while another checked his pulse repeatedly.

Bright dropped to his knees.

"Teacher!"

Hailen’s eyes fluttered open and focused blearily on him.

"...Morgan," he whispered. "Good... you’re alive..."

"You’re bleeding too much. Stay awake—"

Hailen touched Bright’s wrist weakly.

"Listen... carefully. Do not let this place fall. In my heydays, I’ve seen what happens... when the republic is pushed around so much. Now, you enlisted soldiers are treated like statistics for there is a need to be pragmatic in your use. The republic runs on practicality... but what ignites the heart of men in power is their emotions. It’s better to be a number on a page than a slave thrown into the meat grinder. Know for a fact that is what they’ll do... it is what they must.

Bright’s heart thudded.

Hailen gasped, coughing blood.

"Teacher—!"

"Bright..." Hailen’s fingers tightened slightly on his wrist. "You need... to grow. Faster. Before the world collapses. Darkness has always been a constant in this world... set your sights on making it a variable."

His grip weakened.

"Don’t... let... Grim Hollow fall."

His hand slipped away.

Hailen didn’t die—

—but he fell unconscious, breathing ragged, unstable.

The medic shouted, "We need to move him NOW!"

Bright rose slowly as they lifted Hailen onto a stretcher. His drive thundered in his ears.

The world felt smaller.

Tighter.

More dangerous.

More cores.

More hidden enemies.

And in his pocket...

...three cores that shouldn’t exist.

Bright clenched his jaw.

"Tomorrow," he whispered. "Tomorrow I decide."

Tonight wasn’t the time for choices.

Tonight was for surviving what remained.

He could have stayed in his burning house and not rushed to this organized hell. Who could have known the fire here burnt harder.