CHAPTER 56: CHAPTER 56 — THE FIRE, THE STONE, AND THE SHADOW BETWEEN

The barracks corridor always felt colder than the rest of Grim Hollow.

Even before the evacuation, even before the Covenant’s sabotage, this entire stretch had been a place of quiet—long stone walls, narrow windows leaking thin threads of daylight, and a wind that somehow knew how to whistle only in shrill, unsettling tones. Now, with the outpost emptied of its workers and fledglings, the corridor had become something worse:

A throat.

Long. Narrow. Waiting to choke or be choked.

Bright Morgan stood at the entrance, boots planted on frosted stone, the air heavy with old dust and older echoes. His new squadmates approached from opposite ends of the hall, their silhouettes bending and sharpening against the flickering torchlight.

First Lieutenant Estovia stepped forward first.

She walked like a blade—straight, deliberate, and unapologetically lethal. Her red-tinged hair was tied back in a tight knot, and the heat radiating from her skin was so faint it took Bright a moment to notice it.

The warmth wasn’t natural.

It was power bleeding through her control.

Beside her, Corporal Baggen lugged a short-handled warhammer across his shoulder. His steps were heavy, solid, like each footfall tried to bury itself deeper into the stone than the last. He was shorter than Estovia but as broad as a barricade, his armor scratched and dented in familiar places—wounds taken and ignored.

The moment the two saw Bright standing in the center, they exchanged a glance.

A single glance.

Then both stopped three paces from him.

Estovia’s eyes—sharp, ember-colored—locked on Bright with mingled irritation and assessment.

Baggen’s brow creased into a thoughtful frown.

Bright exhaled quietly.

So this is how it begins.

"Private Morgan," Estovia said, voice clipped.

She didn’t salute nor nod. She simply acknowledged his existence the same way one acknowledged a draft leaking through a loose window—an annoyance, not a presence.

"Lieutenant," Bright answered.

"You’re late."

"I arrived before both of you."

"Then you’re early," she said, dismissing the fact entirely. "Which means you should be scouting at least , not daydreaming at the threshold."

Bright let the comment slide. She was older, more experienced, and clearly not interested in giving him any grace.

Baggen cleared his throat, trying to soften the tension. "Lieutenant, the Captain said we’d plan first—"

"I know what the Captain said," she snapped. Then, without glancing at Bright, she added, "And I know what children are capable of when unsupervised. They wander."

Brazenly withstanding the fact that her high committee were the sole reason for this mess.

Bright’s jaw tightened.

Children.

She had to be in her mid-twenties, not some ancient veteran from the northern border. But she looked at Bright with the same expression every hardened soldier used when speaking to someone who hadn’t bled as long as they had.

Baggen scratched behind his ear awkwardly. "Lieutenant... forgive me, but he’s an Initiate. Even if he’s young, he—"

"He is still young," she cut in. "Strength doesn’t change inexperience. He survived the Shroud, yes, but so do anomalies. The battlefield doesn’t care what miracles carried someone here."

Her gaze slid back to Bright, measuring something deeper.

Something he didn’t like.

"So," she said, "before we begin anything... answer me this. What exactly do you bring to this formation? And spare me the titles. Ability, talent. I want the truth."

Her voice was cold.

Her meaning clear.

Prove you belong here. The weighty aura of nobility spewing from her pores.

Bright held her stare, calculated what he was okay speaking of, and told her calmly.

"I don’t rely on brute strength," he said. "My advantage is awareness. More than sight, more than hearing. My senses connect faster than most people can think. And I detect danger before I understand it."

Estovia tilted her head. "That all?"

"No," he said. "I scout. I track. And I don’t die easily."

That earned the faintest flicker of interest in her eyes.

The tiniest.

But she didn’t comment.

Instead, she inhaled—and the air around her shimmered briefly, like heat rising from sun-burnt metal.

"Fine," Estovia said. "Then you should know who you’re working with."

She stepped closer so the lanternlight caught the small pendant hanging at her collar—shaped like a flame curled around itself.

"You are privileged to work with first lieutenant estovia Armand from House Armand"she stated smugly.

"My talent," she said, "is tied to my house."

Bright nodded.

He’d heard of it. The Armand’s mostly heard children with soul talents that didn’t create fire, but amplified it—sharpening its heat, lengthening its reach, bending its intensity to the user’s will.

Estovia’s mother’s family line specialized in heat conjuration and her father’s side bred with a clan that used flame strikes during the Northern Purge. Their union produced three children.

Baggen lowered his gaze respectfully. Bright stayed silent.

Estovia went on, tone indifferent.

"In my family, power isn’t inherited casually. Fire is a bloodline we have cultivated—refined generation by generation to burn hotter, purer, deadlier. You both will bare witness to what it means to be of house Armand, where fire burns brightest."

She smiled without warmth.

Breeding selectively was a common thing to see for a noble house, no one liked to admit it and the Republic pretended not to see. So It was a given the heir’s of those houses taking part in it came out the better for it. Stronger.

Her soul talent— fire affinity, amplified every fire related core she fused with. Her cores were specially sourced from a light flame crawler and the other from a fire gnawer. Both increased heat output and control. Her fire affinity takes that and amplifies it again. She was a textbook pyromaniac, a demolition expert.

"I am the primary strike force in this formation. My job is to erase anything that enters this corridor."

She looked at Bright again, eyes narrowing.

"I only need you to not get in my way."

Bright didn’t answer.

He didn’t trust himself to.

Baggen stepped forward next.

"Right," he said, trying to lighten the air. "I’ll go next. And don’t worry, Private... I don’t bite."

Estovia snorted softly.

Baggen ignored her.

"So," he said, tapping the haft of his hammer against the wall, "my soul talent isn’t flashy like hers. Actually—I don’t have one."

Bright nodded. He’d heard that too. Half the Republic had no talent at all.

"But I got lucky," Baggen continued, "and fused two compatible earth cores after I reached Initiate level. First is from a Stonecarver Crawler. Lets me shift the ground the way masons shift wet clay."

He stomped once.

A ripple ran across the stone floor like liquid before settling again.

"Second core’s from a Sandwraith. Nasty thing. Gives me control over loose ground. Not enough to drown someone, but enough to make their footing disappear."

Bright watched with interest.

"So earth wall and quicksand," he said.

Baggen grinned. "Exactly. I’m the defensive anchor of this trio we’ll be building . I build the barriers, I control our movement, and I stop crawlers from getting to the lieutenant."

Estovia scoffed. "You stop some crawlers."

"Most," Baggen corrected gently.

"Some."

"Most."

Bright almost smiled.

It was the most human exchange he’d seen here so far, except for the eerie feeling that the lieutenant was about to turn their support into a snack.

Baggen turned back to him. "And that’s where you come in, Private Morgan. You’re the eyes. You see things before we do. You warn us before something jumps. You keep this hallway from turning into a coffin."

Bright nodded slowly.

That part at least made sense.

Then Baggen’s expression turned hesitant.

"And... forgive me for saying this, but... you’re new. And small. And very young. And I honestly can’t tell whether you’re going to save us or be dead weight. As my life is involved , I had to address this now."

Estovia didn’t soften the blow.

"Baggen is being polite," she said. "I don’t think you’re reliable yet. A raw Initiate with little to no foundation is crap, you haven’t even been in the outpost for long. Prove me wrong and I won’t complain."

Bright inhaled once.

Deep. Controlled.

He had been underestimated before.

He would be underestimated again.

But this time, they weren’t enemies. They were teammates. And the truth was—Estovia and Baggen were strong. Experienced. Useful.

So he let the insult pass like smoke.

Estovia stepped closer to the corridor wall, tracing her finger down a groove carved along its length.

"This hallway is a killing ground," she said. "Long sightline. No alternate exits. No windows wide enough to crawl through. If crawlers come, they will come in waves, one after another, and the walls will funnel them into a straight line."

"And straight lines," Baggen added, "are my playground."

His hammer rose—and the floor responded, shifting like breathing stone.

Estovia nodded toward the raised segment. "The corporal will create a layered defense. First, a low rise to trip or slow them. Behind that, a wall to control their climb. And beyond it—me."

Bright listened carefully, absorbing every detail.

Estovia continued:

"I will position myself at the second defense line. Far enough back that I have space to cast, close enough that my flames fill the hall completely. If I burn the first two waves, Baggen seals the corridor afterward."

Baggen nodded. "A stone choke. Not perfect, but enough to buy time."

"And you," Estovia said, turning to Bright, "will not be standing with us."

Bright blinked. "Where, then?"

"In the ceiling alcoves," she said, pointing upward.

Bright followed her finger. Above the corridor were faint architectural recesses—tiny gaps where old support beams once lay. Perfect for someone silent, small, and aware.

"You will be our scout," Estovia said. "Our alarm. Our eyes."

"And if crawlers get too close?" Bright asked.

"You drop down," she said. "You flank. You kill what we cannot see."

Baggen rubbed the back of his head. "Basically... we rely on you to keep us alive."

Estovia shot him a sharp look.

"That’s not what I said."

"It’s what you meant lieutenant," Baggen replied softly.

She didn’t deny it.

Estovia stepped closer to Bright—close enough that he felt the heat radiating off her skin.

"Here, you work as part of a formation. I don’t know how it was in your ragtag adventure in that shroud incident. But remember this; do not think for a second that you are above the hierarchy of the army. You follow orders. You do not overextend. You do not improvise unless absolutely necessary."

Bright met her gaze evenly. "And if necessary?"

"Then you improvise flawlessly," she said. "Or you die."

Baggen grimaced. "Lieutenant—"

"No," she snapped. "I need him to understand. The crawlers will not care about his reputation. They will not care about his potential. They will tear his throat out if he hesitates by even one breath. I do not care for his death. But here in this place, his damnation to the great one’s embrace would be a one way ticket for us."

Bright didn’t flinch.

Her words weren’t cruelty.

They were truth.

Estovia watched him carefully.

Then—

"You don’t like me," Bright said quietly.

"I don’t trust you," she corrected. "From what I’ve seen so far there’s not much to like"

A pause.

Then Bright nodded once.

Baggen let out a relieved breath.

"Well," Baggen said cheerfully, "now that everyone’s threatened each other politely—shall we get to work?"

The three moved into position.

Baggen knelt, pressing his palms to the floor as vibrations hummed through the stone. The hallway shifted, ridges forming like ribs beneath the surface.

Estovia stood several paces back, heat rising from her skin until the frost on the walls melted into thin rivulets.

Bright climbed silently into the ceiling alcove, letting the world below shrink into a narrow line of vision.

From up there, he could hear everything:

Baggen murmuring to the stone.

Estovia channeling her focus to control the flames.

The wind pressing against the corridor windows.

And beneath it all...

The faintest echo from beyond the outer walls.

Something moving.

Something approaching.

Bright’s fingers tightened on his weapon.

The defense of Grim Hollow had begun.

And this time—

No one would underestimate him for long.