CHAPTER 217: FIRST TRUE SHOT

The day had passed with deceptive slowness.

For them, it had felt like an eternity—marching, fighting, securing zones, snatching brief pauses before plunging back into dust and blood.

Finally, as evening fell, they chose a clearing they deemed safe enough to spend the night.

A large fire was built, its flames casting flickers of orange and black across their hollowed faces. The ordinary soldiers brought out the meat carved earlier from the carcasses of beasts slain during the day, organizing a quick and rudimentary cooking session.

Slightly apart, the Awakened had gathered together. They shared the recovered gems and took turns keeping watch, their gazes fixed on the shifting forest.

Maggie, finally freed from her helmet, let the cool night air glide over her face. She sat beside Elisa and Inès. All three had finished their absorption, and now it was their turn to stand guard.

Elisa rose in one fluid motion, her spear pivoting naturally in her palm like an extension of her arm.

She exchanged a brief glance with Maggie and Inès—a flash of silent understanding, an unspoken pact of vigilance. A slight nod toward the dark edge of the forest was enough: they understood. She was taking her turn on watch.

But sentry duty was only part of her motivation. A deeper need pulled her toward the outer darkness, a need to feel her power vibrate in her veins without the stifling constraints of Martissant’s military base or the urgency of battle. Psychokinesis was a torrent within her, and in recent days, she had only been able to channel a thin trickle of it.

She stepped away from the circle of light and warmth from the fire, the acrid smell of smoke and grilled meat giving way to the damp coolness of the night and the earthy scent of the forest.

The sounds of the soldiers faded, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant, anonymous creaking of vegetation.

She stopped about twenty paces from the camp, close enough to react if there was an alarm, far enough to avoid being watched too closely.

Her hand dipped into the side pocket of her combat pants and pulled out two compact, matte-gray spheres. Lead. Heavy, dense, perfectly resistant.

Maggie’s advice echoed in her mind: "Small projectiles... Less predictable... Focus on speed. Speed is everything. Even a needle can tear through the sky if it’s fast enough." The idea of mass increasing with velocity was still abstract, almost unbelievable, but the logic was undeniable. Faster meant stronger.

Elisa took a deep breath, centering her focus. The two spheres, resting on her open palm, slowly lifted as if freed from gravity. They began to rotate, one around the other, forming a tiny planetary system at chest level.

Their movement accelerated, imperceptibly at first, then faster and faster. A faint hum, barely audible, rose in the air—the vibration of energy overcoming inertia and the air itself.

Her eyes, adjusted to the dim light, locked onto the massive trunk of an ancient oak, its fissured bark faintly catching the distant firelight. Her target. She visualized the impact point, a dark crack at chest height.

The rotation of the spheres became a blur, a grayish halo. The hum intensified, turning sharper, more strident. The mental strain was tangible; a fine sheen of sweat formed on her forehead despite the cool air.

She could feel the resistance of the air, the stubborn mass of the lead, the tension in her temples. She pushed, channeling all her will into acceleration, pushing past the limits of what she had managed in the safety of her room.

The spheres were now nothing but silver streaks, spinning so fast they seemed to merge into a single vibrating ring. The accumulated energy was palpable, a static pressure that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She held her breath. Now.

With a flash of will, she shattered the orbit. She didn’t throw them—she released them in a precise direction, funneling all that kinetic energy into a single, devastating line toward the trunk.

FWHIIIIP-SCHLACK!

The sound was brief, violent—a tearing noise followed by a deep, dull impact. This wasn’t the sound of a rock hitting wood. This was the sound of something cutting through the air at obscene speed and piercing solid matter like warm butter.

Elisa blinked, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. Where she had aimed, on the trunk of the old oak, two perfectly circular holes had appeared, no wider than the spheres themselves. No splinters, no radiating cracks. Just two smooth, deep entries, as if drilled by an ultra-fast machine. The finest wood dust still floated in the air, illuminated by a thin moonbeam that suddenly found its way through the branches.

She stood motionless, breathless, staring at the power of her stigma. The spheres were buried deep in the wood—perhaps they had even gone clean through.

Speed. Pure speed. Maggie had been right. A mix of euphoria and slight fear coursed through her. This power... it was far more devastating, far more precise than she had imagined. And she had only scratched the surface of its potential.

A rustling sound, closer and unlike the natural noises of the forest, made her snap her head up, her spear instinctively shifting into a defensive stance, all traces of experimentation gone. The sentry was fully alert again. But in her eyes, a new determination burned alongside the vigilance. She now knew what her lead spheres could do.

Elisa tensed, her fingers barely twitching—a sharp, precise movement. The two lead spheres slid out from the tree’s depths like beasts dragged from their den, silently streaking back to her palm. They landed with a soft metallic clack, like two loyal dogs returning to their master.

She turned on her heel, ready to head back to camp, when a low, almost amused voice cut through the darkness behind her:

"That’s a good shot. Psychokinesis, your power?"

Her blood ran cold for a split second. In a fraction of a second, she pivoted on her feet, and her spear flashed in a deadly arc. The tip stopped just beneath a throat, so close that one more breath would have split flesh.

A silhouette became clearer, stepping out of the shadows as if it had always been part of them.

"You saw everything?" Elisa asked, her voice low, icy, unnecessarily sharp—because she already knew the answer.

The man smirked. Zirel. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, not like a predator’s, but like those of a spectator delighted to have uncovered a juicy secret.

"Of course I saw everything," he replied casually. "And of course I knew you three had stigmas. I just didn’t know which one was yours."

A heavy silence settled. The forest’s breath, the nocturnal insects—everything seemed to fade in the tension of the moment.

Elisa’s pupils narrowed into hard slits, her words hissing like blades:

"And you don’t think that here, right now, I could make sure you never speak again?"

She pressed the spear slightly, just enough for him to feel the cold bite of metal against his skin. Her fingers tightened around the spheres in her left hand, ready to launch like two miniature lightning bolts.

Zirel, however, didn’t flinch. He didn’t even raise his hands. His smirk widened, almost insolent.

"You could, yeah. But that’d be a mistake... and you’re not the type to waste such precious ammunition, are you?"

He spoke with an eerie calm, as if playing a chess game where he already saw the end.

Elisa didn’t answer, and Zirel took the opportunity to raise a finger, slowly, and push the blade away from his throat, as if the danger had never existed.

"Besides, it’ll come out eventually..." he murmured, unnervingly composed. "The way you hesitate to use it on the battlefield, I think you’re afraid of the consequences. You’re just waiting for the right moment, aren’t you?"

His words landed like a slap disguised as an observation.

Elisa didn’t blink. Her eyes remained locked onto his, but her focus was elsewhere—above his head, the two spheres were already spinning faster than before. The air vibrated with a faint hum, nearly imperceptible, as if the night itself sensed the threat.

"Okay..." she finally said, her voice dry, "but why were you following me? What makes you think I wasn’t just taking a piss? Is it a habit of yours to stalk your teammates into the bushes?"

Zirel’s smirk twisted into something almost genuine, amused.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... hey, don’t go there, please." He raised both hands theatrically. "I’m not that kind of guy. I just came to make you an offer."

Elisa’s wariness sharpened. The spear didn’t move an inch, and the spheres kept spinning rapidly in the air.

"And what’s that?" she asked flatly, more challenge than curiosity in her tone.

Zirel tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something conspiratorial, like he’d just opened a forbidden door.

"Join the Galebloom Guild."

The words hung in the air like an odd fragrance—too sweet not to hide a hint of poison.