Chapter 5
Chapter five
Annalise
My alarm jerks me from my nightmare, and for a minute, I think I am back at my dad's house, fighting for my life. I’m drenched in sweat, hair and shirt stuck to me like glue, and either I slept in the worst possible position, or my nightmare has ghost pains lingering throughout my body.
My neck has a kink, my arm is asleep, and my head aches like it took a few kicks with a boot.
Forcing myself to abandon my warm bed, I take a quick shower before slipping into the issued all-black uniform.
The scoop-neck top is soft, cool, and molds to me like a second skin.
I pull the leather-like tactical pants on next and appreciate the way they stretch with every movement I make, despite the armored panels hugging my thighs and knees.
I strap the twin thigh sheaths into place, each one cradling a dagger that settles warmly against me.
The hardened leather knee-high boots follow, and I can’t help but appreciate how lightweight they are as I walk to pull my uniform jacket from my closet.
It’s cut flatteringly at the waist, but the reinforced stitching along the shoulders, sleeves, and forearms draws the eye to every curve of my body.
It’s a standard issue uniform, but somehow the whole thing is both insanely comfortable and looks like it was custom-made for me.
I pull my long, black hair to the back and quickly French braid it so it will be out of my face.
“The door’s unlocked,” I yell when I hear a soft knock that could only mean Sasha’s at my door.
“We’ve got twenty minutes to get to the parade grounds, find our spots for formation, and look like we know what we’re doing. You ready?” Sasha asks when she steps in.
“As I’ll ever be.”
We exchange a look, a mix of trepidation, determination, and a healthy hint of excitement, and head out the door for our first official day at Scion.
The halls are alive with students in various stages of alertness—half still fastening their uniforms, some with dark circles under their eyes like they haven’t slept in weeks, and the obvious Bravo Company recruits who are so put together they look like they were born in their uniform and move with a kind of unbothered precision, sharp eyes, and shined boots, that only daily repetition can give you.
Matt is waiting just outside the barracks front doors, leaning against the hand railing like he’s got nowhere else to be. He’s holding three steaming cups of coffee and has the most satisfied look on his face.
“Morning, Lee,” Matt greets with a shit-eating smirk as he passes me one of the cups. “And here I thought you’d be back to your masochistic runs every morning now that we’re free. Tsk. Tsk.”
How is it possible to love him so much and want to throat punch him simultaneously?
“You’re an ass…and an absolute legend,” I praise, taking another long drink of the liquid gold. “Remind me to put you in my will.”
He snorts, “I’m not sure I want to inherit your old boy band posters or your drawer of ‘toys’, but thanks.”
Next to me, Sasha chokes out a laugh, nearly whipping herself in the face with the hair she finally got into a high pony.
“I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done with my dignity, but if that coffee’s for me, I’ll consider naming my firstborn after you.”
Matt grins and hands her the second cup with a wink. “I like the sound of Matt Junior much better than the inheritance.”
Blushing slightly, she starts sipping.
“Mattey, this is Sasha, my new neighbor. So far, zero murder vibes, so things are looking good.” Now it’s his turn to choke, this time on his coffee, and I realize what I just said…good one, Annalise.
“Uhm, yeah. So anyway, Sasha, this is Matt…he thinks coffee or booze can fix everything, and annoyingly, in my case, he’s usually right.”
She gives him a little wave, and we join the herd of students moving down the path that runs along our barracks building toward the parade grounds behind the infirmary.
Tossing our empty cups into the trash, we fall into our squadron's assigned spot for formation that was marked in our folders. Sasha stands directly behind me, Matt directly to my left.
As the crowd finally stills, the clatter of boots is replaced by tense silence as we wait.
After a few minutes, the squadron leaders call each squadron to attention as three instructors and the dean walk out and stand in front of us. While their looks couldn’t be more polar from one another, it is obvious that each one could kill me without breaking a sweat.
Rather than talking to us, they stand with impatient looks on their faces, clearly waiting for someone else to arrive. Their eyes take turns flicking to the path we walked in on, but there’s no one there.
I take the time to observe each of the instructors while we wait.
Standing in the center, Dean Stevens, a woman with short silver-blonde hair, cut sharply to her jawline, stands in her own black uniform, her posture steel straight from years of military service. She put together a video for all of us in our welcome packets. It was…informative.
To her left is a short, stocky man with dark skin and a topknot, wearing long robes that mark him as an Arcane Healer and, no doubt, our Combat Medicine professor.
“That’s Healer Alric,” Sasha whispers to me. “He taught both my parents. They told me they once saw him stop and restart a girl's heart purely by touching her forehead!”
That can’t actually be true. Right?
Movement to our right draws the attention of the instructors, most of the female recruits, and I even hear a guy make a suggestive comment from a few rows over.
A man—easily one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen—strolls down the path with the casual confidence of someone not concerned with anyone else's schedule.
The Dean spots him first, her expression tightening before she gives him an annoyed nod and turns to face us fully.
“Welcome to Scion Military Academy, Charlie Company,” she announces, her voice clear but cold as it carries across the grounds with a voice amplification spell.
“Over the next year, you will be tested in every conceivable way.
We will strip away everything you believe you know about discipline, endurance, and your own strength.
Some of you will discover your limits. A few of you may even learn to break through them.
“Scion exists for one purpose: to forge leaders who are capable of protecting not only themselves but all of Thandroan. Mediocrity is not only unacceptable—it is a one-way ticket to the afterlife, be that here or upon graduation. Regardless of your track, you will learn to be lethal, to trust your instincts when every voice, including your own, turns against you, and to understand that every day here is a privilege, not a guarantee.”
No one dares to speak, but I see several chests puff up and chins rise a little higher than they were seconds ago.
“This academy’s legacy was built by those who once stood where you stand now. Its continuation depends entirely on what you choose to become from this moment forward.
“Before we begin, allow me to introduce the faculty who will oversee your training. Each is a master of their discipline. Together, they are the crucible through which you will either be remade…or broken.”
She gestures toward the stage behind her. “Healer Alric-Arcane Healing and Combat Medicine, Major Calderon-Military Strategy, Captain Varin-Environmental Tactics, and Captain Korr-Combat Class.”
Captain Korr—the instructor who walked in late—doesn’t look old enough to have Captain in front of his name, but there’s something in the way he carries himself that says he’s more than earned it.
Twenty-five, maybe twenty-six? His blonde hair is cropped close on the sides but long enough on top to look deliberately insubordinate, and the rolled sleeves of his uniform on his muscular, tattooed forearms have me imagining the most criminal things.
Dean Stevens’s voice snaps me out of my reverie; her tone only slightly softened from her welcome speech, enough to suggest respect or maybe even some warmth.
“You’ll meet your specialization instructors once you reach their respective classes next week.
In the meantime, take a look around you.
These are the faces you’ll suffer with. Bleed with.
Be inspired by. And, if you’re lucky and don’t die, graduate beside. ”
Nothing like a touch of cheerful morbidity in a welcome speech.
“Bravo Company, you know what to do.”
Several recruits start to move around, but before I can even ask what’s happening, Matt reaches over and wipes my bottom lip with his thumb.
I jerk back, confused.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, barely suppressing a grin. “You still had a little drool.”
I swat his arm. “Asshole,” I mutter, even as a smile breaks through.
Once attendance has been taken, we are dismissed to head to our first classes.
As a group, several of the Charlie Company recruits and I make our way to the Combat Arena, a tall, circular stone building set against yet another dark forest. The interior of the arena consists of hard-packed dirt, steel-framed weapon racks, and sand-filled sparring pits, with faint patches of darker sand that I’m going to pretend aren’t puddles of blood from Bravo Class.
Professor Korr waits for us with arms crossed in the middle of the room. His sleeveless black shirt does nothing to hide the incredible shape he’s in—or to curb my desire to find out just how far his full sleeve tattoos extend.
“This week, we assess your physical baselines: strength, speed, endurance, and pain tolerance. Hand-to-hand proficiency will be tested by the end of the week. If you’ve never fought before, congratulations. You’re about to learn real fast.