Sunlight filtered through the jagged canopy of fungus-covered trees above the training grounds—an open field just outside the colony's borders. The mottled light spilled across the battered terrain, casting long shadows over the churned soil and crushed moss. The scent of damp earth mingled with the iron tang of dried sweat, and the ghost of countless battles lingered in the air. This wasn't a place of peace. It was where warriors were forged.
Isla stood at the edge, her armored fingers trembling as they hovered near her sides. Her mandibles—curved like twin sabers—felt foreign today, heavy and wrong. Her body was too light, too unsteady, as if her legs no longer knew how to bear her weight. Her heart thundered inside her chest, faster than it ever had during inspections or drills. This wasn't like the sparring matches with Anastasia where Rory and Ari fought beside her. This was real. Two Corporals. No backup. No mercy.
She was alone.
Her breathing stuttered, shallow and panicked. Everything inside her screamed to turn back—to flee into the tunnels where the quiet swallowed fear whole. Her chest tightened until it hurt.
"You alright?" Corporal Lily asked, voice airy as always but tinged with something sharper. She leaned forward, brushing her vibrant orange braid over her shoulder. Her smirk was playful, but her eyes scanned Isla carefully.
Isla couldn't answer. Her throat felt sealed shut.
Lily tilted her head, then gave a lopsided grin. "If you fall apart now, I'll have to carry you back to the barracks like a wounded larva. That's gonna be hard on my back, you know. You don't want that, do you?"
Still nothing.
Beatrice stepped forward, steady as stone. Her eyes were calm, unreadable, but her voice was gentle. "You're scared, Isla. That's okay. Fear doesn't make you weak. It means you care. It means you know what's at stake."
"I just—I don't think I belong here," Isla whispered, eyes trained on the ground. "I'm not like Ari or Rory. I freeze when it matters most."
Lily's teasing edge softened, arms crossing over her chest. "You're not the only one who's ever felt like that," she said, her gaze flicking toward Beatrice for a split second. "Everyone starts shaky. The trick is turning that fear into something useful. Fuel. Direction."
Isla shook her head. "I try, but it doesn't go away. I keep seeing Hopper's face in my head. The way he looked when—" Her voice cracked, the memory clawing at her.
Beatrice's expression darkened with understanding. "You want to fight him. You want to stop him. But that isn't something you can do with hope alone. You need strength. And strength only comes when you choose to grow—right now. Not later."
"What if I'm not strong enough?" Isla asked, voice barely audible. "What if I fall behind again?"
"You might," Beatrice said bluntly. "But you'll never know unless you stand up and try."
Lily took a step closer. "And trust me, I was a disaster the first time I fought. I could barely hold my mandibles right. And they're half the size of yours. Look at me now—total menace."
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "More like a loud distraction."
"Distraction or not," Lily said with a wink, "I learned because I failed. And you will too, if you don't quit."
Isla blinked at the two of them. Her legs still trembled, but their words rooted her, grounding her in something real. Slowly, she looked up.
"How do I start?" she asked.
Lily smiled. "By standing."
It sounded absurd. Too simple. But Isla straightened her back, took a breath, and lifted her head.
Beatrice gestured to the open field. "Get your mandibles ready."
With shaking hands, Isla slid them into their grooves along her forearms. They clicked into place. Heavy. Cold. But not unfamiliar.
"This is a 2v1," Beatrice continued. "Not to break you, but to shape you. We'll push you hard. That's the only way you'll learn. If you want to stand with Ari and Rory, you'll need to learn how to hold your ground—no matter how many come at you."
Lily grinned. "Just don't pass out. I'm not dragging your corpse off the field."
Isla gave a faint smile, the knot in her chest loosening just a little.
Beatrice moved first—a slow, deliberate feint.
Isla flinched but didn't fall.
Then Lily was on her—fast, a blur of orange and glinting blades. Isla jerked back, too slow, and in an instant, she was on the ground. Her mandibles clattered beside her.
She gasped, wind knocked from her lungs.
Lily stood over her, hands on hips. "Well, at least now I know you can fall with style."
"I—I can't—" Isla stammered, curling into herself. "I can't do this."
"You didn't run," Beatrice said as she knelt beside her. "You're still here. That's the beginning."
"I'm scared," Isla admitted, voice cracking. "So scared I can't breathe sometimes."
Lily crouched beside her, seriousness washing over her. "Good. Fear means you have something to lose. Use it. Don't let it stop you. Because if you want to face Hopper, you'll have to be better than you are now. And if you can't even handle a couple swings from us, how do you think you'll fare against him?"
Isla's head drooped. But her hands clenched tighter around the moss beneath her. "I want to be better."
Beatrice nodded. "Then prove it. Get up."
The sun hung lower now, its golden rays catching the edges of Lily's braid and Beatrice's armor. Isla pushed herself up, legs wobbling. Her heart still raced. But she stood.
And she stayed standing.
Again they attacked. Beatrice came in straight and steady, and Isla raised her mandibles just in time to deflect. Lily was a blur at her flank, and Isla twisted, barely ducking under the sweep of her blade.
Again. And again. Isla was knocked down. Hard.
But every time, she got back up.
Her footwork was clumsy. Her strikes too slow. But slowly, her form adjusted. She began to read their movements, to anticipate, even if her body didn't always keep up.
"Nice parry," Lily remarked after a narrow deflection. Her tone was still playful, but there was something warmer in it now. "You've got bite after all."
Isla nodded, panting hard. "Still scared," she gasped.
"That's fine," Lily said. "Means you're thinking. Just don't let it paralyze you."
Beatrice added, "And when the time comes, let your instincts speak louder than your doubt."
By the time they ended the session, the field was quiet again, save for Isla's ragged breathing. Sweat clung to her, and her limbs trembled with exhaustion. But the tightness in her chest had eased.
"You did good," Beatrice said quietly.
Lily gave a thumbs-up. "Didn't die. That's a win."
Isla laughed—weak, surprised. It didn't feel like defeat this time. Just fatigue.
"I didn't run," she whispered.
"No," Beatrice agreed. "You didn't."
That night, back in the barracks nestled near the edge of the field, Isla lay curled beneath a frayed woolen sheet, her mandibles resting beside her on the floor. Her muscles ached. Her thoughts swirled. But sleep came easily.
And for the first time in days, the weight pressing down on her shoulders felt just a little lighter.