Chapter Text
"To command is to serve, nothing more and nothing less."
— Andre Malraux
"Kiramman!"
Brigadier General Harrow’s voice cut through the downpour like a whip. It was rough—gravelly from years of barking orders and smoking between deployments. A man who commanded attention with his sheer size alone, his boots were caked in mud, his once-pristine uniform now streaked with grime and sweat. His light brown beard, peppered with gray, met the edge of his cap—a symbol of rank he never removed in public, to spare his dignity.
Rain hammered down in sheets, soaking the packed dirt beneath their feet. Soldiers lingered inside the barracks, warm and dry, their muffled laughter lost in the storm. But outside, Lieutenant Caitlyn Kiramman stood still, her uniform clinging to her as water dripped from her dark blue hair. The cold bit at her skin, but she gave no indication she felt it.
Harrow stepped closer, looming over her. "You’ve got a summons. Captain Vale wants to see you first thing tomorrow."
Caitlyn frowned. "Vale? Communications unit. What’s this about?"
Harrow let out a sharp exhale, something between a scoff and a laugh. "Not my problem, Lieutenant. You’ll find out soon enough."
He started to turn away but paused, giving her a sidelong glance. "Watch yourself, Kiramman. You’ve been stepping on toes. Not everyone here finds that charming."
She met his gaze steadily, expression unreadable. "Understood, sir."
Harrow studied her for a moment longer before spitting onto the wet ground and striding off. Moments later, his voice rang out again, barking orders at the soldiers inside. The barracks doors burst open as men scrambled into the rain, hurrying to their tasks.
Caitlyn remained where she was, jaw set, her mind turning over the pieces.
Something was off.
And whatever this was—whatever Vale wanted—it wasn’t just routine.
She shook her head, walking back to her private dorm, thankful for a rank high enough to keep her from bunking with the young men who didn’t try very hard to keep their hands to themselves. It wasn’t just the privacy she valued—it was the security. Her door had a sturdy lock, and she knew better than to answer the knocks that came after midnight. She always heard the murmurs, the way the men spoke when they thought she couldn’t hear. Who would be the first to sleep with her? Who could win her over? Some called her a tease, others a whore, as if merely existing in her own skin was an invitation.
She despised the attention. It wasn’t flattering, it wasn’t amusing—it was exhausting. And yet, in the quiet of her own thoughts, a part of her found it almost laughable. If only they knew. If only they understood that their drunken bets and crude propositions never stood a chance. Not because she was too proud, too difficult, too untouchable—but because she simply didn’t care. Not for them. Not for any of them.
She might have pitied them, out there in the freezing rain with their rough hands and aching backs. But she didn’t. Not when she had been out there just as long, standing just as strong, and had received none of their camaraderie—only their resentful stares and whispered words.
Caitlyn exhaled sharply, gripping the handle to her door. With her free hand, she pulled her jangling keys from her pocket, slotting one into the lock with practiced ease. The moment the latch clicked open, she slipped inside, shutting out the cold with a firm push.
The sigh that escaped her lips felt heavier than it should have. She tossed her keys onto the small table near the entrance, along with the contents of her pockets—an old ration bar, a crumpled note she didn’t care to read yet. Without hesitation, she unbuttoned her uniform jacket, peeling it away from her damp skin. It clung stubbornly, reluctant to part from her arms, but she finally shrugged it off, letting it drop onto the chair beside her.
Her dark tank top underneath was just as soaked, but at least it didn’t carry the weight of the jacket. The fabric stretched over her frame, revealing the scars that traced over her skin—white and pink, raised reminders of fights she barely remembered. Some she could place. The jagged one along her forearm from a mission gone wrong. The thin, faded one near her collarbone from training that had been pushed too far. Others? They could have come from anywhere. She had stopped keeping track.
She kicked off her boots next, stripping away the rest of her uniform as she stepped into the bathroom, steam already curling through the air. The heat from the water wrapped around her as she stepped under the stream, a sharp contrast to the numbing cold that had seeped into her bones. She braced her hands against the wall, tilting her head back to let the water rush over her scalp, rinsing away the dirt, the sweat, the exhaustion of the day.
Her fingers dragged over her arms, washing away the stubborn grit clinging to her skin. The rhythmic sound of water hitting the tiles filled the room, steady and grounding. For the first time in hours, she allowed herself to just exist. No barking orders, no scrutinizing stares, no constant awareness of the space she took up and how others perceived it.
And yet—
Boom.
The sound of gunfire. Screaming.
A flash of light blue.
“Cait!”
The voice was distant, but it echoed in her skull.
“Cait! Look out!”
Her breath caught.
Caitlyn jerked back, colliding with the cold shower wall, her palm slamming against the slick tile. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.
What the hell was that?
She pressed a hand to her forehead, willing herself to steady. It was nothing—just exhaustion playing tricks on her.
She muttered something under her breath and reached for the faucet, shutting off the water before stepping out into the thick steam-filled air. A towel wrapped around her shoulders, soft and grounding. She needed to take her meds. Needed to sleep. Needed to forget about today—about Harrow’s sneer, about the storm outside, about whatever Vale wanted from her.
Whatever it was, she doubted it would be anything good.
~~
“Hey!”
The loud chatter of anxious and boisterous teens continued, undeterred. An annoyance, but nothing unusual.
“HEY!”
The classroom quieted in an instant. Students scrambled into their seats, backpacks thudding to the floor in a rushed attempt to appear attentive. One poor girl tripped over a stray strap, nearly face-planting before catching herself. A muttered apology passed between her and the offender before she hurried to her chair, cheeks flushed.
“Now, now, that’s much better,” Vi drawled, leaning back in her chair. Hands folded over her stomach, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. “You gotta listen to Professor V when she talks, yeah?”
A boy—Matthew—blurted out, “But you’re not a professor. You’re just a teacher.”
Vi tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling like she was asking the gods for patience. Then, she spoke.
“Alright, what two lessons can we learn from this?”
Silence.
She scanned the classroom, expectantly.
“Nobody?” A pause. “Fine, I’ll tell you. First, Matthew—raising your hand is important. We don’t speak out of turn. Second,” she smirked, “I can call myself ‘Professor’ if it makes me feel better about my paycheck.”
A few chuckles rippled through the students. Vi returned one of her own, lopsided and amused.
“Now!” She spun her chair and stood up. “As you all should remember, we have a test on Tuesday.”
Groans erupted across the room.
“Stop that,” she said, waving a hand. “I see the worried looks. You’ll all do fine. Because…” She paused, dragging it out. “Today we’re doing a study guide! Hooray!”
Dead silence.
“Jeez, tough crowd,” Vi muttered, shaking her head. “Alright, fine, you can work in pairs. Go find a partner.”
Immediately, the classroom came to life. Students shuffled around, linking arms in tight-knit groups, talking animatedly. A pair of boys shoved each other playfully, and the quiet girl in the back slid along the wall until she found her usual friend.
Vi exhaled, sinking into her chair and taking a sip of coffee. Way too early for this. Not that she didn’t love her job—she did. But some mornings, she had to convince herself just to drag her limbs out of bed.
She set the coffee down, wincing as a stray droplet splashed onto her hand. With a small grunt, she rolled her seat forward, grabbing her red grading pen from her signature “I’m only teaching because being a magical unicorn isn’t a job” mug.
She didn’t even look up before saying, “Matthew, I don’t think slapping your friend’s butt is on the study guide. Get to work.”
A few snickers.
Then—
“Hey, Miss V?”
Vi glanced up. A shy girl stood before her, paper in hand, her friend hovering just behind.
Vi softened her expression. “Yeah, kiddo? What’s up?”
The student hesitated before flipping the paper toward her. “Could you help us with this problem?”
Vi took the page, scanning the pencil-marked answer.
“Ah, see—your unit conversion is off. What you have to d—”
The pen slipped from her fingers.
The world lurched.
She was falling.
Her chair slammed onto its side as she hit the floor. Her breath caught in her throat, arms sprawled out, fingers twitching against the bristled school carpet. Her vision blurred, colors warping and twisting. The voices in the classroom became muffled, distant, overlapping in an incomprehensible hum.
No! Please, you’re going to shoot her, you can’t risk it!
Get out of my way.
I said move!
Her side ached—a sharp, searing pain.
Smoke burned her lungs, she was in a dark alleyway. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, their glow stretching and distorting as if the air itself had turned liquid. Her vision blurred, eyes stinging with tears—
She gasped, clawing at the floor, trying to ground herself in reality.
The classroom snapped back into focus.
She was still on the ground, surrounded. Faces loomed over her—concerned, frightened. Matthew, wide-eyed, shifting uncomfortably. The shy girl clutching her paper, hands trembling.
Their eyes bore into her skull.
“Miss V?” A hesitant voice. “Miss V, are you okay?”
“Leo went for help!” someone else shouted.
More voices. Loud. Distant. Swirling together, suffocating. The air felt thick. Her breath hitched, sharp and ragged. Her fingers curled, reaching for something—anything—her vision swimming in and out of focus.
The students’ faces blurred together, morphing into something inhuman. A grotesque amalgamation of eyes and mouths.
A new voice. Firm. Familiar.
“Oh my goodness! Violet!” The school nurse. “Can you speak?”
Vi tried.
Nothing came out.
Her body felt too heavy, her limbs weighed down by something unseen. The world dimmed at the edges, the noise receding into a dull hum.
Then, she shifted out of reality