At twenty-five, Iosef Kain.
The morning air at the border outpost was cold.
The dampness of the night had not fully dispersed.
A thin layer of moisture clung to the ground.
Boots left faint marks when stepping on it.
The yard still carried traces of the night's humidity.
Fine mist lay close to the surface, almost invisible in the morning light.
The flagpole beside the iron gate swayed gently in the wind.
The metal shaft emitted a faint trembling sound.
The flag occasionally rustled.
The fabric moved slowly in the air,
its edges curling slightly before falling back.
Iosef had been here for many years.
This yard.
This iron gate.
This flag.
Everyone had grown used to them.
His rank was captain.
The insignia on his shoulders reflected a bit of sunlight.
The metal edges were clean and precise.
But his position had never changed.
Platoon leader.
The soldiers in the yard had long accepted that.
No one found it strange anymore.
Few even mentioned it.
Beyond the barbed wire lay a quiet forest.
The wire was stretched tight,
its dense metal mesh glinting darkly in the light.
Tall trees formed a continuous shadowy outline.
Their trunks stood straight, aligned in the distance.
Wind swept over the treetops.
Leaves brushed against each other,
producing a low, rustling sound—
soft, repetitive, like distant whispers.
Several old wooden tables stood in the yard.
Their color had darkened with age.
Scratches covered the surfaces—
knife marks, circular stains from cups,
and fine cracks.
The edges had been worn smooth.
A hand placed on them could barely feel any sharpness.
Mike sat by one of the tables.
The chair was old, its back slightly tilted.
One hand held a metal cup, its surface worn.
The other rested on the table, fingers lightly tapping.
Several squad leaders sat around him.
The morning air was cold.
Breathing carried a faint chill.
Steam rose slowly from the cup,
white vapor dispersing into the air.
Mike lifted his head, shifting his gaze from the cup.
"Strange."
His tone was casual, like a passing remark.
"The platoon leader's rank is already enough for company command."
He paused.
The yard remained quiet.
Wind slipped through the iron gate.
Someone in the distance was moving crates.
Wood hitting the ground made faint sounds.
Mike continued:
"Why is he still here without a promotion?"
He frowned slightly.
He still remembered what happened three years ago.
That year, Iosef was exceptionally promoted to captain.
When the news reached the outpost,
many had stopped what they were doing.
Those who knew the details weren't surprised.
They simply exchanged glances.
The wind passed through the yard.
A sheet of paper on the table shifted slightly.
Mike pressed it down with his palm.
He looked at the squad leaders.
"There should be positions above."
A hint of confusion in his voice.
"Even if there aren't…"
He paused.
"They could make one."
He lifted his cup and took a sip.
The water had cooled.
Only a trace of warmth remained.
The first squad leader leaned back in his chair.
It rocked slightly.
Arms crossed, he raised an eyebrow.
"What did the platoon leader say?"
Mike set the cup down with a soft sound.
"Sigh."
His shoulders sank.
"He's not interested."
He shrugged.
"Went into the primeval forest again today for training."
He glanced toward the gate.
It stood half-open.
The hinges were slightly rusted.
Outside was a hardened dirt path,
covered with footprints.
Beyond it—the forest.
Deep, dense.
Trunks stood in rows,
light fragmented through the canopy,
casting patches of brightness and shadow on the ground.
The second squad leader set his cap on the table.
He smiled faintly.
"Deputy platoon leader," he said quietly,
"aren't you the same?"
Mike blinked, then waved his hand dismissively.
"I just hate the hassle of studying."
His tone carried impatience.
"How can I compare to him?"
He took another sip.
There were three squad leaders in total.
The third had been silent the whole time.
Sitting at the edge,
head lowered,
holding his phone.
The screen light reflected faintly on his face.
Mike frowned slightly and tapped the table.
"Hey."
A crisp knock echoed.
The third squad leader looked up.
Mike pointed at his phone.
"Why are you staring at that?"
The man raised it slightly.
"Rumors lately," he said quietly.
The wind stirred again.
The flag rustled.
"The higher-ups are forming a new ability-user unit."
He paused, looking at the others.
"Think they want the platoon leader to take command?"
Mike froze for a second.
His cup hovered midair.
Then he smiled lightly.
"Oh?"
He leaned back.
"If it's him, that'd be good."
His tone was natural.
Wind swept through the yard again.
Paper edges lifted slightly.
Distant metallic clinks echoed—
soldiers checking equipment.
Recently, news had been frequent.
In newspapers.
On television.
On phones.
One name kept appearing.
Silas Neroth.
Even within the military, it was widely discussed.
A scientist, they said.
His research had succeeded.
A method to awaken abilities.
Such news spread quickly in the army.
Soldiers talked during breaks—
in mess halls, dorms, training grounds.
But the real details were unknown.
All information was restricted
to the upper levels of command.
The yard remained quiet.
Wind carried the scent of the forest—
slightly damp.
Ability users were not unfamiliar in the military.
Most units had a few.
Their existence was always… special.
Sometimes assigned missions.
Sometimes restricted.
Their power was immense.
But so were the problems.
Loss of control.
It happened every year.
Records existed within the military—
many incidents, large and small.
Some ability users, after earning merit,
became more aggressive.
Their tone hardened.
Some even defied superiors.
A serious issue in the army.
Discipline was everything.
So command had always struggled—
valuing their strength,
yet troubled by management.
Silas's research changed things.
Awakenings became faster.
Numbers increased.
New problems emerged.
At that time—
A report reached military headquarters.
From the border outpost.
Simple content:
Iosef Kain annihilated a special forces company.
The document lay neatly on the conference table.
Clear handwriting.
Several officers sat around it.
Bright lights overhead.
Silence in the room.
Someone flipped a page.
A faint rustle.
The name stood out clearly.
Iosef Kain.
No one spoke immediately.
A finger tapped slowly on the table.
The Kain family name was not unfamiliar.
Someone stared at the report for a moment.
If it were an ordinary officer,
this would trigger long discussions—
Ability units.
Risks.
Control.
Instability.
Meetings could drag on.
But this time—
The atmosphere was different.
Another page was turned.
Eyes stopped on the name.
Kain.
That surname simplified many problems.
Someone nodded slightly.
The discussion ended quickly.
The file was closed.
Pushed to the center of the table.
Under the light,
the text remained clear.
A consensus formed.
A new unit would be established.
Ability users.
One hundred personnel.
A new appointment was written:
Company Commander — Iosef Kain