Within minutes, Xaden had changed out of the hospital gown into the simple black shirt and grey sweatpants that the hospital reserved for special cases like himself. 'Special case' meaning dirt-poor, with no family members to check on him, changing in the ward's private facilities.
Speaking of which, he had no idea his clothes had been removed.
The possibility that Jewel had been responsible sent a very fresh, very unwelcome heat crawling up his face.
Now, he was about to leave the hospital ward.
He looked over towards Jewel, already busy with some tests, likely trying to figure out the anomaly that had his name labeled on it. Xaden stood by the doorside for a second, debating whether or not he should say something.
Instead, he cleared his throat.
The Healer looked towards him, studying him in the way that made him wonder if Jewel secretly wanted to penetrate his thick skull with those dark eyes, peer into his brain, and divulge its secrets.
He nodded at her, in gratitude, of course.
Her lips parted. "Is there anything I can say to make you stop?"
Xaden fixed his eyes on hers, the answer plainly written in his eyes.
Jewel heaved a sigh, then gave him one last reassuring smile. "See you soon then."
***
He met Lieutenant Ryven some distance outside the ward, leaning against a structure curved in a seamless arc of polished alloy and glass, veins of dim blue light running through it like a slow pulse. The entire building seemed alive in that quiet, mechanical way. Panels shifted subtly. Lights flickered in controlled rhythms. Even the air hummed faintly, filtered and recycled through unseen systems.
He breathed it in; it wasn't as clean as the air inside the simulation, but it certainly was better than the air in the slums.
A silver dagger spun lazily between the Lieutenant's fingers; he hadn't seemed to notice Xaden's presence yet.
The blade caught the light every time it turned, flashing silver, then somehow golden, and then silver again. Xaden's eyes flicked to it instinctively. The motion was smooth, effortless—like the weapon was an extension of him rather than something he held.
Lieutenant Ryven didn't look at him. Instead, he tipped the edge of the dagger on one finger, flicked it, and caught it in his hand.
Ryven pushed himself off the curved structure and turned, already walking.
Xaden hesitated for half a second—then followed.
They walked, with Xaden behind him.
The silence between them slowly became awkward. Not the kind you could fill with a comment or a question. This one felt deliberate. Like Ryven himself had carved it out and expected it to stay that way.
So Xaden said nothing.
Some militants in uniform who passed them greeted the Lieutenant in military style. Ryven hardly responded. It was then that Xaden realized that, among all the military personnel, only Ryven's uniform was different: black leather cargo pants and a top that showed off the tattoos on his arm with hardly any beast armor aside from his combat boots. The rest of the militants wore uniforms with heavy beast armor and silver-grey clothing with the rising sun insignia on their shoulders.
Ryven wore no such.
The clean, sterile hum of the medical wing gave way to the raw noise of the sector—metal grinding against metal, distant engines roaring, voices overlapping in a constant, restless murmur.
He looked back towards the building. It wasn't massive by any standard, but it was still one of the more expansive buildings in Sector 45. He couldn't help but compare the buildings here to the tall ones from the Crucible that seemed daring enough to kiss the sky.
People scurried about.
The dull haze of the morning Xaden and Leo left for Threshing had been replaced with a buzz. Xaden wondered how long the first Crucible had lasted, if it was still the same day, as the entire Crucible ordeal may very well have lasted a substantial period of time.
Workers in worn brown uniforms, their faces lined with exhaustion. Miners, Xaden realized, judging by the dust clinging stubbornly to their clothes and the heavy equipment slung over their backs, probably back from mining Azura, the dark blue mineral that was to be sent to the city from deep within the mining areas of the lower sectors. Some walked in groups, others alone, all moving with the same dull purpose.
Survive. Repeat.
Survive.
That was the rhythm of the lower sectors.
Most people chose it. Chose to stay. To scrape by, day after day, rather than risk everything on Threshing—a chance for a better life or death, nothing in between.
Xaden had never understood how some people chose not to even try.
Living like that… it wasn't living. He would rather have died.
Hell, he may still very likely do just that.
The thought dragged something else up with it.
A name carved into wood.
Not even a proper grave. Just rough letters cut into the bark of a tree high in the mountains. One of the rare green ones left on Terra.
His father's name.
The promise he had made there still sat heavy in his chest.
A humming vehicle passed overhead, low and heavy, its undercarriage glowing faintly as it drifted toward the outer gates.
Hunters.
The markings were recognizable—red insignias painted across reinforced armor. They were heading out beyond the Vale.
Most of them wouldn't come back.
He averted his gaze. He didn't feel too much empathy for them. They had all chosen to volunteer since they had no other means of survival.
Or, perhaps that was a lie, and he did feel a little sorry for them.
Even he wasn't sure.
They kept walking.
They moved deeper into the Sector. The buildings were made of a thin, rusty metal and clustered together, barely holding the families that lived within. Evident of the fact that everything here had been scraped together hurriedly, then forced to last longer than it should have.
Xaden observed the Lieutenant; he was still absolutely silent. He moved with a certain grace and confidence that reminded Xaden of the white and grey dire wolf his dad once hunted down when they lived away in the mountains. His gait carried a sort of energy that made it seem like he was ready to attack at any given time.
Ryven stopped in front of one more massive building in Sector 45. He went and pressed his palms against a detector next to the metal gates. A deep hum was heard as the gates opened.
The Echelon.
The name was etched into the metal above the gates in sharp, confident letters.
The difference was felt the moment he stepped inside. The air was different—denser, colder in an artificial way. The interior stretched wide and high, built from smooth alloy and glass. Light ran in thin lines along the walls and ceiling.
Aside from the hospital and arena, Xaden realized that this might be the best-designed building in all of Sector 45
People filled the space—candidates, soldiers, officials—but their movements were controlled, purposeful. No one lingered without reason. No one spoke too loudly.
Ryven didn't slow as he walked in, and Xaden followed close behind, his eyes flicking from one detail to another. A group of candidates sparred off to the side, bursts of energy flashing between them. Another stood still, hand raised, bending something invisible in the air. No one paid the pair too much attention.
He was just another face.
Just another candidate who may or may not survive the next Crucible.
Lieutenant Ryven finally stopped near the center of the hall. For a moment, he said nothing, his drowsy gaze sweeping over the area. Then he spoke, his voice low enough that it didn't carry beyond Xaden's ears.
"Don't tell anyone what truly happened during your Crucible."
Xaden felt his heart stop.
His breathing became erratic, his chest tightened. His thoughts stalled all at once. He turned towards Ryven. Confusion mixed with panic flashed across his face.
"How do you—"
But the Lieutenant was already walking away.
No explanation. No pause. No indication that he had any intention of continuing the conversation.
Xaden stood there for a second, watching him disappear into the flow of people, the question an unspeakable weight in his throat.
"Xaden!"
A familiar voice cut through the noise.
Xaden slowly turned towards it.