The sun hadn’t risen all the way, but the light was warm enough to catch on the curved roof tiles and set them glowing. The streets of the inner compound were quiet at this hour—no drills yet, no horns, just the low shuffle of early footsteps and the occasional clatter of armor in the distance.

  They moved through it like something half-remembered. In the kind of loose, steady rhythm that came when everyone knew where they were going and didn’t need to say it out loud.

  “Did anyone actually sleep?” Liu asked, voice low, rubbing his shoulder through the strap of his pack.

  “An hour, maybe two,” Lei replied. “Qi wouldn’t settle.”

  “Mine either,” Nozomi said. She didn’t look tired though. She never did. “But it didn’t feel like rest was the point. I don’t need that much sleep since I ignited anyway. 5 hours top I’d say.”

  Xo walked just behind them, guandao strapped high across his back. “I slept, it did good for the pain and burns.” he said. “Then sharpened the blade. In case the sleep lied.”

  Liu let out a quiet snort. “Do you dream of something else than your blade sometimes ?”

  “No.” Xo said, the corner of his lips slightly twitching.

  “You’re a freak.” murmured Nozomi.

  “You are the one to talk.” he answered.

  "Fair point." That earned a few chuckles.

  They passed beneath a stone archway, its outer rim carved with old cultivator script—worn smooth by weather and time. Beyond it, the buildings became simpler, plainer. Fewer banners. Fewer guards. The scent of old oils and rusted hinges grew stronger. The quartermaster’s block wasn’t for ceremony—it was for gear, grit, and getting things done.

  “Anyone decided what they’re asking for?” Lei asked as they rounded a bend.

  Liu shrugged. “Something useful. That doesn’t catch fire when I’m nearby.”

  “A shadow step skill,” Nozomi said. Her tone was dry, but there was a glint in her eye. “Disappear right when Liu starts getting philosophical.”

  “You’d miss me.”

  “I’d miss the quiet.”

  Lei smiled, but his gaze stayed forward. “We’ll want balance. Something to cover ground we haven’t already.”

  Xo nodded. “Something big. Something that ends a fight before it gets messy.”

  “You say that like it won’t get messy,” Liu muttered.

  The path narrowed—cobbles uneven, pressed tight between storage sheds and the side walls of the barracks' supply depot. Crates lined the way, many still sealed with waxed rope and stamped with regional seals. A few quartermaster aides were already at work—sweating in the rising heat, sliding open lids and counting ration tins and medical kits.

  The main door loomed ahead. A square arch reinforced in dark iron, its hinges thick enough to belong on a vault. Inside was where the Empire kept the good stuff. Or at least, the things too dangerous to leave laying around.

  Lei stepped toward it first, hand resting lightly on the wooden edge of the frame.

  “Here we go,” he said quietly.

  A handful of squads had arrived before them. The line moved slow, soldiers shifting gear from one shoulder to the other, trading quiet murmurs while the quartermaster’s assistants checked off lists with worn brushes.

  The Pandas stepped in behind a trio of older cultivators with black sashes. The group barely acknowledged them.

  No one spoke right away.

  Then Liu broke the silence. “We’re only getting two stones.”

  “Right,” Lei said. “One goes to you.”

  That made Liu straighten. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Nozomi shifted slightly to keep the sun out of her eyes. “You’re the one who needs it most. You can’t jump on everything and expect it to die. Besides, you’re doing better with your fire no ?”

  Liu scratched his neck. “It’s starting to make more sense. The... change part.”

  Xo gave a grunt, half-approving, half amused. “Only took nearly dying.”

  “Sometimes that’s the lesson,” Lei said, and nudged him with an elbow. “You’ve earned it. Don’t argue.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “That’s new.” Nozomi added.

  Liu snorted but didn’t argue further.

  A few steps forward. The assistants handed out a bundle of dried travel rations to the squad in front of them, murmuring instructions.

  Nozomi folded her arms. “What about the second one?”

  She didn’t look at anyone directly.

  “I’m good,” she added before they could answer. “Phantom Edge still has range and facets I haven’t tested. It’s not about hoarding techniques—it’s about mastering one before jumping to the next.”

  “I agree,” Xo said. “I still don’t swing fast enough to justify anything new. Seismic Slam hits hard, but only if I make it count.”

  That left Lei.

  “I mean…” he began, but the others were already looking at him.

  “You’ve got the base healing spell,” Liu said. “It works, but it’s slow. We need more. Something that moves faster or does something else.”

  “Support can shift the whole flow of a fight,” Nozomi said, softer. “Especially if it comes from someone who can keep their head.”

  Xo didn’t add anything, but the nod was final.

  Lei hesitated, brows drawn. “Okay. But I’ll choose utility. Nothing showy.”

  “Wouldn’t expect anything else,” Liu said, then added with a grin, “Well. Maybe something with a little sparkle.”

  Lei rolled his eyes.

  The line moved again.

  They stepped forward into the warm scent of oiled wood and parchment. The wall behind the counter was lined with scrolls marked by faded glyphs. The case of skill stones hadn’t been opened yet, but the air seemed heavier near it—like the old Qi within still lingered.

  Across the counter stood Quartermaster Zhao. The woman looked like she’d been carved out of the same iron that framed the building. Zhao Yueru didn’t lift her head immediately as they approached, but the moment she did, her gaze swept across the squad like a blade measuring distance to cut. Her eyes were sharp—not cruel, just honed—and she seemed to see not just who was in front of her, but how long they’d last in a real fight.

  Her uniform was crisp, black with subtle threadings of deep red along the cuffs and collar, sleeves rolled just past the elbow. Scars crawled over the skin beneath—twisting pale and jagged across both forearms. Fire damage, old and deep. She didn’t hide them. She didn’t seem to think they needed explaining.

  Zhao Yueru didn’t waste words.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The moment she saw them at the front of the line, she set down the ledger she was filling, slid it aside, and stood straighter—eyes narrowing like she was already appraising a squad twice their age.

  “Strike Force 346th. About time.”

  Her voice cut clean, the kind that didn’t need volume to be heard. Her gaze flicked across them, pausing a heartbeat longer on Liu. Then Lei.

  “I got the captain’s notice. Shen Kaizen doesn’t send names lightly. Said you earned two skill stones. State your request.”

  Liu stepped forward first, his tone respectful. “Fire affinity. Defensive purpose, if possible.”

  Zhao nodded once, reached beneath the counter, and brought out a flat lacquered tray lined in dark red silk. Four stones sat neatly spaced in their grooves, each one faintly glowing from within with coiled orange light. The heat rising from them was faint, but distinct—like the air above a forge.

  “Four stones, you're lucky” she said, tapping one after the other.

  Blazing Defiance.

  “Dare strike the flame, and be scorched for your arrogance.”

  Pyro Ward.

  “Pain is the price for those that reach the pyre.”

  Emberguard.

  “Let fire be your armor when steel is not enough.”

  Burning Challenge.

  “Even fury can be a shield.”

  She stepped back again, crossing her arms. Her sleeves rode high, the old burn scars pale against her forearms, stark under the cold light of the quartermaster hall.

  “Pick one. And pick smart. You’ll only get one, and I don’t have spares for second thoughts.”

  Liu stepped forward, eyes scanning the stones, then the etched phrases on the scroll behind them. He didn’t touch anything. Just read. Thought. Weighed the heat in his core against the shape of each sentence.

  Then he glanced back at the squad. Quiet agreement passed between them. No need to speak.

  He turned to Zhao and said, voice steady:

  “I’ll take Emberguard.”

  The quartermaster didn’t smile. But her nod was sharp.

  “Good choice. Fire’s only useful if you’re alive to wield it.” She wrapped the stone in a tight cloth, tucked it into a small case, and handed it to him with both hands.

  “That was fast.” muttered Xo.

  “Next,” she said, already locking eyes with Lei.

  Lei made one step. “Water affinity. Healing or utilitary.”

  She nodded, and a few seconds later placed two water-aspected stones on the counter with the same precise care she might use to lay out field rations or surgical instruments. Their glow was faint, pale blue threaded with silver, the sheen of dew on river rock.

  Lei leaned in, eyes scanning the inscriptions etched into the casing beneath each stone.

  Resonant waters.

  “Your pain travels the current; my care follows.”

  He studied it for a long moment. The pull was immediate, but quiet—like something he’d known once and forgotten. It reminded him of the Ravager fight. Of Xo crumpling. Of how close it had been. How far he’d had to move just to get close enough to patch him up. Seconds had felt like hours. The thought of closing that distance without endangering himself, or others… it made something behind his ribs settle.

  He moved his gaze to the second.

  Blurry mist.

  “The eye hesitates where the mist does not.”

  That one spoke of defense. Of misdirection. Mist on the field—less clarity for everyone. Could buy time. Could protect. He imagined it settling across jungle undergrowth, or inside the tight walls of some future ruin. Situational. But versatile.

  “I could use either,” he murmured.

  Behind him, Nozomi shifted slightly. “The mist is clever,” she said. “But healing at range? That’s rare. Rare and needed.”

  Liu nodded. “Especially when you’re the only one who can.”

  Even Xo rumbled agreement, still steady despite his lingering bandages. “We can take hits. But we don’t bounce back without you.”

  Lei’s fingers hovered between the stones, his eyes narrowing. It wasn’t just a matter of what he liked. It was what the team would need—reliably. Often. Under pressure.

  The quote whispered to him again.

  “Your pain travels the current...”

  He reached for that one.

  Zhao didn’t comment. She simply nodded, wrapped the chosen stone in cloth, and handed it to him with a brief, approving glance.

  The sky was beginning to bruise—deepening from dusk rose to violet as the sun dipped below the curved line of the Chengtan cliffs. Street lanterns cast thin halos in the mist that rose from the harbor, their glow diffused through fog rolling in slow from the tide. Boots clicked sharp against stone, five silhouettes cutting through the haze with the steady rhythm of trained feet and tightened packs.

  No one spoke much. Xo walked with his guandao strapped high across his back, the shape of his weapon making him easy to track in the low light. Lei led at a slight angle, glancing ahead occasionally toward the silhouettes at the pier. Nozomi and Liu walked behind, side by side.

  The harbor spread open beneath them—bustling, but not loud. Sailors loaded crates, moved rope, checked manifests by lantern-light. But their voices were subdued, and no one lingered near Pier A6-45. That one remained oddly empty, save for a lean man standing a little apart from the others. He was in uniform—immaculate, the creases of his coat pressed razor-sharp, dark green and black catching none of the light. A jade amulet swung gently from his belt as he turned toward them.

  Lieutenant Han Zixin watched them approach with the sort of gaze that didn’t blink often. Behind thin-rimmed glasses, his eyes were sharp—not cold, not inviting. Measured. Like he was already noting details about each of them and sorting them into categories no one else could see.

  When they drew close, he nodded once, precise as a closing book.

  “You’re the Panda Strike Force,” he said. Not a question.

  Lei offered a formal nod. “We are.”

  “I’m Lieutenant Han. Logistics officer, coastal operations division. Assigned liaison for your deployment.”

  He didn’t offer a handshake. Instead, he turned slightly and motioned toward the ship at berth—sleek and angular. Its hull bore the faint gold seal of the Merchant Fleet.

  “She’s ready to leave on your mark. Food, water, and military rations rations for five days. One full crate of battlefield supplies in the hold. No reinforcements en route, no cavalry coming after. Just you.”

  He turned back toward them.

  “I’ll spare you the sugarcoating,” Han continued, tone dry. “Three days ago, we lost contact with a mortal response squad dispatched to Baojing Island. They were sent to investigate reports of abnormal predator behavior—wildlife drawing closer to the fishing village, more aggressive than usual. Livestock taken. A child attacked. All classic signs of something amiss in the local flora. Standard assignment for a mortal team, no real threat, especially when escorted by a local cultivator.”

  His hands folded behind his back, the jade amulet clicking softly against his coat as he shifted stance.

  “Then silence. No messages. No return. Yesterday, a passing merchant vessel spotted black smoke rising from the center of the island. Thick. Too dark to be firewood. And no response to signal flares.”

  He let that sink in a moment before continuing.

  “Let me be blunt. First-response assignments are not typically given to fresh squads. Not without oversight. Which means either someone in HQ is taking a risk—” His gaze sharpened slightly. “—or the situation escalated faster than they want to admit.”

  He reached into the satchel at his side and produced a pair of stones—smooth, polished, almost featureless save for a faint crackling sheen across the surface.

  “Twin warning stones,” he explained. “You crush one, the other crumbles. Doesn’t matter where you are. If things go bad and you need extraction, break it. We’ll come, or send what we can.”

  He handed one of the stones to Lei without ceremony.

  “You get one shot. Use it wisely.”

  He paused there, letting the silence do what it always did in moments like these—settle into the cracks and make the moment feel heavier than it was. Not solemn. Just real.

  Lieutenant Han stepped aside as they neared the docked vessel. The ship was built low and fast, with a wide deck and reinforced hull—no sails yet raised, but the rigging was already taut with readiness. He gestured with a nod toward the man waiting near the boarding plank.

  “Captain Jiang Hai,” Han said. “He’ll see you to Baojing.”

  The man who stepped forward was thick across the chest and shoulders, his bearing calm but firm. The heavy white beard gave him the look of someone who never cared much for polish. His uniform coat hung open, and under it, his forearms bore the kind of calluses that came from ropes and oars, not ceremony.

  “Strike Force,” he greeted them with a voice like low tide scraping stone. “We’ll leave on the tide. Load your gear and find space below. Don’t block the deck. Don’t get in the way.”

  His eyes swept across the squad—not lingering long on any of them, but long enough to take measure.

  Lei gave a nod. Xo just grunted in acknowledgment.

  Jiang stepped aside and waved a hand toward the others still working aboard.

  “That’s Wu,” he said, motioning to a wiry man crouched near a stack of crates, tightening straps with one hand. His other arm ended in a wrapped stump just above the elbow. He straightened when addressed, brushing hair back from a narrow face that had seen too much sun and too many bottles.

  “First Mate,” Jiang said. “Don’t let the stories distract you.”

  “I only tell the ones that are true,” Wu replied dryly. “Mostly.”

  Xo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  At the helm, a lean figure stood adjusting a brass dial mounted to the side of the wheel. Short hair, black and wind-tossed, was tied in a loose knot at the nape of his neck. His features were sharp, eyes narrowed slightly in concentration as he made small corrections to the marked charts beside him.

  “Mei Lin,” Jiang said. “Navigator. Don’t ask him what the weather will be unless you want a real answer.”

  Mei didn’t look up. Just muttered, “Wind’s shifting. We’ll make good time if we stay ahead of it.”

  “Which we will,” Jiang said flatly waving is hand, before turning back.

  The youngest member of the crew appeared behind the crates a second later—barely more than a boy, barely twelve, hair tied back in a short knot, sleeves too long for his arms. He carried a bundle of rope in both hands and eyed the squad’s weapons with the kind of wonder only a child could still afford.

  “That’s Bo,” the captain said before the kid could speak. “Deckhand.”

  The boy opened his mouth anyway. “Do you really—uh—kill things with that big sharp spoon?”

  Xo raised an eyebrow.

  “I mean—uh—welcome aboard, sir.” he said quickly, almost bouncing as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  Jiang grunted.

  Han Zixin stepped forward one last time, speaking quietly now, just to the squad.

  “They’ll get you there. Don’t waste the journey.”

  He gave a sharp nod to the captain, then turned and walked down the dock without another word.

  Jiang Hai watched him go, then turned back to them.

  “We sail within the hour,” he said. “Below deck’s yours. Stow what needs stowing. Don’t wander too much once we’re underway.”

  Then he turned, calling orders to the crew as lines were drawn tight and crates lashed in place.

  The wind shifted faintly—salt and damp. The kind that smelled like something was waiting just beyond the edge of the horizon.

  Blue sky, it helps a lot!