Preparing testing procedures.

Rasu holds out his left arm, covering his right eye with his other arm. Slowly, the air spirals around his palm as four small, transparent needles begin to materialize, the energy clustering around them as they solidify. He feels his fingers tingle as the air brushes past, the veins on his forearm pulsing steadily.

Tools are ready.

He squints, guiding one of the needles to his index finger, the heat from the energy like a smoldering twig from a campfire. The lens from his left eye adjusts, the gears whirring, focusing his vision onto the needle itself while blurring the surroundings. He begins to feel a strain on his forehead, a mild headache forming as his blood vessels constrict.

Searching for targets.

The “second pupil” of his left eye rapidly scans the area, ignoring the distractions as they locate a mannequin hiding behind a pile of rocks, dressed only with a helmet previously belonging to a Confederation soldier.

Target acquired.

Rasu removes his right hand away from his eyes, resting it on his leg. A needle bursts away from his left palm, racing, stabbing through the wind, silently weaving through the rocks before it lands neatly inside the mannequin’s chest.

Preparations are complete.

He snaps his fingers, and in an instant, the mannequin explodes, the soft inner layers disintegrating into ash, the hard outer layer charred black, and the helmet shattering from within. The debris scatters in all directions, the pieces aflame in a spectacular display of combustion.

Suddenly, two more mannequins slid from the sides, one fully dressed in Confederation armor, another in the armor of the New Rule. Ignoring the previous destruction of the first mannequin, they occupy the same area, their heads poking just above the collapsed pile of rocks.

Further targets acquired.

Two more needles fly out from Rasu’s palm, and in a similar fashion, the needles lodge themselves within the mannequins before they promptly explode, creating yet another show of sparks and fire. Breathing heavily, Rasu finally relaxes as the last needle quietly disintegrates, disappearing and reuniting with the air.

Test complete. The little lines of text fade away from his vision as his left eye returns to a more “normal” state, disguised with the colors of a real, organic eye. Cautiously, some soldiers clean up the remnants of the mannequins, collecting the ash and rubble before depositing them into a chute. Engineers rush to Rasu’s side, inspecting his left eye for even the slightest flaw or defect.

“It’s great that you are adapting to your new eye, General,” an engineer compliments, “Especially one with such experimental potential.”

“It still cannot react fast enough if I were to face a horde of enemy troops,” Rasu comments, “but I would say it’s already enough for psychological impact.”

“No, no,” another engineer replies, “Your new eye must be tweaked to near-perfection. Whether it be reaction time, energy efficiency, synchronization with the nervous system, or whatever you need, we will do our best to improve it.”

“I am surprised you all managed to create such a sophisticated gadget while also accounting for the presence of magic, something you only knew of a month or two ago,” Rasu compliments.

“Usually, creating mechanical body parts doesn’t pose a particularly difficult task for us. We more or less have to deal with these every month or so,” the engineer says, “However, the mysterious force called ‘magic’ certainly caught us off guard, and during the early stages, we thought we couldn’t meet your demands.”

“Still, you managed to make this, didn’t you?”

“It’s a relief we found massive amounts of ancient literature from the Empire regarding magic,” the first engineer says, “Had it been in the Confederation, those pieces of wisdom would’ve been completely destroyed.”

“You may flatter yourself,” Rasu says, irritated, “but don’t give yourself too much credit. Those works were not supposed to be for your eyes to see.”

“R-Right.” The engineers back away from Rasu, partly to inspect his eye from a farther distance, but partly out of nervousness. Sighing, Rasu sits on a nearby chair, a finger stroking the outlines of the mechanical eye, the wires barely visible streaks beneath his eyelid. Such an intricate yet durable machine, not only restoring, but enhancing his vision. As expected from the top engineers.

“General, the soldiers Kavlina and Tarak are requesting to talk to you through your comms,” a neatly dressed assistant enters, disrupting the atmosphere. Such an occupation, usually, is reserved for the ones too weak for battle, an increasingly dishonorable position in the state of the war. However, to be an assistant to one of the greatest generals of the New Rule is somewhat an honor, even if it just meant serving in menial tasks.

“Allow them to do so,” Rasu responds before turning back to the engineers, “I’m sorry, but you all would need to come back tomorrow.”

“As you wish, General.” Hurriedly, the engineers salute before walking out of the room, discussing amongst themselves. A display appears before Rasu, and the figures of Kavlina and Tarak are shown, the light flickering from an unstable connection.

“What is it this time?” Rasu begins. His left eye adjusts, dimming the sharp light from the display into his eyes.

“Do you see these houses behind us?” Tarak points to the distance. Even as the display struggles to relay the images, Rasu could see a collection of houses, messily arranged, as if someone had simply thrown them onto the wasteland and left them be.

“Yes. What about it?” Shouldn’t they be standing guard at their post?

“Here is a map of our surroundings.” At the corner of the display, Rasu sees a map of virtual emptiness, characteristic of the wasteland battlefield. There is the occasional hill here and there, but otherwise, there is nothing. No water. No trees. No structures. It might as well be a blank space.

“Odd. There is nothing of note.”

“Exactly,” Tarak says, “Yet you see the houses, don’t you?” He walks several steps forward. Despite the air still being relatively quiet, the gargles of water washing past rocks are increasingly audible. “Do you hear it? The sounds of a stream.”

It is certainly strange. It should’ve been impossible for the map, constantly updated every day, down to the tiniest of bulges in terrain or the smallest of houses inhabited by no one, to commit an error. Yet here is a striking example of its apparent failure, a cluster of houses in the middle of nowhere, with even a small stream to support whatever inhabitants the houses hold.

“How is this possible?” Rasu inquires, “The map cannot possibly be wrong.”

“We found an energy barrier surrounding these houses,” Kavlina answers, “It seems to change what is seen on the inside from the outside while blocking all sound.”

“Kavlina discovered it,” Tarak modifies, “Even so, shouldn’t there be some record of a settlement here before the barrier was erected? Rasu, is there any way you can check for it?”

“Assistant,” Rasu calls, “Can you overlap the maps of the past half-century to this area?” Perhaps by looking at the past records, he can figure out this intriguing phenomenon. One by one, the images of the past maps overlap with each other. There is no change in the area, still a wasteland, yet on the supposedly empty ground, there is now a display of a village, the houses built haphazardly next to a stream. There is no organization to the layout, only dirt paths forged with thousands of footsteps walking on them every year. There were no signs of the village failing despite a lack of recent technology, but to Rasu’s surprise, the village and all its traces had ceased to exist, not in the last generation, but within the previous decade.

“Impossible…” Rasu covers his mouth with his hand, deep in thought, “An entire village disappeared without our knowledge, and so recently as well.”

“It could be that the barrier was erected in the past few years, its powers erasing the entire village’s existence from the map,” Tarak says, “We both have scouted the outskirts of this village this morning, but we need more support for a thorough investigation.”

“Which is why you reported all of this to me, correct? To request support for this strange village?”

“Basically,” Tarak answers, “It’s just too peculiar for a village in the middle of nowhere to be protected by such a barrier.”

“Have you ever considered the possibility it may be inhabited by the enemy?” Rasu suggests.

“I… didn’t think of that,” Tarak admits.

“I would like you and Kavlina to treat the area as such,” Rasu says sternly, “Anywhere that is not occupied by our military might as well be enemy territory.” His gaze is firm yet with a hint of weakness, commanding yet with a hint of pleading. As much as he tries to remove himself from the fragility of emotions, he still feels it: the worry for his comrades.

“We can say that later if the inhabitants attack us,” Tarak replies, shrugging it off, “They might just be innocent civilians, not even knowing they are enveloped by a barrier.”

“Let’s hope it is that way.”

“Well, we won’t bother you anymore,” Tarak finishes, “Let’s hope the squad can meet together again sometime.”

“Have a safe day, Tarak. You too, Kav.”

“Don’t tire yourself, Rasu.” The display fades away, leaving Rasu alone again in the room, his assistants standing outside the door. He looks at the map, the houses standing undisturbed in the land. To think the recruitment office overlooked such a place for so long is improbable, given the constant manpower shortages. The Confederation, with their immense resources, could very easily create a fake civilian settlement, imitating the style of the village that had perhaps long disappeared. No, they didn’t need to do so. Then why would there be a barrier separating the village from the outside world?

He remembers a common children’s tale, hearing it every so often when parents do not want their children to wander about. The tale simply describes a forest, situated far in the west, with a hidden village inside, occupied by tall people that they call “foresters”. No one knows what the village, or even what the forest looks like, being nearly identical to other forests in the area. However, when one accidentally steps into the forest, they find themselves lost, never again returning to their homes. It’s one of the darker children’s stories, but apparently the story, so he heard, was based on an actual forest just west of the Irrenl Mountains, quite near the Pass itself. He wonders, if the location is based on an actual place, then perhaps even the concepts within it are based on something real?

He sighs. I’m overthinking things. The walls of the room are dotted with displays of maps, each depicting a different battlefield. He has much more to worry about, after all. The fate of the New Rule is in his hands.

Perhaps this is why the people so readily accepted a single, legendary hero like Avalel. It gives them the glimmer of hope for a savior, at least.

Avalel washes the Anapadeia, the pure waters of the stream rushing past the blade, restoring its gleam. As his blistered hands touch the waters, he winces, but the clean waters soon soothe him, persuading him to relax.

“Hey, Avalel!” a villager shouts as she passes by, in her arms a basket of wet laundry.

“Hey!” Avalel responds. He quite enjoys the villagers’ company, being one of friendliness and support. Just as he helps them with their daily tasks, so too will they volunteer themselves to help Avalel, setting up elaborate traps for his training, lending an extra towel to wipe his sweat, and sometimes even giving him some snacks to enjoy. Although just a stranger, they treat him as a part of their small community, seeing him as one of their own.

A splash of water hits his face, drenching his clothes and knocking him backward. He steadies himself with the Anapadeia, thrusting it into the ground as he pushes himself back up, staring into the face of a victorious Maia.

“Hey!” she grins, her hands holding an empty bucket. “You need water. Not sword.”

“You brat…” Avalel quickly retaliates, using the Anapadeia like a paddle to push the water towards Maia. However, she dodges, bringing the bucket to shield her face as she dashes to the side, narrowly avoiding most of the water.

“Miss!” Maia laughs, pointing at Avalel’s frustrated, reddened face. “Funny Avalel!”

“Why do you have to introduce yourself like this every time?” Avalel complains.

“Teach magic,” Maia demands.

“Ah, so that’s what you’re here for.” Avalel looks at Maia, her mouth still holding back a giggle. “Alright, I’ll teach you.”

“Hooray!” Maia jumps in celebration.

“On one condition,” Avalel adds, “Don’t surprise me like this anymore.”

“B-But…” Maia suddenly stops, stuttering, “No funny?”

“No funny or no magic?”

Maia stares into the sky as if pondering for such a simple choice. “No…”

“No what?”

“No funny,” she decides, “Yes magic.”

“Alright,” Avalel smiles in satisfaction, “Let’s begin Maia’s first magic lesson.”

He brings out a small pouch, inside filled with powdered rura metal. Grabbing a small handful, he rubs his hands together, spreading the powder around his palms. In the months of individual training, he had experimented with various kinds of metal as a conductor of energy. The rura metal, although widely available and cheaply made, was the strongest of the limited metals the village can offer. Although a far cry from the quality of nahera steel and especially the Anapadeia, the rough metal is adequate enough for his training and his lesson today.

He cups his hands together and dips them in the water. Closing his palms into a roughly spherical space inside, he brings his hands out again, and to Maia’s surprise, not a drop of water spilled out from inside Avalel’s palms. As he slowly opens his hands again, nestled neatly in his palms is a ball of swirling water, the air bubbles inside trapped, only able to float to the top.

“I call this ‘concentration’,” Avalel proudly announces to a bewildered and awed Maia, “You just need to imagine a ball of water forming inside your hands, and slowly, the water would be squeezed together by the energy into a ball. And finally… look!” He tosses the ball of water into the air, and immediately, it explodes, showering them with a light rain.

“Wow…” Maia’s eyes seem to sparkle, in awe of the amazing demonstration. “Wanna try too!”

Avalel sprinkles some powder on her hands as he did before. “Just imagine you are making a ball of water,” he reminds.

Excitedly, Maia plunges her hands into the water, scooping up a large amount before closing her palms. The water begins to trickle out despite Maia’s best efforts to seal it inside. She feels the water swirl around inside, sloshing about as she tries to control it. Impatient, she opens her hands, but to her disappointment, the water gushes out, leaving only a thin layer still stuck to her hands.

“Oh,” she says in disappointment.

“Don’t worry,” Avalel encourages, “You can always try again… Ow!” He tumbles backward as if he had crashed into a wall.

“Funny Avalel!” Maia laughs, showing her now-dry palms.

“You…” She smacked me in the face with her water! Avalel quickly forms a smaller ball of water before tossing it at Maia, splashing her face.

“Magic is fun!” Maia shouts as she runs away from Avalel, laughing as she dodges Avalel’s throws. Soon, she disappears from his sight, leaving him again sitting alone by the side of the stream.

He chuckles. He hasn’t enjoyed such fun in a while. If he has to be honest, he would be completely happy staying here for the rest of his life, living freely and having fun instead of risking everything on the battlefield. A humble, quiet, but satisfying life. Perhaps he can become a respected person within the village, nurturing Maia as if he were her older brother. Maybe he can even build a family here, looking at the children grow as he shrinks. Forget the New Rule and the war he has thrust himself into. Just living simply like this is enough for him.

And maybe, if fate allows, he can bring Kavlina and Tarak here as well.