The first light of dawn filtered through the small porthole, casting a soft glow over the cabin. Layzal's eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the dim light. For a moment, he lay still, feeling the gentle sway of the ship beneath him, the distant hum of the crew already at work preparing for the day's voyage.
Today marked the beginning of the two-day journey across the Straits of Drakea to Maneo. The thought brought a subtle shift in his demeanour—a quiet resolve that hardened his expression. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk, his feet meeting the cold wooden floor as he stood up and stretched.
Layzal's gaze fell on the uniform draped neatly over the back of a chair, its dark fabric absorbing the dim morning light. He moved with deliberate motions, shedding his sleepwear and donning the uniform with practised precision. The heavy trousers, tall black boots, and white shirt were all secured in place, followed by the black military jacket with its distinct insignia of the crown on the shoulder pads and chest. The final piece was the fur-lined cloak that draped over his shoulders, adding a sense of gravitas to his appearance.
He took a moment to inspect himself in the small mirror, ensuring everything was in order. The weight of the uniform was a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon him, but it also gave him a sense of purpose. He was no longer just Layzal from a small village; he was Initiate Regula, a Gifted on the brink of his first real test.
Satisfied, he left his cabin and made his way through the narrow corridors of the ship. The air was cool and carried the scent of salt, a reminder of the vast ocean that surrounded them. The crew members he passed nodded respectfully, their gazes lingering on the crown insignia—a symbol of the power he wielded and the potential he carried.
The mess hall was a simple room, with long wooden tables and benches bolted to the floor to withstand the ship's movement. It was already filled with soldiers,all of them of recruit rank, He seemed to be the only Gifted aboard. Their conversations a low murmur as they ate their breakfast. The clatter of metal utensils against tin plates filled the air, mixing with the scent of hearty porridge and freshly baked bread.
The recruits had different uniforms from his, they consisted of simple trousers, boots, shirt and a large jacket that helped with warmth, there were no medals or cloak. Just a symbol of a star on their chest. But the most glaring difference is their all white uniform, making him stand out even more.
Layzal picked up a tray and moved through the line, collecting his meal without much thought. The food was basic, but it would fuel him for the day ahead. He found an empty spot at one of the tables and sat down, his presence drawing a few curious glances. The soldiers nearby eyed him with a mix of respect and caution, aware of the crown on his uniform but uncertain of what to make of him.
He ate in silence, his thoughts already on the journey ahead. Two days on the open sea, and then Maneo. The central continent loomed in his mind, its harsh landscapes and fierce battles a constant reminder of what awaited him. The eastern front was known to be unforgiving, with its icy terrain and relentless enemies, but it was also the place where he would prove himself—or die trying.
As he finished his meal, Layzal noticed a group of soldiers huddled together at the far end of the table, their voices hushed as they discussed something in serious tones. He caught snippets of their conversation—rumours of recent battles on Maneo, talk of commanders, and strategies. The eastern front was mentioned more than once, along with the heavy losses sustained there. It was clear that these men knew what they were heading into, and the gravity of their mission weighed heavily on them.
Layzal remained outwardly calm, but the information only sharpened his focus. The next two days would be his last moments of relative peace before the storm of war engulfed him. He would use that time to prepare, to hone his mind and body for the challenges ahead.
Rising from the table, Layzal made his way out of the mess hall. The ship's gentle sway was a constant reminder of the vast ocean around them, the Straits of Drakea that separated them from the war-torn continent of Maneo. As he walked through the narrow corridors, he resolved to spend the next two days preparing for what lay ahead. The time for reflection was over; soon, it would be time to act.
Back in his cabin, Layzal sat down at the small desk, pulling out a piece of parchment. He began sketching out battle scenarios in his mind, considering how best to use his blood magic in the harsh, frozen landscapes of Maneo. He knew that the cold would sap the strength of many mana wielders, but his Gifted blood provided him with a resilience that others lacked. He would need to use that to his advantage, to strike quickly and decisively before the cold could take its toll.
The hours passed in quiet preparation, the ship moving steadily across the water. Layzal spent his time reviewing his spells, practising the manipulation of his mana, and mentally fortifying himself for the trials ahead. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the ship in a dim, orange light, Layzal felt a growing sense of readiness.
The next day dawned with a muted light filtering through the small porthole of Layzal's cabin. He woke early, his body instinctively adjusting to the rhythm of the ship and the journey ahead. The day had an air of inevitability about it, a sense of calm before the storm that loomed on the horizon. Maneo was now less than a day away, and Layzal could feel the weight of that knowledge settling over him like a shroud.
He dressed quickly, donning his uniform with the same measured precision as the day before. The crown insignia gleamed against the dark fabric, a reminder of the responsibility he bore as one of the Gifted. He adjusted the heavy cloak over his shoulders, feeling its warmth and protection. Every part of his attire had a purpose, designed to help him survive and excel in the brutal conditions that awaited him.
Stepping out of his cabin, Layzal made his way to the upper deck. The ship was a hive of activity, with crew members preparing for the final leg of their voyage. The cold morning air bit at his face, a taste of the harsher climate that awaited them on the central continent. He moved to the rail, looking out over the sea. The water was a deep, endless blue, stretching out in every direction, the horizon barely distinguishable from the sky.
Other soldiers were already on deck, some quietly talking amongst themselves, others simply staring out at the vast expanse of water. There was a shared understanding that today would be their last day of relative peace. Once they landed on Maneo, there would be no respite, only the constant struggle for survival and victory.
As the ship cut through the waves, Layzal noticed a slight change in the air, a subtle shift that hinted at the approach of land. The sea around them seemed to darken, the water growing more turbulent. He turned his gaze to the distant horizon, where a faint line began to emerge, the first glimpse of Maneo's coastline. Even from this distance, the land looked foreboding—jagged cliffs rising out of the sea, their tops shrouded in mist, with the snow-capped peaks of mountains visible further inland.
The sight of Maneo filled Layzal with a renewed sense of purpose. This was the land where he would prove himself, where he would test the limits of his power and emerge either victorious or not at all. The stakes were higher than they had ever been, but Layzal felt ready. He had spent the last two days preparing mentally and physically, and now, the moment was almost upon him.
As the day wore on, the ship drew closer to the shore. The air grew colder, and the sea rougher, the once calm waves now churning with the promise of a storm. The crew worked tirelessly to keep the ship on course, their faces set in grim determination. The soldiers, too, began to make their final preparations, checking their gear and saying quiet farewells to their comrades.
By late afternoon, the ship was close enough to the shore that Layzal could make out the details of the coastline. The cliffs were even more imposing up close, their faces sheer and unforgiving. The land beyond them was a stark, white wilderness, broken only by the dark lines of forests and the jagged peaks of mountains. This was Maneo—a land of ice and blood, where only the strong could survive.
As the ship approached the port, Layzal could see the forward operating base—a collection of low, sturdy buildings huddled against the cold, with thick walls and watchtowers bristling with weapons. Soldiers moved about the base with the same disciplined efficiency as those on the ship, their breath visible in the freezing air. The base was a stark contrast to the wilderness beyond, a small bastion of order in a land ruled by chaos.
The ship finally docked, the crew securing it to the pier with practised ease. The soldiers began to disembark, their boots crunching on the frosty wooden planks as they stepped onto solid ground. Layzal was among the last to leave the ship, his cloak billowing slightly in the cold wind as he walked down the gangplank.
The cold hit him like a wall, the air so frigid that it seemed to cut right through his clothing. But Layzal didn't flinch. He had been prepared for this, had steeled himself against the elements as much as against the enemy. He pulled his cloak tighter around him and made his way towards the base, the crunch of snow underfoot a constant reminder of the harsh environment he was now in.
As he entered the base, Layzal was met by a soldier who saluted him crisply. "Initiate Regula, welcome to Maneo," the soldier said, his breath forming clouds in the cold air. "The commander is expecting you. I'll take you to him."
Layzal nodded and followed the soldier through the base. The buildings were low and functional, built for durability rather than comfort. The few windows were small and covered with thick shutters, and the doors were reinforced with iron. Everything about the place spoke of the need for survival in one of the most inhospitable environments on the continent.
The soldier led Layzal to a large building near the centre of the base, its roof covered in a thick layer of snow. Inside, the warmth was a welcome relief from the cold outside. The walls were lined with maps and tactical charts, the room dominated by a large table covered in documents and communication equipment. Standing behind the table was a man in a heavy coat, his eyes sharp and his expression stern.
"Commander Brennus," the soldier said, saluting. "Initiate Regula has arrived."
The commander looked up, his gaze settling on Layzal. "Initiate Regula," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "Welcome to the eastern front."
Layzal met the commander's gaze, nodding slightly in acknowledgment. This was it—the beginning of his real test. The journey had been long, but now, standing in the heart of Maneo, Layzal knew that everything he had done up to this point had been leading to this moment. The battles ahead would be fierce, the challenges daunting, but Layzal was ready. He was Gifted, and he would not fail.
Commander Brennus studied Layzal for a moment, as if weighing the young man's resolve. Then he spoke, his tone brisk and to the point, matching the no-nonsense atmosphere of the base.
"Regula, you've been assigned to a special operations team," Brennus began. "You'll be working alongside three experienced soldiers. They'll serve as your primary leaders in the field. Their role is to guide and command, utilising their years of experience in both battle and survival in these harsh conditions."
Layzal listened intently, understanding that while his Gifted status afforded him certain expectations, it didn't exempt him from the chain of command. Brennus continued, his voice unwavering. "Your role will be as a sub-leader, positioned just below them. You'll have authority over the recruits you arrived with—those who've had some training but lack battlefield experience. They'll be looking to you for direction, and you'll be responsible for their safety and effectiveness in combat."
The commander walked over to the large map on the wall, pointing to a section marked with several red flags. "The eastern front is a volatile area, as I'm sure you've been briefed. High enemy activity, unpredictable weather, and treacherous terrain. Your team will be conducting reconnaissance and strike missions in these regions."
He turned back to Layzal, his gaze sharp. "You'll need to rely on the soldiers' expertise. They know this land, they know the enemy, and they know how to survive out there. Your Gifted abilities will be a critical asset, but don't let that blind you to the fact that you're still new to this. Take their lead when necessary, but also be ready to step up when the situation demands it. You'll need to balance the strength of your power with the wisdom to know when to use it."
Layzal nodded, absorbing the gravity of his position. While he had power and potential, it was clear that survival and success on the battlefield would depend just as much on his ability to work with his team and learn from those with more experience.
"The recruits you brought with you," Brennus continued, "they've been assigned to your team as well. They've shown potential, but they're green. Your job is to help them integrate, guide them, and make sure they don't get themselves killed out there. You'll be the link between them and the seasoned soldiers. Understand their strengths and weaknesses, and don't hesitate to make tough decisions if the situation calls for it."
The commander's words were direct, and Layzal felt the weight of his responsibility grow. He wasn't just another soldier on this front—he was a Gifted, but also a leader in training, with lives depending on his choices.
Brennus's expression softened just a fraction, a rare moment of empathy breaking through his hardened exterior. "This is a harsh land, Regula. The conditions will push you to your limits, both physically and mentally. But it's also where you'll forge your true strength. You're here because we believe you have what it takes to make a difference. Don't prove us wrong."
Layzal straightened, meeting Brennus's gaze with determination. "I won't, sir. I'll do whatever it takes to see this through."
The commander gave a brief nod of approval. "Good. Your team will assemble at dawn for final briefing and deployment. Get some rest, and familiarise yourself with the base if you need to. You'll need every ounce of energy for what's coming."
With that, Brennus dismissed him, turning back to the maps and reports on his desk. Layzal left the office, the cold air of the corridor a stark contrast to the warmth of the command centre. As he walked back to his quarters, his mind was focused, already thinking ahead to the challenges that lay before him.
He had a team to lead, soldiers to follow, and a war to fight. The journey to Maneo had brought him to the very edge of what he had known, but it was here, on this harsh and unforgiving continent, that his true test would begin.
He was ready to face it, whatever the cost.