Voidborne:The Soul sea chronicles

Eliot felt their gazes on him as he sat. Some curious. Some suspicious. Most of them, however, didn't care. Survival drained people of energy to focus on anything other than their own misery.

"Sit don't mind them ," Harlen muttered. His voice was low and tired, but Eliot could tell he was wary of drawing attention.

Harlen exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "This is it. The safe zone. Or what passes for one."

Eliot didn't answer, though he knew Harlen was right. Safe was just a word here. There were no guarantees, no true shelter. This place was only a brief pause before whatever came next.

As Eliot leaned back and tried to settle, he noticed a small group of soldiers farther into the camp. They stood differently than the rest. Their posture was stronger, more confident. Even without knowing what to look for, Eliot could sense something different about them.

"Awakened," Harlen said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "You can tell just by looking at them. They aren't like us."

Eliot glanced at him. "Awakened?"

Harlen gave a short nod. "Yeah. Every awakened soldier has to register themselves when they get here. The Empire doesn't let them move freely. They're valuable, so they keep track of all of them."

Eliot frowned. "And what happens if someone doesn't register?"

Harlen shifted uncomfortably. "You don't want to find out. The Empire doesn't like unknowns. If they think you're hiding something, they'll make an example out of you."

Eliot looked down at his hands. He thought back to the strange energy he had unleashed earlier on the battlefield. Was that part of awakening? He didn't feel much different now, but something inside him felt changed. Whatever it was, he knew he couldn't draw attention to it. Not yet.

"Get some rest," Harlen murmured. "If we're lucky, we'll make it through the night."

Eliot nodded faintly, though his mind was far from calm.

The safe zone's small command center was nothing impressive. A single room tucked into the largest intact building in the camp, it served as both quarters and office for Captain Alric Thorne. Unlike the rest of the camp, the room was clean and orderly. A wooden desk stood against one wall, covered in neatly stacked documents and maps. An oil lamp flickered faintly beside it, casting a dull glow across the room.

Alric sat in a worn chair, swirling a glass of wine in one hand. The young captain had the sharp features of nobility,perfectly groomed hair, a clean uniform, and a sharp gaze that held none of the warmth expected of someone his age. He looked like a man born into comfort, yet there was something hard and determined in his eyes.

He set the wine glass down carefully, the faint clink of glass breaking the silence. Alric had left behind the luxury of his family's estate for this place. He had traded marble halls and fine meals for dirt and blood, but he had no regrets. Power was not given freely. To rise, a man had to be willing to crawl through the filth of the world and make his mark.

Alric remembered the day his ambition had crystallized. He had been a lesser figure in his family,too young, too insignificant. Then he had seen it for the first time. During an awakening demonstration, an older soldier had lifted his hand, and the earth itself had cracked beneath his will. Ripples of power spread in every direction, flattening men who had thought themselves strong.

Alric had been one of those men, flattened to the ground like a child before a storm. But he hadn't felt humiliation that day. He had felt awe. That was power. That was what separated kings from commoners. He had decided then and there that he would never again stand at the bottom. If he could not become the heir to his family, he would become an elder. If that failed, he would carve out power somewhere else. Power was everything.

A knock at the door pulled Alric from his thoughts.

"Enter," he said sharply.

The door creaked open, and a servant stepped inside,a young man with nervous eyes and a bowed posture. "Captain Thorne, two new arrivals entered the camp earlier today."

Alric raised an eyebrow. "New arrivals?"

"Yes, sir," the servant replied quickly. "One of them is a regular soldier, though alive and relatively unharmed. The other is… unusual."

Alric leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Unusual how?"

"The man doesn't look like a typical soldier," the servant explained. "The others are talking. Rumors are already spreading about him."

Alric's mind began to move, weighing the possibilities. Survivors were rare, and anyone unusual was worth investigating. If this man turned out to be something more,an awakened who hadn't registered yet,then Alric had an opportunity. He could recruit the man under his command, claim the discovery, and earn the favor of the Empire.

"Where are they now?" Alric asked, his tone sharper.

"They're resting in the eastern corner of the camp."

Alric tapped his fingers on the desk, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He would approach the survivors, offer them protection and a place under his command. They wouldn't refuse. People like them had no choice. This war ground everyone into dust unless someone stronger lifted them up.

"They'll accept my offer," Alric said quietly, more to himself than to the servant. "No one turns down the Empire's favor."

The servant stood awkwardly, unsure if he should leave. Alric reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a handful of silver coins. He tossed them onto the desk, the sound ringing sharp in the quiet room.

"Good work," Alric said. "Keep bringing me news like this, and you'll find yourself well rewarded."

"Thank you, Captain," the servant stammered, bowing deeply as he collected the coins.

Just as the servant turned to leave, a loud knock echoed from the door. Alric's mood darkened immediately.

"Enter," he barked.

Another soldier hurried in, his face pale and nervous. "Captain Thorne, there's a problem. Someone else has taken an interest in the new arrivals."

Alric's expression froze. "Who?"

"Other captains, sir. Some from noble houses. Word has spread, and it seems others are already moving to intercept."

Alric cursed under his breath, his fists clenching. He knew exactly what was happening. His rivals,some from his own family, others from competing houses,had heard about the survivors. They were vultures circling the same prey.

Alric stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "They're mine," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. Without another word, he strode out of the room, brushing past the soldier with long, purposeful steps.

Back in the far corner of the camp, Eliot and Harlen slept soundly, oblivious to the storm of attention they had unknowingly drawn.

Alric moved quickly through the camp, his jaw tight and his eyes sharp. The world was full of men too weak to claim power for themselves, and Alric refused to be one of them. If these survivors had potential, he would have them. No one would stand in his way.

The wind stirred faintly as he approached their resting place. His mind raced with calculations and plans, the weight of his ambitions pressing him forward.

Eliot and Harlen had no idea what awaited them.