While Russell honed the spirit of the sword, Gareth was across the training grounds, building the body of an archer. The mornings were colder now, Titan's weak sunlight struggling to pierce the hazy atmosphere. Frost clung to the metal beams around the training yard, and every breath left a white trail in the air. The environment itself felt like it was testing them.
Gareth wiped sweat from his brow, even though the cold bit at his skin. He knew that a steady shot didn't just come from technique; it came from a foundation of raw strength and endurance. His bow—currently resting against a wooden post—wasn't just a weapon. It was an extension of his will. To draw it steady under pressure, he needed a body that would not shake, tire, or give in.
His routine was grueling and methodical:
· Pulling Strength: He grunted through seated rows, bent-over rows, and single-arm rows (3 sets × 8 reps), building the powerful back muscles essential for a strong, stable draw.
Every repetition sent a sharp fire through his lats and shoulders, the kind of pain that came with progress. He pulled the weights with controlled breaths, imagining each lift as the draw of a bowstring in the middle of combat. "Again," he muttered to himself. "No shaking. No hesitation."
· Pull Endurance: To simulate the fatigue of a long battle, he used resistance bands for high-rep, low-weight rows, his muscles burning as he mimicked the motion of drawing his bow over and over.
At rep thirty-five, his arms trembled visibly. "You think a Hollow is gonna wait for you to catch your breath?" he growled at himself. His determination filled the cold-air dome, turning the quiet training hall into his own battlefield.
· Core & Legs: A stable platform was everything. He held planks until his core trembled, sweat dropping onto the frosted ground beneath him. "Hold… hold…" he whispered through clenched teeth.
Then he powered through sets of squats and lunges, each one strengthening the foundation that an archer depended on. His legs burned, but he kept going. If he faltered in the field, even once, it could cost him or Russell their lives.
· Shoulders & Rotator Cuff: To prevent injury and ensure smooth movement, he worked on face pulls and external rotations with light weights, keeping his shoulders healthy and mobile.
He rotated his arm slowly, grimacing as his shoulder clicked. "Not today," he whispered. "No injuries. Not before I've even begun."
· Grip Endurance: Finally, he finished with farmer's carries, walking laps around the sector with heavy weights in each hand, building the crushing grip needed to hold a full draw steady under pressure.
The metal weights thudded lightly with each step. His fingers screamed, but he didn't loosen his grip. He imagined holding his bow in a sandstorm, in a fight, in a desperate final stand. A weak grip could mean a dead shot.
Across the yard, Russell struck at his training dummy with rhythmic precision. Even from a distance, Gareth could see the change. The wild swings were gone, replaced with controlled, intentional movements. Each cut flowed into the next like he was sketching invisible patterns of steel in the air.
They were two halves of a whole, training in tandem. Not always side by side, but always in sync. Days turned into a week, then two. Muscles ached. Fingers blistered. Their sweat seeped into the dust and cold steel of The Crucible. The initial excitement of being at the facility—the dream of becoming hunters—slowly shifted. Repetition replaced thrill. Determination replaced excitement. And beneath it all, a quiet anxiety surfaced.
They were waiting for the moment that would push them from trainees to real hunters.
Sometimes, during breaks, Gareth would toss a water canister to Russell and say, "You think we'll get our first mission soon?"
Russell would stare at Emma's blade, a faint reflection of the training grounds shimmering along its edge. "Yeah," he'd reply softly. "But I don't want a mission just to have one. I want to be ready."
Other times, they simply trained in silence, their anticipation growing heavier with each passing day.
Then, finally—
The call came.
A sharp buzz cut through the late afternoon air. Both their datapads vibrated at the exact same moment. The sound was like a spark in a dark room.
Russell froze mid-stretch. Gareth nearly dropped the weights he was carrying.
They looked at each other.
Hearts racing.
Eyes wide.
A spark of nervous energy passed between them.
The message was brief and direct:
>> ROOKIE PAIR ZODIAC & GARETH. REPORT TO MISSION DESK FOR BRIEFING. <<
For half a second, they did nothing—just stared. Letting the weight of those words sink in. Then—
"Let's go!" Gareth blurted, almost tripping as he grabbed his gear.
Russell sheathed Emma with a sharp click and sprinted beside him.
They ran across the training grounds, weaving past other trainees, soldiers, and support staff. Breathless but exhilarated. Their steps echoed through the metallic hallways of The Crucible, each one bringing them closer to the destiny they'd been carving day by day.
At the mission desk, a stern-looking clerk with square glasses didn't bother looking up at first. His fingers tapped the console with mechanical efficiency.
"Rookie pair… rookie pair…" he muttered. "Ah. You two."
He slid a data-slate across the counter.
"Your first mission. Low-risk, reconnaissance only," the clerk said, still sounding bored enough to yawn. "Sensors are picking up increased Hollow activity near the Blackwood Area, a dense forest region on the outskirts of our territory."
He finally looked at them then—judging, measuring.
"Your mission is to investigate and confirm the readings. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. This is a test of your observation and stealth skills, not your combat. Report back with your findings. Dismissed."
He turned back to his console as if the entire briefing were insignificant.
But to Russell and Gareth?
It was everything.
They stepped back from the desk, gripping the data-slate like it was a sacred artifact.
Gareth leaned close, voice trembling with excitement. "This is it! Our first mission!"
Russell nodded slowly, his hand resting on Emma's hilt. The familiar weight grounded him. "Yeah… It's happening."
Gareth grinned, practically bouncing on his heels. "Recon only. Easy. We just scout around, take notes, come back. Simple."
"Simple," Russell echoed—but the word felt heavier in his mouth than Gareth's.
They had trained with wooden dummies, simulation projections, and controlled drills.
But this was different.
This was real.
It was just investigating.
But it was on Titan.
Against real Hollows.
He swallowed. The training, the philosophy, the conditioning—it all led to this.
He exhaled slowly, a focused gleam settling in his eyes.
"We'll handle it," he said. "Together."
Gareth punched his shoulder lightly. "Damn right we will."
They weren't just ready.
They were hungry.
But fate—unpredictable and merciless—had something else waiting for them in the Blackwood.
Something far beyond "low-risk."
Something that would carve itself into their memories forever.
They had no idea what was truly waiting for them in the Blackwood.