Nyla’s eyes snapped open as her body jolted from the sudden lurch of the truck, its tires grinding over a jagged rock. The rhythmic rattling of metal and the distant howl of the wind filled the night. Blinking the haze of sleep away, she turned her gaze toward the vast horizon. The full moon hung low in the sky, unnervingly large, as if it were watching them. Something about it felt… off. Maybe it was just the endless, shifting sands of the Sahara playing tricks on her mind.

  She inhaled deeply, the air sharp and dry, stinging her lungs as a chill crawled over her skin. Hours ago, the heat had been unbearable—the kind of scorching that made you want to peel your own flesh just to feel relief. Now, the desert night had turned cruel in a different way, the cold biting through the fabric of her uniform. She glanced around at her comrades, all clad in the Army-green of the ADA, their faces softened by sleep, blankets draped over them like fragile shields against the night.

  The truck was military-grade, stripped of any comforts—no air conditioning, no padding, just cold metal and exhaustion. But at least they had a truck, Alexander had reminded them. The place they were heading toward hadn’t even had an accessible road until a few years ago.

  Her gaze shifted to the front, locking onto the unit’s commander—a woman in her forties with piercing eyes and long black hair pulled into a mercilessly tight bun. She was still as stone, scanning the desert with the unwavering focus of someone who had seen too much. When their eyes met, she gave the smallest nod—acknowledgment, nothing more. No smile, no reassurance. Just the quiet understanding of those who knew what lay ahead.

  Nyla swallowed hard and turned back to the moon. It still felt wrong.

  And for the hundredth time since she’d joined the ADA, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.

  “You should get more sleep while you still can,” a low voice murmured beside her. Nyla turned to find Alexander wide awake, his fingers methodically running a cloth over the blade of his sword. Over the past few months Nyla had learned the importance and strength of that sword first hand. Moonlight caught the sharpened edge, making it glint like a predator’s eye. The sight sent a chill through her. The truck jostled over the uneven terrain, but his hands remained steady—too steady. It wasn’t just focus. It was something colder. The burning emotions he once wore so openly during their training—his anger, his frustration and passion—were gone, buried beneath a quiet, controlled anticipation. The look in his eyes mirrored the commander’s.

  They weren’t just preparing for battle.

  They were already at war.

  ******************

  After her conversation with Liam about joining ADA’s special unit, Nyla didn’t see either him or Alexander for nearly four months. Her days were filled with the steady, quiet company of Dr. Anwar and her nurses, June and Pamela. The medical center, located in the west wing, was the only part of the base she was permitted to visit.

  In the rare moments when junior officers came in for minor injuries—most of them, she suspected, were more interested in the nurses than their wounds—Nyla overheard fragments of conversation. From these snippets, she learned that ADA had been recruiting new soldiers, ramping up training as the existing units were already sent to the front lines.

  It was when Dr. Anwar removed her cast and began her physiotherapy that Nyla felt the weight of time and isolation begin to break. It was the same day Liam returned with the dreaded news—the updates about her enrollment in the special unit.

  “How are you doing, Nyla?” He asked with a genuine but tired smile.

  The past few months had been relentless, moving from one location to another, tracking and monitoring possible daemon activity. In the last month alone, they had lost twenty soldiers—twenty trained fighters, gone. It was a brutal reminder of the war they were waging, one that never seemed to end.

  One of the reasons Liam had returned to base was to oversee the next wave of training and give the current units time to recover. His gaze drifted to Nyla—she looked much healthier than before, but doubt lingered in his mind. Surviving basic training would be brutal enough. Surviving training under Alexander? That was another battle entirely.

  “Hi, Liam. I’m doing much better—I can even walk without my cast now, right, June?” Nyla said with a weak smile, turning to June, who nodded in agreement.

  “That’s great news!” Liam replied. “By the way, this is Sergeant Emily Kirby. I believe you two met briefly before?” He gestured toward a young woman standing slightly behind him. Emily’s eyes widened in surprise, as if shocked that anyone would address the commander so casually.

  Nyla studied her, puzzled. There was something familiar about her, but she couldn’t quite place it.

  “I’m glad to see you up and about,” Emily said with a shy smile. “Last time we met, you were teetering on the edge of the River of Hades.”

  And just like that, Nyla remembered.

  “You’re the soldier who helped me in the woods!” Her smile widened. “Thank you—for back then!”

  Emily gave a small nod, returning the smile before quickly straightening into attention.

  “Sergeant Kirby is going to help you train,” Liam said solemnly. “We need to get you ready to join the new recruits.” ADA followed strict protocols when inducting new recruits. Most already had prior military experience; it was rare for civilians to willingly enlist in combat roles. Instead, they typically chose to serve in support positions, aiding operations from behind the scenes.

  For those who did join the ranks, the training was grueling. They underwent intense physical conditioning, studied daemonology, and mastered the most effective ways to attack and defend against the creatures. Only after this brutal preparation were they sent on real missions. The entire process took anywhere from one to two years—unless you were an exceptional soldier, like Lieutenant Kain Lyons, who had completed it in just six months.

  There were no final tests, no official exams. The decision was left to the instructing officers, who would only recommend soldiers they believed were truly ready for battle. And even then, survival was never guaranteed.

  But Nyla’s case was different. She had no combat experience. Physically, she was recovering well despite the injuries she had sustained, but she was still far behind the standard recruits. The newest batch of recruits was set to join their units in about six months, and each unit leader was given a selection quota based on test scores. The second unit was permitted to take up to 100 recruits—99, if Nyla was included.

  To bridge the gap and prepare her for the brutal training ahead, Alexander had suggested—much to Liam’s surprise—that she undergo pretraining. More shocking was his recommendation: Sergeant Emily Kirby. A newly appointed officer in his unit, Emily was sharp and relentless with experience as an instructor and a keen eye for potential. She had a reputation for turning even the most unlikely candidates into competent soldiers.

  Yet Liam couldn’t shake the suspicion that Alexander had an ulterior motive. Emily had been itching to join the front lines, restless and impatient for real action. Assigning her to Nyla’s training might have been less about setting Nyla up for success and more about getting Emily out of his way—at least for now.

  Either way, she was the best choice, and since the order had come directly from Alexander, refusal wasn’t an option.

  “I’m gonna leave you two to get acquainted,” Liam said, his tone unusually nervous as he made a quick exit.

  Both women exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to start.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Nyla offered.

  Emily nodded, appreciating the gesture. Breaking the ice was always the hardest part.

  As they sipped their drinks, the conversation flowed more easily—from Nyla’s recovery journey to basic knowledge about ADA and life on base. Emily was relieved to learn that Nyla had been on the track and field team in high school. Speed and endurance would serve her well.

  By the time their conversation ended, Emily had a clearer idea of how to help Nyla regain her strength and prepare for training. Despite her initial doubts, she could see it now—Nyla wasn’t as inexperienced as she had assumed. There was potential in her, raw but undeniable. Emily’s instincts as an instructor rarely failed her, and this time was no different. Given the right guidance, Nyla could become a formidable fighter.

  **********************

  Back in the truck, Nyla tried to sleep, but the tension coiling in her chest refused to loosen. She shifted, glancing around at her sleeping comrades, and for the first time that night, a wave of relief washed over her.

  The past year and a half had been grueling—training first under Sergeant Kirby, who was now asleep, leaning against Lieutenant Kain Lyons. Nyla had been surprised to learn they were dating. After months of intense one-on-one training, she eventually joined the rest of the unit, officially undergoing the rigorous initiation into ADA.

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  The training with the unit had been even more grueling than anything Nyla had endured before. Every day began before dawn, with hours of brutal close-combat drills. Their instructors taught them a refined fighting style designed specifically to counter Seeds—one that relied on powerful strikes, rapid counters, and devastating elbow and knee attacks. The technique prioritized efficiency over elegance; every movement was meant to break, disable, or kill. They practiced clinching, using their bodies to control their opponents, and delivering sharp knee strikes to the ribs or face. Footwork was essential—staying light, shifting weight effortlessly, and using quick pivots to dodge incoming blows.

  After hand-to-hand combat, they moved to endurance training. Long-distance runs under the scorching sun, obstacle courses designed to push them to their limits, and grueling strength exercises that left their bodies aching. There was no room for weakness. Their instructors didn’t just expect them to fight; they expected them to survive.

  Weapons training was no easier. Firearms were drilled into them relentlessly, but with the grim understanding that not all Daemons could be killed by bullets. Guns were tools—sometimes effective, often just distractions. Nyla quickly learned that adaptability was key. They trained with a variety of weapons—knives, machetes, even spears—anything that could serve as a last line of defense when ammunition ran out.

  Despite everything, Nyla had discovered an unexpected talent. As the weeks passed, she realized she had a natural gift for sniping. Unlike the chaos of close combat, the precision and patience required to line up a perfect shot came to her with ease. She learned to control her breathing, to slow her heart rate, to tune out the world until all that remained was her target and the steady pull of the trigger. It was the one place where she felt entirely in control.

  Nyla had learned a great deal about daemons and their origins during her training. The existence of seeds—humans with rare genetic mutations—had been studied for centuries by ADA scientists, yet much about them remained shrouded in mystery. According to ADA’s research, seeds were classified into two distinct types: Pario and Copia. Each possessed an organ that the other lacked, and this distinction dictated their fates.

  Pario seeds carried an organ called the Pario, which granted them the ability to generate a powerful energy known as Vis. However, because they lacked the Copia organ—a crucial stabilizer and container for Vis—their power manifested uncontrollably, giving rise to daemons that formed as extensions of their own unstable energy. These daemons, bound to their hosts, were driven by an instinct to protect, but as time passed, the sheer volatility of uncontained Vis overwhelmed the Pario seed’s mind. Their aggression escalated into madness, their bodies deteriorated, and within weeks of their Pario organ activating, they inevitably perished.

  On the other hand, Copia seeds were fundamentally different. Unlike Pario seeds, they could not generate Vis on their own, but their Copia organ allowed them to absorb and store it. Without Vis, a Copia seed was indistinguishable from an ordinary human. However, with Vis, they could wield it with precision and control—some rumors even suggested that a skilled Copia seed could extend their lifespan indefinitely. This made them uniquely suited for combat against daemons. Theoretically, a Copia seed could grow more powerful by consuming the Pario organ of others, though whether this was an established practice or mere speculation was unclear.

  ADA’s research into these genetic anomalies had taken centuries, and the discovery of the Pario and Copia organs was among its greatest breakthroughs. Early records described individuals exhibiting supernatural abilities, often succumbing to violent madness—a phenomenon that historical texts had once attributed to possessions or curses. It wasn’t until scientific advancements in genetics and neurobiology that researchers identified the physical organs responsible for these phenomena. Despite this progress, Copia seeds remained extraordinarily rare.

  In fact, within ADA’s recorded history, only one confirmed Copia seed had ever been found—Alexander. No one knew exactly how long he had been part of ADA. His age, origin, and the extent of his abilities were closely guarded secrets. Some speculated that he had lived far longer than any normal human, sustained by the Vis he absorbed over the years. His presence alone reinforced the belief that Copia seeds were not just rare but possibly near extinction.

  While ADA’s scientists sought to understand these genetic anomalies, its military divisions had a more immediate concern—controlling and, when necessary, eliminating Pario seeds before their unchecked Vis wreaked havoc. Any Pario seed discovered was closely monitored. If their Pario organ activated, ADA had two choices: contain them until they perish or terminate them before they transformed into a full-fledged daemon. There was no known way to stabilize a Pario seed.

  As Nyla reflected on everything she had learned, she couldn’t help but wonder—why was ADA’s only Copia leading the special unit? What was his true role in the war against daemons? And more importantly, why had he taken a particular interest in her story when they met?

  After completing general training, Alexander handpicked five recruits—including Nyla—to join the special unit, a team of 25 elite soldiers trained directly under his command. That was when the real hell began.

  Alexander’s methods pushed them beyond human limits. They climbed treacherous mountain paths for hours with weighted packs, only to be ordered to descend at breakneck speeds, testing their endurance and footwork. They swam across frigid lakes in the Radisal Mountain range, dragging boats filled with their comrades, their muscles screaming for relief. Each day felt like a slow death—lungs burning, limbs trembling, every fiber of their being screaming to stop. But stopping wasn’t an option. Alexander never accepted failure.

  Nyla had thought she knew exhaustion, but this training rewrote her definition of it. There were moments she wasn’t sure she would make it. Her body ached in places she hadn’t known could ache. The others were suffering just as much, but no one quit. They endured together, forged into something stronger through pain and perseverance.

  And yet, she couldn’t help but notice—Alexander treated Thomas differently. Where the rest of them were met with relentless demands, Thomas received some level of restraint. Alexander would call him aside for private sessions, ones no one else was allowed to witness. There was no explanation, no acknowledgment, just an unspoken understanding that Thomas was different. It gnawed at Nyla’s curiosity, but she was too drained to dwell on it for long. Besides they all had some private sessions with Alexander and top officers of the special unit where he examined their specialized talents.

  By the time the training sessions ended, Nyla had come to realize something: this wasn’t just about physical endurance. It was about breaking them down to their very core and rebuilding them into something else—something unshakable, something ruthless. She wasn’t sure who she was becoming, but one thing was certain.

  She would survive.

  **************************

  Nyla gave up on sleeping and stared at the desert scene passing by the back of the truck as the moon slowly faded, making room for the rising sun. The golden light bathed the endless stretches of sand, casting long shadows over the dunes. Her comrades began to stir one by one, quietly glancing around before their gazes fixed on the vast, barren landscape outside. Tension hung thick in the air, but no one spoke of it. They all knew the gravity of what was coming.

  There were fifty of them—fifteen from the special unit, including Alexander, and thirty-five under the command of Commander Idris Khamal. Ten days ago, Liam had requested the special unit’s assistance with a daemon attack in the desert country of Cindros on the continent of Etora. The reports indicated that a seed they had been observing had shown signs of awakening. Based on the family history of the seed in question, they hadn’t expected the daemon to be highly destructive—a rating given to daemons capable of killing over a hundred civilians.

  Alexander, despite his deep disdain for the desert heat and dryness, had decided to accept the request. The opportunity to test his new unit members was too valuable to pass up. The harsh environment would be a trial by fire, and the real-life battle would be the ultimate test. The training had gone better than expected—especially Nyla’s performance. She’d been a difficult case at first, but Alexander had pushed her hard, hoping she would break under the pressure. She hadn’t. She had surprised him at every turn. Still, he knew that nothing could truly prepare them for the chaos of battle.

  As the sun climbed higher, the silence in the truck was thick, each soldier lost in their own thoughts. Nyla’s mind raced, her body still sore from the brutal training sessions. She wondered if she was truly ready for what awaited them in Cindros. The weight of her role in this unit—this mission—felt heavier than ever.

  “We are here!” the soldier driving the truck called out, his voice carrying through the divider between the driver’s section and the rest of the vehicle. After a brief moment, the truck slowed and came to a stop. Commander Khamal, her expression unreadable, signaled for them to disembark. One by one, they stood up, grabbing their military bags as they exited the truck with a quiet efficiency.

  As Nyla stepped out, she found herself wedged behind a soldier who was far too distracted, his gaze wandering elsewhere. Irritated, she glanced up at him, ready to deliver a reprimand, but her words died in her throat as her eyes landed on what lay before them.

  The scene took her breath away.

  Before them stretched a colossal mesa, its jagged surface adorned with patches of moss and vibrant lichen, as though nature itself had painted this ancient stone. A massive rock formation jutted from the side of the mesa adorning the mesa, The strange, almost ethereal beauty of the place contrasted so starkly with the barren desert surrounding it that it seemed to shimmer like a mirage, a dream woven from the landscape itself.

  “Welcome to the City of Cindros,” Commander Khamal said, her voice rich with pride, as if the land before them held not only historical significance but something far more personal. The soldiers, Alexander excluded, exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion palpable. They could see no sign of a city in the surrounding desert landscape. The heat from the sun shimmered off the barren ground, and the emptiness stretched far and wide, leaving only the mesa as the singular landmark.

  A silent understanding passed through them, and in unison, they all looked up, craning their necks to catch sight of the city—if it even existed—at the top of the mesa. Their eyes scanned the jagged cliffs, the moss-covered walls, but there was nothing to indicate any man-made structures perched above them.

  “How are we to climb up the mesa, Ma’am?” Kian asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity. They hadn’t packed climbing gear, and his suggestion had been quickly dismissed by Alexander during their departure preparation back in the base.

  “There’s no need for climbing,” Alexander answered, his voice sharp, as though it was obvious.

  Commander Khamal smiled slightly, nodding in agreement. “We’re walking in,” she continued, her tone almost playful, as though this was a casual stroll through the desert.

  At her signal, the massive stone by the mesa shifted with an eerie creak, revealing an archway—its edges worn and weathered by centuries of time—leading into the heart of the city. The entrance, half hidden by the stone, seemed to materialize out of the very rock itself, a passage that time had nearly forgotten.

  As the shadows of the stone walls stretched long over the desert floor, Nyla felt a strange shiver run down her spine. The air was thick with ancient secrets, and as she stepped forward, the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath, as though the city was waiting for them, welcoming them into its long-lost embrace. There was something alive about the place, something older than anything she had ever encountered. She couldn’t help but wonder what lay ahead in darkness toward the heart of Cindros, and if they were prepared to uncover the truths buried within its depths.