Chapter 16: Before They Must Run

Armored Dragon Calendar Year 417 – Weeks Before the Metastasis

—

[Philip POV]

I hated Claude.

The training ground was muddy from yesterday’s rain, and my arms ached from the exercises he had forced us through since dawn. Wooden sword in my trembling hands, bruises forming beneath my clothes, I watched him demonstrate another form with the detached precision of someone who had never known struggle.

He made it look easy. Every movement flowed into the next with a grace that seemed impossible for someone his age. His feet found solid ground even in the mud, his stance never wavered, and his strikes hit exactly where he intended them to land.

“Again,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Again.”

My body screamed protests as I raised the practice sword once more. Every muscle in my arms burned with exhaustion. My legs trembled from maintaining stances I wasn’t strong enough to hold. Sweat mixed with the rain on my face, stinging my eyes.

I swung. My form was wrong. I knew it even as the movement completed, and Claude’s practice sword struck my ribs hard enough to make me gasp.

Pain lanced through my side, adding another bruise to the collection already forming beneath my shirt. I stumbled back, clutching my ribs, fighting the urge to cry.

“Your footwork is collapsing under pressure. If this were real combat, you’d be dead.”

Easy for him to say. He was eleven years old and moved like a master swordsman. He could probably defeat most adults in the village without breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I was thirteen and couldn’t complete a single form without making mistakes.

The other children watched from the sidelines, faces pale with exhaustion. We had all been through the same training, pushed past limits we didn’t know we had. Some of us had thrown up. Others had collapsed and been dragged to the shade to recover.

And Claude had kept going, demanding more, always demanding more.

“Why are you doing this to us?” The question burst out before I could stop it. “We’re not soldiers. We’re just kids.”

The words hung in the morning air, and I immediately wanted to take them back. Claude’s expression shifted, becoming something I couldn’t read. The other children held their breath, waiting to see how he would respond.

“Because something is coming,” Claude said quietly. “And when it arrives, the people who survive will be the ones who know how to run, how to hide, how to fight when there’s no other option.”

“What’s coming?”

“I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Claude studied me for a long moment. His eyes were strange, carrying weight that didn’t belong to someone his age. I had heard the rumors about him—the stories of slaver bodies found in the forest, the whispers about a child who commanded an organization of adults.

Looking at him now, those rumors didn’t seem impossible anymore.

“The world is going to break,” he said finally. “Everyone you know is going to be scattered across distances you can’t imagine. Some will die. Some will wish they had. And the only thing that will matter is whether you’re strong enough to survive until you can find each other again.”

“That’s…” I wanted to say it was crazy. Wanted to dismiss it as the ravings of a child who had spent too much time pretending to be important.

But something in his voice stopped me. A weight that didn’t belong to someone his age. A knowledge that seemed to stretch far beyond anything I could imagine.

“One more time,” Claude said, raising his practice sword. “And this time, keep your feet planted.”

I attacked.

This time, I lasted three exchanges before his blade found my guard.

“Better,” he said. “Again.”

—

[Nadia POV]

I watched the training from my hiding spot behind the equipment shed.

Claude didn’t know I was here. Nobody did. I was good at being invisible, had learned the skill from years of practice. When you were small and quiet and unremarkable, people forgot you were there.

My parents barely noticed me at meals. My classmates looked through me like I wasn’t there. Even the teachers seemed to forget my name from one day to the next.

It should have bothered me. Maybe it did, somewhere deep down. But I had learned to use the invisibility instead of resenting it.

I watched. I listened. I saw things others missed.

Like the way Claude’s body sometimes moved differently. Sharper. More precise. As though someone else was controlling him for brief moments before his normal clumsiness returned.

When he demonstrated forms for the other children, there were moments when his movements became inhuman. Too fast to track. Too precise to be natural. His body would shift into stances that looked practiced for decades rather than years.

Then it would fade, and he would be just a boy again. A talented boy, certainly. But still recognizably human.

Like the way he would sometimes touch his temple and his expression would shift, becoming distant and analytical in ways that made him seem decades older.

I had seen him do it during conversations, when someone asked him a difficult question or presented information he hadn’t expected. His hand would drift to his temple, his eyes would go unfocused for a moment, and when he spoke again his words would carry insights that seemed impossible for his age.

Like the way he trained the village children with brutal intensity, pushing them past limits they didn’t know they had, and then watched them leave with eyes full of grief.

The grief was what confused me most. He was the one hurting them, the one demanding more than they could give. But when they finally stumbled away at the end of each session, his expression would crumble into something that looked almost like mourning.

He was scared. That was the part most people missed. Beneath the confidence and the skill and the strange authority he carried, Claude was terrified of something none of us could see.

I didn’t know what. But I wanted to understand.

After the training session ended, I followed him to his hidden clearing. Watched him practice alone, his movements flowing between clumsy and masterful without warning.

The transformations were fascinating to observe. One moment he would be a boy struggling with a technique, his form imperfect and his movements hesitant. The next, something would shift, and his body would move with the fluid grace of a master who had spent decades perfecting every motion.

Then he would stumble, the grace would fade, and he would be left clutching his head as though fighting off a headache.

I watched it happen three times before he spoke.

“You’re good at hiding. Most people wouldn’t have followed me this far.”

I froze, heart pounding. He hadn’t turned around, hadn’t given any sign that he knew I was there. But his voice was certain, addressing the exact spot where I was concealed.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” He turned, and his eyes were tired. “What’s your name?”

“Nadia.”

“Why are you following me, Nadia?”

“Because…” I hesitated, searching for words. “Because you’re scared. And I want to know why.”

Something shifted in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. As though he had heard those words before, in a context he couldn’t quite place.

“You see more than most people,” he said quietly.

“I watch. It’s easier than talking.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he sat down on a fallen log and gestured for me to join him.

The clearing was peaceful, despite the violence that had been practiced here. Wildflowers dotted the grass between the scarred training dummies, and birds sang in the branches overhead. It was hard to imagine that this quiet place had witnessed such brutal preparation.

“Something bad is coming,” Claude said when I had settled beside him. “Something I can’t prevent. All I can do is prepare people to survive it.”

“The sky sphere.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’ve been watching that too.”

“Everyone has. Most people pretend they don’t see it.”

It was true. The adults spoke of it occasionally, calling it the “heaven’s eye” and inventing stories about divine observers. But their voices were always too casual, their explanations too quick. They were afraid of it, even if they refused to admit that fear.

“But not you,” Claude said.

I shook my head. “I don’t understand what it is. But I know it’s wrong. Things shouldn’t appear in the sky and just… stay there.”

Claude studied me for a long moment. His eyes were old, far older than his face. I had never seen anyone look at me so intently, as though I was actually worth paying attention to.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring, small and simple, with a faint magical shimmer.

“Take this. Wear it always. Don’t take it off for any reason.”

I accepted the ring with trembling fingers. The metal was cool against my skin, and I could feel something inside it—a pulse of energy that seemed almost alive.

“What is it?”

“A promise. That no matter what happens, no matter where you end up, I’ll find you.”

I didn’t understand. Not really. The words implied a future where we might be separated by distances that a simple ring couldn’t bridge. Implied that Claude somehow had the ability to track anyone who wore one of these devices.

But I put on the ring anyway, feeling its cool weight settle against my skin.

Claude smiled, and for a moment, he looked almost his age. Not the strange leader who commanded adults or the warrior who moved with inhuman grace. Just a boy, tired and scared and trying to protect people from something he couldn’t explain.

“Thank you, Nadia. For watching and carefully seeing things.”

“Will you tell me the truth? Someday?”

“Yes.” He met my eyes steadily. “Someday, I’ll tell you everything. But not today. Today, I need you to go home and rest. Tomorrow’s training will be harder.”

I nodded and slipped away, returning to my invisible existence.

But I kept the ring on my finger.

And I kept watching.

—

[Claude POV]

Nadia was exactly the kind of person who might survive.

Observant. Cautious. Willing to accept strange truths without demanding explanations. She saw more than most people twice her age, and she used that sight effectively rather than letting it overwhelm her.

I added her name to my mental list. Another person who had a chance, if the ring worked as intended.

The training continued through the final weeks. Philip improved despite his hatred, his form becoming steadier and his footwork more reliable. His anger at me fueled his determination, driving him to train harder just to prove he could.

Nadia learned to move without being seen, turning her natural invisibility into a practical skill. She could fade into backgrounds with an ease that impressed even me, becoming effectively undetectable when she wanted to be.

Others developed skills I hadn’t expected, strengths that might save them when everything fell apart. A quiet boy discovered he had a talent for healing magic. A loud girl learned that her voice could carry warnings across long distances. Each child found something within themselves that could matter when the world changed.

But there were limits to what I could teach them. Limits to what any amount of training could accomplish in the time remaining.

I had given rings to everyone I could reach. Organization members and village children, merchants and informants, anyone who might need to be found after the scattering. The network of connections would span the world once the disaster was complete.

If the rings worked. If the magic held across the distances the teleportation would create. If anyone survived long enough to be found.

Too many ifs. Too many uncertainties.

I looked up at the orb on the horizon, larger now than it had ever been. Its light pulsed with increasing intensity, the energy within building toward a release that nothing could stop.

Weeks. Maybe days.

The countdown was nearly complete.

And all I could do was give these children every chance I could manage, then hope it would be enough.