CHAPTER 9

It has been Three months. Three relentless, bone-wearying months of endurance training in the Glades. Every muscle ached, every joint screamed for mercy. It wasn’t just the physical toll; it was the mental grind to prove you belonged.

We started with 26 initiates, but three had already walked away. The Peralta twins, Jake and Jackson, left for their family’s engineering empire, their super strength better suited for revolutionizing Dome construction than enduring Rebel’s wrath. Elsa Revel, with her water manipulation, returned to her family, confident their resources would help her master her abilities in safety. Their absence was a stark reminder that even those born into privilege and power could crack under the weight of this place.

That left 23 of us, battered but determined. After a single day of rest, we were summoned back to the pits. This time, however, there were four figures waiting for us. I recognized two immediately: Rebel, with her piercing gaze and air of authority, and Constantine, whose gruff demeanor masked a frightening intensity.

Rebel stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “Three of your peers have chosen to quit, as you know. This is not a place for the weaklings, so I’m giving you one final opportunity to walk away. If you have doubts, if you’re questioning your resolve, step forward now.”

Silence. No one moved.

“Good,” she said with a faint smirk. “That means you’re ready to begin the real work. Up until now, your training has been about endurance—preparing your bodies and minds for what’s to come. From today onward, the focus shifts to your powers. This is the reason the Glades exist!”

Constantine stepped forward, his voice low and steady, each word carrying weight. “These past months, we’ve pushed you to your limits. Now, we’ll push you beyond them. I know some of you have been impatient, sneaking in attempts to use your powers when you thought no one was watching.” His gaze lingered on a few of us—too long on me, it felt. “ Using your powers without proper guidance is reckless. It could break you or worse. Today…is the day.”

Two strangers stepped forward from the group, their presence demanding attention.

The first, a sharp-featured woman with blonde hair and a nose ring, introduced herself. “I’m Ava Fournier. I’ll be working with the first-class initiates, helping you refine and maximize your full potential. If you think that means this will be easier for you, think again. My training will be the hardest thing you’ve ever faced.”

Murmurs rippled through the group. I glanced at Felicity, who was pale and fidgeting. She’d once mentioned having a sister in the Glades, but I hadn’t connected the dots until now. Ava’s black uniform, marked with the Taskforce’s signature X logo, marked her as a high-ranking operative.

The second, a wiry man with an easy, almost unsettling smile followed. “I’m Juni. I’ll handle tactical maneuvering—how to work as a team as well as missions and how to survive out there.” His words hung ominously in the air, this training somehow had a seriousness to it that the endurance didn’t, if you can believe that.

Rebel took center stage again, her voice cutting through the whispers. “My job remains the same. To break you, and to make you stronger. I’ll train you to integrate your combat skills with your powers seamlessly. Out there, hesitation means death. There are situations and changes going on that will make this training a necessity, much sooner than you thought.”

Finally, Constantine stepped forward, his presence somehow both grounding and imposing. “I’ll be working with the second-class initiates. My focus is control— as a second-class myself, I am painfully aware how difficult it is to master two separate powers. I was lucky to get two complementary abilities, but you might not be as lucky. Either way, we’re going to figure it out, together. As far as the ten special treatment initiates, you will be joining Ms. Dumont in the Elite house for further training and instructions.”

With that, the instructors divided us into our respective groups. Constantine led the second-class initiates—my group—through a winding path far from the pits. We ran the entire way, the silence broken only by the rhythmic pounding of our feet and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. Eventually, we stopped by a narrow river, its surface shimmering under the sunlight.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” Constantine asked, his voice calm but expectant.

Rin Shigaraki, ever the overachiever, raised her hand. “So, we don’t break anything?” We came from the same house but we never talked much. She always felt a bit too serious and not sociable. Counting her and myself, there were only eight second-class initiates.

A flicker of amusement crossed Constantine’s face. “Not quite. I brought you here because I don’t know what you’re capable of yet. As second-class, your powers are a genetic wildcard. You could have a combination of your parents’ abilities, a single power from one parent and a random second one, or—though it’s rare—two entirely unique abilities unrelated to your lineage. Before we move forward, we need to understand what we’re working with.”

The exercises began. Constantine paired us off for sparring sessions after a quick demonstration of our powers.

Rin faced off against Brock, with seismic shock. Rin’s danger sense allowed her to anticipate his attacks, dodging the massive boulders he hurled her way with uncanny precision. But when Brock clapped his hands together, creating a shockwave that knocked her off-balance, Rin’s other ability—regeneration—kicked in, healing the scrape on her cheek within seconds.

“You’re fast, Shigaraki,” Constantine noted, scribbling in his notebook. “But don’t rely too much on sensing danger, use your eyes. Work on diversifying your strategies.”

Felicity Fournier faced Chester Fild, who used his telekinesis and teleportation to evade her strikes. Her agility gave her an edge, allowing her to predict his movements. But Chester’s stamina waned quickly, his breathing labored by the end of the bout.

“Fild,” Constantine said, “your teleportation is impressive, but it’s a stamina drain. Fournier, focus on precision. Wasting energy on wide attacks will cost you.”

Veronica Seider and Ma Xinxiang trained together, combining their supervision and long-distance hearing. Ma’s ability to pick up faint sounds complemented Veronica’s eagle-like sight, but both struggled with sensory overload when too many stimuli bombarded them at once.

“Filter it out,” Constantine instructed. “If you can’t focus, you’re useless in the field.”

When my turn came, I faced Natasha Demikina. She conjured force fields that she could hurl like weapons—small but devastatingly powerful. My ability had begun to manifest in strange ways; when wounded, my blood transformed into weapons—blades, shields, or projectiles. But Natasha’s barriers deflected every strike, leaving me frustrated and exposed.

“Jamerson,” Constantine barked, “mix it up. If one strategy fails, adapt.”

As we went back after an intense day, we caught snippets of Ava Fournier’s drills. Her sharp commands cut through the air.

“Adelle, control your flames! Raw power without focus will burn you out. Emma, stop hesitating! Your healing means nothing if your team’s already dead!”

It’s nice to see the first-class struggling as the rest of us.

Weeks blurred into an unrelenting rhythm of training. The sessions grew sharper, more random, to emphasise adaptability. Rebel pushed us to the edge with night drills, demanding mastery of our powers alongside combat precision. We had little time to wonder why the pace of our training seemed rushed.

One evening, during a particularly grueling session, Ma Xinxiang paired with Veronica, was mid-dodge when he froze. His head snapped toward the horizon, his face pale.

“What is it?” Veronica asked, halting her stance. Her sharp eyes scanned the shadows, her voice laced with unease.

Ma’s face was pale, his brow furrowed. “Something… something’s wrong. I hear—” His voice faltered, barely a whisper. “It’s faint, but it’s coming closer.”

The air shifted. Even those of us without enhanced senses felt the change—an intense pressure crawling up our spines.

Rebel, who had been observing the drills, was already moving. Her hand went to the comm device clipped to her uniform, her gaze sharp as a blade. “Confirm,” she barked. There was a pause, then a low response we couldn’t make out.

Her expression turned stormy. She looked up, her voice cutting through the rising murmurs. “Inside. Now!”

We obeyed, the weight of her urgency sinking deep. Whatever was happening, it was real.