Rise of the Past

The third day of training began with an air of anticipation and unease. The remaining twenty participants stood in the center of a grand, cavernous hall, their breaths echoing faintly against the ornate walls. The hall looked like an art museum, its pristine white walls adorned with picture frames—empty frames. A strange silence hung over the room, broken only by the restless shuffling of feet and murmurs of uncertainty.

But the most jarring difference today wasn’t the eerie setting. It was the absence of their usual mentor, Qoval. Instead, standing before them was a striking woman. Her sharp features were complemented by piercing eyes that seemed to see right through the bravado of the gathered participants. She radiated an aura of authority that silenced the faintest whisper.

One of the participants smirked and muttered under his breath, loud enough to be heard, “Finally, something nice to work for.” His companions chuckled, their nervousness momentarily masked by bravado.

The woman didn’t react. Her gaze swept across the room, unwavering, and then she spoke in a tone that was calm but carried an edge of steel. “Alright, you’re twenty now, but in the next two to three minutes, you’re only going to be half that number.”

The room erupted into murmurs and questions. Someone dared to ask, “What does that mean?”

Without missing a beat, she continued, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Day 3 of the TSM license. That means the exam has already started. Now get over with it.”

Confusion spread like wildfire. Most of the participants stood frozen, their minds racing to make sense of her words. Was this some kind of mental test? A physical challenge?

One participant, a wiry man with darting eyes, immediately began inspecting the floor for hidden traps. Another tried to pry information from the mentor herself, shouting, “You can’t just expect us to figure this out without instructions!”

Kindra, as they later learned her name, didn’t even flinch. She simply crossed her arms and leaned back against the far wall, her gaze daring them to act.

Wrex, however, wasn’t looking at her. His attention was drawn to the strange details of the room itself. The empty picture frames on the walls weren’t truly empty—faint letters were etched into the surfaces, almost too faint to read. His instincts whispered that these details mattered.

Loria stood nearby, her sharp eyes catching the same details. She leaned closer to Wrex, lowering her voice. “What do you think this is?”

“I don’t know,” Wrex replied, his voice equally low, “but standing here isn’t going to help.”

Before they could act, Fozic stepped closer, gesturing subtly toward Loria. “If you’re not sure what to do, maybe just follow him,” he whispered, his tone laced with uncharacteristic urgency.

Loria’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need hints, Fozic,” she snapped, her pride stung. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

Fozic sighed but said nothing more, retreating into the background to observe.

Elsewhere, the participants scrambled in every direction. One woman, stocky and strong, began pounding on the walls, hoping brute force would reveal some hidden path. Another participant, a lanky man with glasses, frantically scrawled notes on a piece of paper, trying to decipher the letters on the frames.

“There’s no room for failure,” one of them muttered, the desperation in his voice evident. “If we don’t pass, it’s over. All of it.”

The weight of his words hung in the air. For many, this wasn’t just about the TSM license—it was about survival, about escaping lives of obscurity and mediocrity. The stakes were too high to falter.

Wrex, however, remained focused. He had spotted something—two letters etched larger and clearer than the others: X and T, positioned on the wall directly behind Kindra. Without waiting for confirmation, he whispered to Loria, “Cover me.”

“What are you—”

But Wrex was already moving. He sprinted toward the mentor and the wall behind her, his movements swift and deliberate. Kindra didn’t move to stop him. She simply watched, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a clenched fist, Wrex struck the wall where the letters were etched. The sound of shattering stone echoed through the hall, drawing every pair of eyes toward him. Dust and debris rained down as a hidden passage revealed itself.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Kindra’s voice rang out, calm and amused. “Quite sharp, handsome, and strong.”

Her smirk widened as she addressed the group. “Alright, you passed. Only nine of you remain.”

The announcement was met with stunned silence, quickly followed by protests from the remaining participants. “That’s not fair!” one of them shouted. “He just got lucky! We didn’t even get a chance—”

Kindra silenced them with a raised hand. Her gaze was cold as she spoke. “This isn’t about fairness. It’s about results. Hesitation is failure. In a real mission, waiting for instructions will get you killed. I made my choice. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.”

The nine who had been chosen exchanged uneasy glances. The others, faces etched with frustration and defeat, were escorted out of the hall.

Kindra turned back to the remaining participants. “The purpose of this test was simple: to assess your ability to act decisively and adapt in unfamiliar circumstances. Every forty seconds, a piece of the pictures on the walls would’ve filled in. Once the frames were complete, the exit would’ve been sealed. Some of you acted. The rest didn’t. That’s the difference between passing and failing.”

Wrex nodded silently, his gaze drifting toward Loria. Her expression was calm, but he could see the gears turning in her mind.

Nearby, Fozic sighed in relief. “Well, that’s one way to get through,” he muttered, though his eyes lingered on Loria with a hint of regret.

The group moved into the next chamber, where Wrex found himself alone for a moment. The room was sparse, save for a single table in the center. On it lay a small device, which lit up as he approached. A message appeared on the screen, and Wrex’s heart skipped a beat.

“You are invited to the Raid.”

The words were identical to the message he had received in the tunnels. Anxiety coiled in his chest as he looked around, searching for answers. Who had sent this? Was it part of the exam, or was something far more sinister at play?

Before he could dwell on it, the message disappeared, replaced by a mechanical whirring. A door on the far side of the room slid open, revealing a dark corridor. Above the doorway, a timer began counting down: 15 seconds.

Wrex hesitated for only a moment. The curiosity gnawing at him outweighed his caution. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the doorway just as the timer hit zero.

As the door sealed behind him, Wrex’s eyes adjusted to the dim light. What lay ahead left him speechless.