Chapter 8 – Ashes Between the Walls

Section 1 – The Edge of the Blade

The world had shrunk to a circle of sweat-darkened mat under Nathan’s feet, and the rasp of his own breath filled the space between heartbeats. He could feel the eyes on him — the other recruits standing along the perimeter, instructors lingering in the shadows — but they were distant, muted. All that existed now was the man in front of him.

Varric.

The name carried weight around the base, whispered in the way soldiers talk about storms or disease — something inevitable and merciless. He wasn’t the biggest instructor, nor the loudest, but he was the one who made you feel like he already knew the measure of your soul before you took your first swing. His stare was surgical, stripping you bare of excuses.

Nathan’s knees trembled, but it wasn’t fear of the man. It was fear of what might happen if he lost control. The test had been simple in theory: last three minutes against the instructor with a training blade. But the clock had run out two minutes ago, and Varric still hadn’t called it.

The blindfold had been ripped away halfway through, flooding Nathan’s vision with harsh overhead light and revealing the glint of live steel in Varric’s hand. The rubber-edged training knife Nathan had been issued suddenly felt like a child’s toy. The air smelled of metal and something faintly burnt — the tang of ozone from the halogen lamps above.

“You’ve got two choices, Reyes,” Varric said, circling slowly. His voice was a gravel scrape, low enough that only Nathan could hear. “Drop the knife and live with the shame… or keep standing and see if you survive.”

The murmurs from the sidelines were barely audible, but Nathan caught them. Snapped… like with Raze… dangerous. Each word slid under his skin like a splinter. He didn’t need to look to know some of them had already decided who he was — not a fellow recruit, but a threat contained in human skin.

His grip tightened around the knife’s handle until his knuckles whitened. “I’m not dropping it.”

Varric’s mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was the closest the man ever came to one. Then he moved.

The first strike came so fast it blurred, the steel whistling toward Nathan’s ribs. He barely parried, the impact jarring his forearm so hard it rattled his teeth. Varric pressed the attack — feinting high, cutting low, a boot snapping toward Nathan’s knee. Each block was a heartbeat stolen from disaster. Nathan’s vision tunneled until there was only blade, breath, and the echo of his own pulse in his ears.

Pain flared when a kick caught him in the ribs, but he stayed on his feet. He had no plan, no opening — only the stubborn, desperate refusal to give this man the satisfaction of seeing him fall.

And then… stillness.

Varric lowered his blade, tilting his head as if considering something. “Good enough,” he said. Not as praise. Not as approval. As a verdict.

He stepped back, and the ring of recruits seemed to exhale all at once. But the air didn’t lighten. The whispers didn’t stop. Nathan caught one last phrase as he limped toward the edge of the mat: He’s dangerous.

That word followed him like a shadow all the way back to the barracks.

Section 2 – Whispers in the Air

The barracks smelled of damp fabric and industrial soap, that faint chemical bite that never quite washed away the sweat soaked into old mattresses. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too white, too sharp, making the shadows under Nathan’s eyes look darker than they were.

He pushed through the narrow aisle between bunks, trying not to look at anyone for too long. That’s when he felt it — not a physical shove, but the pressure of attention. The weight of it pressed against his back, cold and unshakable.

Whispers.
They didn’t stop when he passed; they grew sharper.

“Did you see how close he came to—”
“—same as what he did to Raze—”
“—shouldn’t be here, too unstable—”

Some of the voices carried curiosity, others fear. But the worst were the ones laced with excitement, like they wanted to see him break. As if they were waiting for it.

Nathan sat on the edge of his bunk, staring at the wall across from him. The metal frame creaked under his weight, the sound oddly loud in the room. He flexed his hands, feeling the tremor in them. He hadn’t even realized he was shaking until his knuckles brushed against his thigh.

The image of Raze’s face flashed unbidden in his mind — the wide eyes, the blood. The way the air had gone still in the aftermath, how every set of eyes had turned to him as if they’d just seen a wild animal slip the leash.

His jaw clenched. He hadn’t lost control. Not then. Not now. But try telling them that.

“Nathan.”

The voice broke through his thoughts — soft, almost careful. He turned, expecting another recruit eager to poke at the wound. But it was Mara, standing in the space between the bunks.

Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, the ends brushing the shoulder of her uniform. There was something in her eyes — not fear, not quite — but the way she glanced around before stepping closer made it clear she knew what the others were saying.

“You should eat,” she said, holding out a tray from the mess hall. “You missed dinner.”

He didn’t take it right away. “Why are you bringing this to me?”

Mara shrugged one shoulder, but there was a faint curve at the corner of her mouth. “Because you look like you’re about two minutes away from passing out, and I’m not letting you give Varric the satisfaction of seeing you collapse.”

Nathan almost laughed, but it came out more like a breath he’d been holding too long. He took the tray, their fingers brushing — just for a moment — and something warm flickered in his chest. It was the first touch all day that hadn’t carried judgment.

But even as he picked at the food, his eyes kept drifting to the others in the room. He could feel them watching. Waiting. And for the first time, he wondered if maybe they were right to be afraid.

Section 3 – Fractures in the Dark

The barracks fell silent hours later, the hum of the lights replaced by the low, steady rhythm of breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric. Nathan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the blanket pulled up but doing nothing to keep the cold from seeping into his bones.

He had tried closing his eyes, but every time he did, the darkness behind them wasn’t empty — it was crowded. Faces, half-lit and fading in and out, flickering like faulty images on a broken screen. Raze’s, most of all.

The breathing in the room was too even. Too controlled. It didn’t sound like sleep.

He shifted onto his side, eyes scanning the shadows between bunks. For a moment, he swore he saw a silhouette — someone standing just beyond the last bed. But when he blinked, it was gone.

His heartbeat picked up, an uneven stutter in his chest.

You’re imagining it, he told himself. You haven’t slept. That’s all.

Still, the thought burrowed deeper. If Raze was still alive after what happened — and Nathan wasn’t even sure about that — then maybe someone wanted payback. Or maybe it wasn’t Raze at all. Maybe it was someone higher up, testing him, pushing him toward the edge to see if he’d jump.

A cough broke the stillness. Then a whisper, too low to make out. Footsteps, soft against the concrete floor, moving past his bunk.

Nathan sat up, his hand instinctively reaching for the small combat knife tucked under his pillow. He didn’t remember putting it there, but there it was — cold, solid, reassuring.

He listened. The footsteps faded toward the door, and a few seconds later, the metal latch clicked. Someone had gone outside.

Part of him wanted to follow, to prove to himself it was nothing. But another part — the sharper, quieter part — told him it was a trap.

From the bunk across the aisle, Mara shifted in her sleep. Or maybe she wasn’t sleeping at all. Her breathing sounded… deliberate.

Nathan turned onto his back again, staring up into the black. His knuckles ached from how tightly he gripped the knife. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. And he wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of what was outside the barracks… or what was inside his own head.

Section 4 – Eyes in the Hall

By morning, Nathan felt like he had been hollowed out and left to dry in the sun. His eyes burned, the skin beneath them bruised and dark, and every step down the narrow barracks aisle felt heavier than the last.

The mess hall smelled of burnt coffee and powdered eggs. Conversations buzzed low across the long steel tables, but Nathan could feel it — the way some of them cut short when he walked past.

A group of recruits hunched together near the far wall. Their eyes flicked to him, then away, and one of them muttered something under his breath. Another snorted.

He sat at the end of an empty table, pushing his tray forward without touching the food.

“You look like hell,” a voice said, soft but carrying.

Nathan looked up. Mara was standing there, her hair loose around her shoulders, a steaming mug in her hands. Her eyes lingered on his before she sat across from him.

“Didn’t sleep,” he muttered.

“Because you couldn’t… or because you wouldn’t?”

Her tone wasn’t teasing. It was measured, careful.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping. “People are talking, Nathan. They’re saying Raze isn’t the only one who had a problem with you. That maybe… you should watch your back.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “So they think I’m dangerous, but they still want to make me their target. Makes sense.”

Mara’s gaze didn’t waver. “Dangerous people scare other dangerous people. And fear… makes people act stupid.”

Nathan studied her face, trying to decide if she was warning him… or testing him. Her eyes softened just enough for him to think it was the first.

Before he could respond, the scrape of boots on tile pulled his attention to the far end of the hall. One of the instructors — Keaton, the quiet one with the kind of stillness that made you wonder if he was thinking or hunting — was watching him. Not the room. Not the recruits. Just him.

Keaton didn’t look away when their eyes met. Instead, he gave the smallest nod — almost imperceptible — before turning and leaving through the side door.

Mara followed his gaze. “What was that?”

Nathan shook his head. “I don’t know.” But deep down, he felt the weight of it. Keaton’s look hadn’t been casual. It had been deliberate.

A warning. Or an invitation.

And either way, it meant one thing — someone was watching.

Section 5 – Drills in the Dust

By midday, the sun was cutting hard across the training yard, baking the packed dirt until the heat shimmered like a mirage. Nathan’s boots crunched with each step, the air thick enough to taste. Rows of recruits were lined up in staggered formation, their shadows short and sharp beneath them.

“Keep your stance wide,” barked one of the junior instructors as the recruits moved through combat drills.

Nathan kept his eyes on the practice target in front of him, striking in measured rhythm. Sweat rolled down his temple, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t break form.

Then the shadow fell over him.

“Reyes,” Keaton’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. “With me.”

There was no room for hesitation. Nathan fell in behind him, leaving the orderly chaos of the drills behind. Keaton led him to the far end of the yard, where the fence met a weathered outbuilding — the part of the training grounds nobody lingered near unless told to.

The air felt different here. Quieter.

Keaton stopped and turned, his gaze steady. “You’ve been making people nervous.”

Nathan met his eyes. “I’ve noticed.”

“Good.”

The single word hung in the air like an odd, jagged compliment.

Keaton stepped closer, his voice low enough that only Nathan could hear. “Fear is a tool, Reyes. But it cuts both ways. Let it get out of your control, and you’re the one bleeding.”

Nathan swallowed, unsure if this was advice or a warning. “So what are you saying? I should be careful? Or I should lean into it?”

Keaton’s mouth twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m saying that people who survive in places like this know when to be the wolf… and when to be the shadow in the trees.”

Before Nathan could respond, a faint crunch of footsteps made him glance over his shoulder. Mara was standing just beyond the fence line, her hands clasped loosely behind her back as if she’d just been “passing by.” But her eyes — those steady, dark eyes — were locked on him.

Keaton noticed her too. “You’ve got watchers, Reyes. Not all of them are enemies. But don’t mistake curiosity for loyalty.”

Nathan turned back, but Keaton was already walking away, leaving him with dust in his throat and more questions than answers.

When he glanced toward Mara again, she was gone.

Section 6 – Shadows in the Rec Room

The rec room smelled faintly of burnt coffee and the synthetic lemon cleaner they used on the floors every other day. A TV in the corner played some late news broadcast on low volume, its flickering light painting tired faces in pale blue. A few recruits lounged at tables, playing cards or scrolling through battered datapads, their laughter dulled like the sound was passing through water.

Nathan entered quietly, grabbing a chipped mug from the shelf and filling it from the coffee urn. The liquid was tar-black, but he welcomed the bitter heat.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Mara’s voice came from the far side of the room.

She was leaning back in a chair, boots crossed on the table, a half-finished crossword in front of her. Her hair was tied back tonight, the strands catching the overhead light in a way that made her seem less like part of this place and more like someone passing through it.

“I didn’t expect to be here,” Nathan said, moving toward her table.

Mara gestured to the seat across from her. “Sit. You look like you’ve been thinking yourself in circles.”

He lowered himself into the chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “I guess I have.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Keaton cornered you today.”

Nathan smirked without humor. “You’ve got eyes everywhere, don’t you?”

“I notice things,” she said simply. “And I noticed the way you came back from that talk. You’re carrying something heavy.”

He took a sip of coffee, letting the bitterness fill the silence. “Maybe I am. Or maybe I just don’t like being reminded that people here are measuring me for the wrong reasons.”

Mara leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Nathan… fear is one thing. Distrust is another. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve got both circling you like vultures.”

Her eyes didn’t waver, and Nathan felt something in his chest tighten — not from the threat she was implying, but from the way she was looking at him, like she was trying to see through the cracks in his armor.

“You’re different,” she continued. “Not just because of what you did to Raze. There’s… something else. And that scares people more than the fight.”

He met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words. “And what about you? Are you scared?”

For the first time, her expression shifted — not quite a smile, but the corner of her mouth lifted just enough. “If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

The moment hung between them, taut as wire. Somewhere behind Nathan, two recruits at the card table muttered something under their breath, snickering. He didn’t catch the words, but he didn’t have to — the tone was enough.

Mara’s eyes flicked past him toward the sound, then back. “You might want to start sleeping with one eye open,” she said softly.

Nathan didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

Section 7 – The Sleepless Hours

The clock on Nathan’s wall read 02:17.

He had been lying in the narrow cot for hours, staring at the ceiling where the shadows pooled like ink stains. Every creak of the building, every muffled conversation in the hallway, felt amplified, like the walls were whispering just beyond the range of understanding.

He rolled onto his side, shutting his eyes tight, but the darkness behind his lids wasn’t any kinder. Raze’s face surfaced there — jaw slack, eyes filled with that mix of rage and disbelief right before Nathan put him down. Then the image shifted, skin peeling away until it was just a skull grinning at him.

He sat up, rubbing his temples.

It was too hot in the room. Too still. The kind of stillness that felt manufactured, as though someone was watching from just beyond the corner of sight. Nathan thought about Mara’s warning in the rec room — sleep with one eye open — and decided he didn’t need to try sleeping at all.

He stood, crossing to the small desk by the wall, flicking on the lamp. The light was weak, but it gave him something to focus on: the training manual left open from earlier, his handwriting scrawled in the margins. Only, as he looked closer, the words didn’t seem like his own anymore. The ink blurred, reshaping into phrases he didn’t remember writing.

“They will come when you are weakest.”

“Blood buys silence.”

He blinked, and the words were gone — just standard training notes again.

Nathan exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I’m losing it…”

He crawled back into bed out of pure exhaustion. Sleep came eventually, but not peacefully.

The dream started in the barracks hallway. He was alone, barefoot on cold tile, the fluorescent lights flickering. Every door he passed was open, but the rooms were empty. He heard a sound — soft breathing — and followed it.

At the far end of the hall, a figure stood with its back to him. Female, hair falling in loose waves, wearing civilian clothes that seemed wrong here. He stepped closer, thinking it was Mara.

When she turned, it was Mara… but her eyes were black, her skin cracked like porcelain, and her voice — layered and distorted — whispered, “You’re already dead, Nathan. You just haven’t stopped moving yet.”

Before he could react, hands burst from the walls, gripping his arms and neck, pulling him into the plaster. He tried to scream, but his mouth filled with dust and blood.

Nathan jerked awake, drenched in sweat, the phantom pressure of fingers still on his throat. The clock read 04:03.

Somewhere down the hall, a door closed softly.

Section 8 – The 0200 Walk

The alarm wasn’t loud, but it cut through Nathan’s fragile sleep like a blade.
Three sharp tones. No voiceover. No explanation.

A moment later, a knock came at his door.
Not a polite one.
Three raps, spaced evenly, followed by silence.

Nathan swung his legs over the side of the cot, muscles aching from the previous day’s drills. He grabbed his boots, pulling them on without bothering with the laces. In the corridor, a handful of other recruits were already moving — some bleary-eyed, others expressionless, like they’d been expecting this.

“Field gear. No weapons,” a trainer barked as they passed the equipment rack.

The group was herded outside into the crisp predawn air. The sky was still black, the moon a thin crescent behind low clouds. Floodlights cut harsh cones into the mist curling off the training yard.

They were told to line up in pairs. Nathan ended up with a broad-shouldered recruit named Vega — a guy who never seemed to sweat, no matter how brutal the workout. Vega gave him a curt nod, but didn’t speak.

“You’re taking the east perimeter,” one of the instructors said, his voice carrying over the crunch of boots on gravel. “This is a silent movement drill. Keep your eyes open. Watch your spacing.”

The gates opened, and the pairs began filing out toward the city’s edge.

The streets out here were wrong at night — too empty, too still. Abandoned storefronts loomed like hollowed teeth, their broken windows catching the faint gleam of the streetlights. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, then stopped abruptly.

Nathan’s pulse was already up, though the cold air kept his face calm. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the night was watching them back.

Halfway through the route, Vega slowed. “Did you see that?” he murmured.

Nathan followed his gaze. On the roofline ahead, a figure crouched, just at the edge of the shadow.
Tall. Lean. Familiar in a way that made Nathan’s chest tighten.

It was Raze.

Or at least… it looked like him.

The figure didn’t move, didn’t call out. Just watched, his face hidden under the hood of a dark jacket. Nathan caught the faintest glint of metal at his side — a weapon, maybe, or just a reflection.

Vega started to signal to the instructor trailing behind them, but Nathan grabbed his arm.
“No,” he whispered. “Keep walking.”

They did. But Nathan could feel the weight of that gaze long after the figure melted back into the darkness.

Minutes later, the patrol took them near the edge of an industrial zone. That’s where Nathan saw it — a black SUV parked too far from any building to be casual. Engine off. Windows tinted so dark they absorbed the light.

Someone sat inside. He couldn’t see the face, but he could feel the stare. Cold. Measuring. Like he was being cataloged for something he wouldn’t understand until it was too late.

The instructor waved them forward, breaking Nathan’s fixation. But as they turned the corner, he glanced back — and the SUV was gone.

Section 9 – Whispers in the Dark

By the time they got back inside the compound, the sky was just beginning to grey at the edges. The floodlights buzzed faintly as they clicked off, leaving the courtyard washed in the pale light of false dawn.

The recruits broke formation without being told. Some went straight for the barracks, others for the mess hall. Nathan lingered a moment in the doorway, scanning the yard as if Raze might have followed them inside.

He wasn’t there.
But the unease didn’t leave.

Inside, the air was warmer but somehow heavier, like the walls were pressing in. Nathan could hear low voices ahead — a cluster of recruits near the water station. Their tones were pitched just low enough to make the words indistinct, but every now and then, he caught fragments:

“…saw him watching…”
“…shadow on the roof…”
“…if he snaps again…”

The moment Nathan stepped into view, the conversation cut off. Three sets of eyes slid toward him — not in open challenge, but with the same guarded wariness one might reserve for a live grenade rolling across the floor.

Vega brushed past him with his tray, muttering just loud enough: “They think you’re dangerous now.”

Nathan stopped. “Because of Raze?”

Vega glanced over his shoulder. “Because of what you did to him. People saw. People talk. And they wonder if that’s all you’re capable of… or if there’s worse you haven’t shown yet.”

He left Nathan standing there, trayless, the words settling like grit in his lungs.

That day’s drills were a blur. He kept catching sight of people whispering when they thought he wasn’t looking. In the training hall, two recruits stopped mid-conversation when he walked by, one of them smirking like he’d just been told a joke Nathan wouldn’t like.

By evening, the paranoia had its claws in him.
When he tried to sleep, the barracks seemed too quiet — no shuffling, no coughing, just a stillness that hummed under his skin. Every creak of the floorboards outside his door made him sit up, listening.

At 0200 again, he woke with his heart racing and sweat chilling his neck. He thought he heard footsteps pause outside his room, then move on. But when he cracked the door, the hallway was empty.

He didn’t go back to sleep. Instead, he sat on the edge of his cot, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the shadow pooling in the far corner. Somewhere between exhaustion and fear, he swore it shifted — just slightly — as if something inside it was breathing.

Section 10 – Fractures

The next morning, Nathan’s reflection in the cracked barracks mirror looked like a stranger — eyes sunk deep into bruised hollows, skin pale and stretched tight over cheekbones. He splashed cold water on his face, but it didn’t wash away the weight in his chest.

The whispers hadn’t stopped. They had evolved.
Now they weren’t just about him. They were about what might happen because of him.

He overheard two recruits in the gear room:

“…if he loses it during a mission…”
“…might take one of us down with him…”

Nathan slammed his locker door harder than necessary. Both men froze, pretending to fuss with their packs, their backs to him.

During combat drills, the paranoia made him sloppy. His guard dropped at the wrong moments, his footwork turned reactive instead of calculated. Twice he missed obvious openings against his sparring partner. By the third mistake, the instructor barked his name hard enough to snap him out of it.

“What’s wrong with you, Reyes?” the instructor demanded.

Nathan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. How could he explain that it wasn’t the fight in front of him he was worried about, but the eyes on him from every corner of the room?

That night, the nightmares returned.
Not the usual fragmented loops of Raze’s face or the blood on the floor — but something new.

In the dream, the base was empty. Completely silent. The barracks, the yard, the training hall — all deserted. And then he saw them. Not the recruits, not the instructors, but bodies. Dozens of them, slumped against walls, sprawled across the concrete, eyes glassy and skin waxy. They weren’t dead in the natural way. Something had hollowed them out. Something that had taken more than just their lives.

When he woke, he realized he’d been gripping the edge of his blanket so tightly his knuckles were numb. His breathing was ragged, his shirt clinging to his back with cold sweat.

That was the night he stopped trying to sleep altogether. He started walking the corridors instead, memorizing every creak in the floorboards, every flicker of the dying fluorescent lights. The guards on night rotation gave him strange looks, but no one stopped him. Maybe they were just glad he wasn’t pacing inside the dorm, watching them.

By the third sleepless night, his hands had a faint tremor, and his thoughts felt like they were fraying at the edges. The paranoia wasn’t just in his head anymore — it was in his muscles, in the way he scanned every doorway before passing it.

It was only a matter of time before someone noticed.
And someone did.

At dawn, one of his instructors called him out in front of the others.
“Reyes. We’ve decided you’re ready for a special evaluation.”

The tone was unreadable. Not praise. Not punishment. Something colder.
Nathan didn’t ask what it meant. He knew enough by now to understand that when the instructors used that tone, you didn’t want to know ahead of time.

Section 11 – The Test

The evaluation was scheduled for 2100 hours, long after the rest of the recruits had been dismissed for the night. Nathan was escorted to the edge of the training compound by two instructors who didn’t speak a word. Their silence was heavier than any order.

The air was colder out here, carrying the faint scent of rain and rust from the perimeter fence. Beyond the floodlights, the world was swallowed in darkness.

They stopped in front of a heavy, reinforced door Nathan had never noticed before. One instructor keyed in a code; the locking mechanism hissed open.

Inside was a vast, dimly lit chamber — part obstacle course, part kill zone. Platforms, shadowed corridors, dangling chains, and high scaffolding vanished into the gloom. It wasn’t like the clean, regulated training spaces he knew. This place felt wrong, like it had seen more than just drills.

“You’ll have thirty minutes,” the lead instructor said flatly. “Objective: reach the far exit. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Nathan’s brow furrowed. “That’s it?”

The instructor’s lips curled in something that was almost a smile. “That’s it.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

The first few steps were quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that felt like it was waiting for him to move further in.

A sound cut through the stillness — the metallic scrape of something shifting above him. Nathan’s gaze darted up just as a figure dropped from the rafters, landing hard on the platform ahead.

Not a fellow recruit. Not an instructor in standard gear. This figure wore black tactical armor with no insignia, face hidden behind a matte mask. The air between them felt charged, dangerous.

The masked figure moved first — unnervingly fast, closing the distance in seconds. Nathan barely raised his guard in time to block the first strike, the impact rattling through his forearms. This wasn’t sparring. The force behind the blow told him one thing: this was real.

Another shadow moved in the periphery. Then another.
Shapes emerging from the darkness, circling.

Nathan’s pulse thundered. This wasn’t a one-on-one. It was a hunt.

Somewhere, high above, he heard the faint click of a headset mic. And a voice — calm, unfamiliar — spoke just two words:

“Test begins.”

The shadows lunged all at once.