197 Probationary Fighter
197 Probationary Fighter
Qilin led me deeper into Foresthome.
The forest paths curved naturally rather than cutting straight lines, roots forming gentle rises beneath my boots while woven wooden walkways bridged shallow ravines. Light filtered down through layered leaves, fractured into green-gold fragments that clung to skin and bark alike, and I felt watched without sensing hostility, only attention.
The closer we moved toward the heart of the settlement, the more Foresthome revealed its daily rhythms. Stalls were nestled into living trees rather than erected beside them, their counters grown from thick branches and polished smooth by time and hands. Passersby moved with quiet confidence, carrying baskets of produce, bundles of treated wood, or vials of shimmering compounds whose purposes I could only guess. Children ran along rope bridges overhead while elders conversed beneath lanterns fed by soft electric light, and for a moment it looked like an ideal community, even if the limits of their technology were impossible to ignore.
“Your infrastructure is impressive,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “What level of technology are you operating at exactly?”
“Electrified industrial, more or less,” replied Qilin, gesturing to a cluster of glowing bulbs suspended in glass casings. “We have radios, lighting grids, telephone networks, and early chemistry and metallurgy. No internal combustion engines though, sadly, and that was a conscious decision.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as it swept across the canopy. “Pollution is a line we do not cross. Foresthome survives because the forest survives, so enforcement on that matter is strict.”
I nodded, absorbing the information while cataloging the absence of engines, exhaust, and synthetic stench. “So how did all of this start?” I asked. “This place doesn’t feel accidental.”
“It began as a village of tree houses under King F. Huston,” he said, emphasizing the name. “He was the mastermind behind the Foresthome project, and only one among the four overlords of Lockworld. People came seeking protection, purpose, or simply a place to breathe without fear. Others left, some defected to rival groups, and many died to enemies or nature itself.” His tone hardened slightly. “Security has always been absolute. You must understand that if you draw unwanted attention, you endure it and earn your place steadily.”
“And loyalty,” I said carefully. “How do you enforce it?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” he said, leaving the statement to my imagination.
The path opened into a vast clearing at the center of Foresthome, and my steps slowed despite myself. An enormous tree dominated the space, its trunk wider than a city block and its height disappearing into layers of leaves that spread outward like a living sky. The branches formed a natural canopy that dwarfed everything beneath it, and the air felt heavier here, charged with a presence that pressed against my senses.
“Where’s the boss?” I asked, unable to keep the edge of disbelief from my voice as I stared upward.
Before Qilin could answer, a spark of intelligence flared from the tree itself, sharp and unmistakable. The bark rippled and reshaped, wood flowing like muscle until a colossal elderly face emerged from the trunk, eyes opening with ancient patience. Shock rippled through me, my instincts screaming even as I forced my body to remain still.
Qilin dropped to one knee without hesitation. “May I present the Divine Forest King,” he said reverently. “King F. Huston.”
I inclined my head politely, my mind already reaching outward as I sized Huston up with telepathy and empathy. His mental defenses appeared nonexistent at first glance, an open field inviting intrusion, yet every attempt slid aside without resistance, diverted by something subtle and alien. The tree itself was a shield, not blocking me but redirecting my focus away from anything worth taking, and the realization made me wary.
“My name is Nicholas Caldwell,” I said, projecting calm. “But you can call me Eclipse.” I let a fraction of truth surface. “My primary ability is intangibility, supported by enhancer-class self-mastery of the body.” There was no reason to offer him the full map of my arsenal.
The massive face regarded me, grooves deepening as his mouth moved. His voice was deep and gravelly, like wind passing through ancient roots. “I am the Divine Forest King,” he said evenly. “But you may call me Mr. Huston, or simply Huston.”
His eyes narrowed slightly as his presence pressed closer, not hostile but unmistakably assessing. “I recognize you,” Huston continued, his tone gaining weight. “You are the man who attacked Boarhead.”
“It was a terrible accident,” Qilin said firmly, his voice carrying across the clearing. “But we would benefit far more by taking him in than casting him out.” He gestured toward me without looking back, as if the decision had already been made in his mind. “He is a new arrival, highly likely unaffiliated. That alone makes him valuable in a landscape saturated with old allegiances and hidden debts. If recruited, he would prove a strong addition to our forces.”
Huston remained silent, the tree’s expression unreadable, but Qilin pressed on. “I know him from the outside. I have seen what he can do, and more importantly, how he thinks under pressure. Strength like his does not drift into our territory by coincidence. It finds a reason, whether we offer one or not.”
The ancient eyes shifted, focusing on me now, and Huston’s voice rolled out like distant thunder. “And what do you have to say for that, Eclipse?”
Before I could answer, Qilin interjected again, urgency creeping into his words. “I will speak for him if needed,” he said. “With our methods of securing loyalty, probation would be more than fair. If he fails, we lose nothing we cannot already defend. If he succeeds, Foresthome gains a weapon the others has already failed to claim.”
Huston exhaled slowly, leaves rustling overhead as if the forest itself was listening. “I appreciate your desire to bolster our strength. You speak strongly of his addition, which suggests benefits to our community worth considering.” His gaze returned fully to me, heavy and patient. “Still, I wish to hear him speak. Eclipse, what do you have to say for yourself?”
The question was too vague, almost deliberately so, and it forced me inward. I weighed every angle carefully, aware that Foresthome’s military structure was likely a sensitive nerve, one that could easily be struck the wrong way. They did not need me to describe how useful I could be in combat, and doing so would only frame me as combative or eager for conflict. I had no claim to this place, no history here, no home to defend or banner to stand under. I could not pretend otherwise without sounding foolish.
Qilin’s earlier warning echoed in my head, reminding me not to speak of the outside world or of escape, not to frame myself as someone already halfway out the door. I had to be realistic, restrained, and grounded in what had already happened rather than what might happen. Honesty, or something close enough to it, was the only viable currency here.
“It was an accident,” I said finally, meeting Huston’s gaze without flinching. “I was foraging in the woods when I found the tracks of a boar. I hunted it with the intention of filling my stomach, nothing more than survival.” I paused for effect. “When my spear struck and the boar turned into a man, I felt regret for what I had done. I didn’t come here seeking blood or territory.”
Huston’s response was immediate and loud, a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the trunk and into the ground beneath my feet. “If you had known it was a man and a cape at that, you would have struck him anyway. If not to gather information, then to coerce his cooperation.”
His eyes narrowed, the humor cooling into something sharper. “Do not even think of lying to me,” Huston continued. “We are all villains here.”
I doubted that, even as the words echoed through the clearing. The SRC and the Box wore their own masks of righteousness, but perfection had never belonged to either side. I lifted a hand slightly, gesturing toward Qilin as I spoke.
“Villainy isn’t always a choice,” I said evenly. “Qilin is a war veteran. Circumstances pushed him where he is now, and Foresthome became his refuge. That doesn’t make his past or his intent simple, and I doubt mine would be either.”
“Enough,” said Huston. “We will stop with the platitudes.”
I didn’t even know where to begin with Qilin’s past life, mostly because so much of it had been redacted, scrubbed away by systems that pretended transparency while hoarding secrets. I knew enough to understand the pattern, though. Heroes had been convicted and thrown into the Box just as easily as villains, their ideals crushed under classified rulings and political convenience. Guesswork had been digging into that reality lately, convinced that those disillusioned former heroes were the easiest to tempt, the easiest to turn once they realized the world they had trusted never intended to save them.
I exhaled slowly and met Huston’s gaze again, deciding that half-truths would only insult an intelligence like his. “You’re right,” I said. “If I had known Boarhead was a man, I probably would’ve still attacked him. I would’ve gathered information, coerced cooperation if necessary, and followed the trail wherever it led.”
The forest was silent, listening.
“I wouldn’t have stopped there,” I continued. “I would’ve let myself be led here, played along, learned the hierarchy of this prison world. Depending on what I discovered, I might have betrayed Foresthome.” I raised a hand slightly before anyone could interrupt. “But this is a special case. A one-time deal where you could ensure my loyalty through goodwill rather than force.”
I turned and gestured toward Qilin, making the intention unmistakable. “I want him,” I said plainly. “I want Qilin to be my person. My point of contact, my anchor here.”
Huston’s expression did not change, but his voice carried a sharper edge. “And what is it that you want, exactly? Why Qilin?”
The real answer burned behind my teeth, fully formed and impossible to say. I couldn’t speak of recruiting capes in secret or tearing open the walls of Lockworld to escape it. That truth would end the conversation before it began, so I reached for the version that could survive scrutiny.
“I want to conquer Lockworld,” I said. “I want to unite it.”
The words hung in the air, heavy but not false. I wasn’t lying, not entirely. Conquest was a step toward escape, a necessary consolidation of power in a place designed to fracture it. Exposing that ambition carried risks, forcing others to watch me more closely, to suppress me if I grew too bold. At the same time, it gave me cover, a visible goal that distracted from my real intentions while building credibility. By hiding behind conquest, I could act openly, aggressively, and without suspicion, all while laying the groundwork for something far more dangerous.
Huston studied me for a long moment, roots creaking softly beneath the earth. “Why?” he asked. “Why do you wish to unite Lockworld?”
“To rule it,” I answered without hesitation. “And to make my life more peaceful.” I paused, then added, “If my life is peaceful, the lives of others can be too.”
The words sounded strangely heroic, and the realization struck me harder than I expected. It reminded me of Amelia, of the way ideals could be framed as kindness while masking control. I didn’t know whether that memory unsettled or steadied me, only that it refused to leave.
I straightened slightly, feeling the weight of every hidden gaze in the clearing. “Let me join your ranks,” I said. “Let me walk among your people, learn them, learn to love this place. And even if I fail to achieve my ambition in this world, I will still protect Foresthome with all my heart.”
Qilin’s let out a sharp breath, sweat forming along his brow as he glanced between me and Huston, clearly regretting every word he had spoken in my defense so far. “That was… incredibly cringe,” he muttered, not bothering to lower his voice. “You realize that sounded exactly like something a hero would say, right?”
I suppressed the urge to snap back, keeping my expression measured even as irritation crawled up my spine. Qilin squinted at me, doubt etched into his features. “I remember fighting you,” he continued. “You weren’t posturing like this back then. You were a true villain to your bones.”
“I never said I was good at protecting people,” I replied calmly. “I’m very good at killing them.” I let the silence stretch before continuing, choosing my words with surgical care. “I started as a petty thief. Circumstances caught up with me, and I became a murderer. After that, I worked as an assassin for hire, then a mercenary in places where the law didn’t exist long enough to matter.” I met Qilin’s eyes. “I turned my life around after earning a privilege for helping subjugate the Ten.”
Qilin stiffened as if struck. “The Nth Contract?” he asked quietly. “The Ten?” The name alone carried weight, fear woven into its syllables. He turned sharply toward Huston, urgency replacing skepticism. “You should recruit him. I don’t think anyone would lie about something like that.”
That fight had been one of the hardest of my life, not because it was complex, but because it was brutally direct. The Nth Contract’s hidden mastermind, Light, had been a god-like cape, overwhelming in presence and power. I barely won, and the cost had been severe, paid in blood, allies, and parts of myself I never fully recovered.
Huston’s voice cut through the tension, deep and steady. “If you earned a privilege,” he said, “how did you end up here?”
“That’s something I’d like to keep to myself,” I answered without hesitation.
Revealing everything outright would do me no good. I forced emotion into my posture, into the slight tightening of my jaw, knowing appearances mattered as much as truth.
“In this world, I want to make a new life for myself. I was never the kind of man who settled for less than first place.” I raised my hand and pointed at the massive face carved into bark. “One day, you’ll work for me too.”
Scanning Huston psychically was like trying to read a mountain, his mind resistant in ways that defied simple defenses. Empathy, however, slipped through the cracks, piercing the stoic exterior just enough for me to sense shifts beneath the surface. Curiosity, calculation, a flicker of amusement, and something colder followed in quick succession. I adjusted my words as I went, playing it by ear, trusting instinct over certainty because it was all I had.
Huston regarded me for a long moment, the forest itself seeming to lean closer. “You may join our ranks,” he said finally. “But understand this clearly. I have conditions.”
"Tell me.”
I didn’t like this by principle already. The moment Huston spoke of conditions, the hierarchy between us crystallized into something undeniable, a structure where I stood beneath him rather than beside him. I didn’t mind submission in theory, not when it served a purpose, but after holding power for so long, being evaluated like a resource instead of a force felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable
Huston’s eyes narrowed slightly as the forest stilled around us. “There are two conditions. The first is simple. You will apologize to Boarhead.”
I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll apologize on his grave,” I replied flatly.
The bark along Huston’s face creaked as his mouth twisted into something resembling amusement. “He’s still alive,” he said. “Fortunately, I reached him in time, before his body truly failed.”
Qilin let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging with visible relief. “Thank the roots,” he muttered, tension draining from his posture.
Huston continued, his tone calm but weighted with quiet authority. “I used to be a highly rated biokinesis-class cape in my prime,” he said. “Boarhead’s injuries were severe, but nothing beyond repair.”
That clarification settled uncomfortably in my chest. The realization reframed everything at once, from the way the forest moved to how quickly Huston had intervened. This place wasn’t merely protected by nature; it was him. Every vine, every root, every leaf suddenly felt less like scenery and more like an extension of a single will.
I stored that information carefully, my instincts sharpening. Touch nothing unless necessary. Eat nothing without certainty. I suppressed the thought of how much of the forest I had already foraged, and what that might have meant in retrospect.
“And the second condition?” I asked, forcing my voice to remain even.
A flower bloomed before me without warning, petals unfurling from the earth in a slow, deliberate motion. At its center rested a pitch-black seed, hardened and matte, absorbing light rather than reflecting it.
“You will eat the seed,” Huston said. “It is a fragment of my power. It ensures loyalty among my capes.”
Qilin nodded solemnly. “Every cape in Foresthome consumes one,” he added. “You’re no exception.”
I focused on the seed, probing it with every sense I possessed, mundane and otherwise. Telepathy slid off it uselessly, empathy found nothing to grasp, and even my more esoteric perceptions returned empty-handed. That frightened me more than resistance ever could. Their method of ensuring security wasn’t just effective, it was elegant, and that elegance suggested layers I couldn’t see yet. Still, I had already come this far. Turning back now would have been a waste.
I reached down, picked up the seed, and swallowed it.
The texture was dense, unpleasantly fibrous, but I chewed and swallowed without pause. Qilin stared at me, eyebrows rising. “You didn’t even ask a question,” he said. “Most people hesitate. They argue. They doubt.”
“There’s no need,” I replied. “If any of you betray me, I’ll show no mercy.”
Silence followed, thick and awkward, settling over the clearing like fog. It was clear they hadn’t expected that answer, least of all from someone standing on probation.
Huston broke the quiet, his tone shifting back into calm explanation. “The seed will root itself in your stomach,” he said. “It will bloom into a small parasitic flower. Through it, I will always know where you are. It can enhance your physical abilities, inject stimulants in moments of crisis, and heal light to moderate injuries.”
The implications sank in quickly, intertwining power and surveillance into something inseparable.
“Understand this clearly,” warned Huston, his voice stern and unyielding. “Never dare betray Foresthome. I would not grant you a swift death.”