Chapter Text
The wetland was quiet.
Azaela crouched beside the half-sunken log where she’d found the egg and adjusted her utility belt until it was flush against her waist. The containment case was slick with mud, its reinforced glass beading with condensation, but the seal held. Inside the case, the egg pulsed faintly up at her, putrid green with yellow pustules seeping from cracks in its shell. Its smell still lingered, like sweat and decay, worse than the swamp itself.
They’d called them eggs. That was all. No one had bothered to explain what they came from, only that each candidate was to find one and bring it back. Simple enough, she thought, for whoever wasn’t wading through hell to get it.
The air hung heavy with rot. The thick canopy of trees above allowed minimal light to filter through while trapping the stagnant, humid mist. The sound of insects around her contrasted with the faint mechanical drone of the camera in her wetsuit. She’d never gotten used to the sound of it, or the feeling of being watched. She felt that invisible audience the entire time. Shinra’s watchful gaze, recording every stumble, every hesitation.
Azaela had done everything right.
It had taken hours of wading through leech-ridden water, cutting through roots thicker than her arms, and taking out all of the many threats in the swamp, but she’d done it.
She was going to pass. She had to pass. Even with the odds stacked against her. The SOLDIER trials chewed through enough candidates every cycle, and she wasn’t going to be just another one of the nameless who failed.
Only three spots. One for each First Class SOLDIER.
Thunder rolled somewhere overhead as she checked her comm, her gloved, muddy fingers trembling just slightly as she checked her coordinates, calculating how far she was from the transport.
It would be at least an hour back.
She sighed as she straightened, feeling the suction of the mud beneath her boots. Before she sheathed her katana, she wiped it on her muddy pant leg in a futile attempt to clean the gore from the steel. She was not going to let it rust.
Long fronds of grass and reeds brushed her thighs and she started through the wetlands. With her objective completed, the silence settled quickly around her as her mind began to wander.
What would it be like to be a SOLDIER? She imagined the feel of the uniform, the weight the insignia carried, the look on her best friend’s face when she told him this had all been for something after all. If she made SOLDIER, she’d get out of the barracks. Probably get her own private quarters somewhere higher in Shinra Tower.
Privacy. Wouldn’t that be something?
Her thoughts turned. What if she hadn’t done enough? There were dozens of them and only three spots open until the next cycle. What if someone had been faster? Or cleaner? Made less mistakes? She glanced down at the katana at her hip. Her personal sword. Not company-issued. It wouldn’t be allowed if she did make SOLDIER. They might hold that against her, or think she couldn’t adapt to a different blade.
The doubt continued to gnaw at her as she trudged through the mud.
That was why she didn’t hear him at first.
Footsteps approached. By the time the sound had registered, her instincts had already taken over. She pivoted, drawing the katana in one smooth arc just as a broadsword came down from her side. The impact of steel on steel jarred through her arm before she redirected the blade away.
Her boots slid, but she kept her footing while her attacker stumbled back.
She blinked at him. His stance was clumsy and rushed, but he wore the same Shinra-issued wetsuit she did. Another recruit.
For a fraction of a second, she didn’t understand. The test was dangerous. Maybe he was confused, or just panicked and mistook her for something else.
But then he swung again, harder this time, putting his full weight behind the strike.
Definitely not a mistake.
Her body reacted before her mind did, parrying the blade nearly on reflex alone as her thoughts finally started to catch up to what was happening.
The recruit staggered back again, the water between them rippling.
“The hell are you doing?” she asked, voice low.
He took another step forward, retaking his stance. His gaze flicked downward to the glass case at her hip. Azaela felt the world narrow as the obvious truth finally settled over her.
“You—” she started, but the next swing cut her off. She blocked it cleanly, pivoting to the side. He came again, recklessly, panting, his footing a mess. His strikes were heavy. Everything was telegraphed. She caught the next blow and shoved him back into a sucking mud pocket.
He looked down at his trapped leg, eyes wide and wild. “I’m not failing this test again!” he spat.
She lunged, disarming him with a twist that sent his broadsword spinning into the water. He tried to recover, but she held her blade to his throat. For a moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths.
“Enough,” she warned. “You’re done.”
He froze for a moment, eyes darting from the tip of her sword to her face. Then his right hand shifted, palm up.
Azaela’s breath caught. “Don’t—”
The small sphere of fire ignited in his palm, the heat of it shimmering in the mist.
Neither of them had time to react as the water behind him moved. It was a ripple at first, then the mud heaved upward as something massive rose from beneath. It was enormous, covered in thick, rot-colored scales. Amphibian, or reptilian, or… something else. Its jaw split wide in a hiss as its yellow slitted eyes fixed on the other recruit.
The monster lunged for him. Its claws flashed, slamming into him with enough force to send him backwards into the shallow water. He screamed as the fire spell died in his palm. The creature’s claws tore through his wetsuit before it dragged him farther into the swamp with terrifying speed.
Azaela moved without thinking. The mud sucked at her boots as she sprinted—or tried to—after them, raising her blade.
“Hey!” Her voice was half-swallowed by the swamp, but the monster’s head snapped towards her anyway. She swung low, the katana slicing cleanly through scale and muscle. Greenish blood sprayed across the surface of the water. It hissed again, but she pressed forward. Her blade bit into the creature’s shoulder, the cut shallow, but enough to anger it.
Then it lunged towards her. Its strike was faster than its size should have allowed. A claw hooked around her katana and wrenched it sideways, tearing the hilt from her grip. The sword pierced through a dead tree meters away from her. Pain lanced up her forearm from the jarring motion.
Azaela stumbled back, breath ragged. The monster loomed over her, slit pupils almost glowing in the mist. The wounded recruit was half-submerged behind the creature, moaning weakly. His hand raised towards his midsection for a moment before it fell limp.
She knew she couldn’t win this fight. Not without a weapon. Or backup.
Her mind raced. Her hand absently went to her utility belt, where a sidearm would be if she’d had one.
But instead, it fell on the container with her egg in it. The egg that was the same sickly green color as the monster’s blood, the yellow pustules the same bile color as its eyes.
She didn’t think. She tore the egg from the container. It pulsed faintly against her mud-slicked palm as she held it up.
“Is this what you want?” she breathed, her voice shaking.
It paused, pupils dilating and nostrils flaring.
She raised it higher. “Go get it, then.”
She hurled it with everything she had. The egg arched through the mist and landed a healthy distance away with a barely audible splash.
One moment, the creature was towering over her; the next, it vanished beneath the surface, following the egg without a second of hesitation.
Then… silence.
No ripples in the water. Just the stink of blood and rot, and the shallow groans of the injured recruit.
She turned slowly, scanning the black water, but all signs of the creature were gone, as if it had never been there.
Azaela stood frozen for several seconds before she moved, waiting for something to break the stillness. When nothing did, she sloshed forward towards her sword impaled in the tree, pulling it free and sliding it back into her sheath at her hip. The familiar click steadied something inside her.
She turned towards the recruit. He was trying to drag himself upright against the roots of a tree, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. The front of his wetsuit was scored but mostly intact. Thin lines of blood welled from beneath the torn fabric, but nothing looked too deep. But his right leg…
Her stomach twisted when she saw it. It was bent between his knee and ankle, already clearly swelling beneath the suit.
“Don’t… don’t touch it,” he hissed as she crouched beside him.
“I’m not,” she said automatically, her eyes still tracing the obvious break. “You can’t walk.”
He let out a sound that was almost a laugh, but came out more like a sharp breath. “You think I don’t know that?”
She exhaled as she looked at him. At the raw pain in his eyes, the way his hands trembled. She remembered the wild, desperate look when he’d attacked her.
I’m not failing this test again, he’d said.
She should keep moving and head for the extraction point. She should let the medics sweep for survivors after the test had concluded. That’s what Shinra would expect her to do.
If their roles were reversed, he would leave her here. They both knew it. But some annoying part of her wouldn’t let her turn her back. She couldn’t shake the image of that monster coming back for him.
Sighing, she slipped her arms under his shoulders. He groaned, the sound raw and pained. “Hold still,” she muttered. “We’re gonna get out before that thing comes back.”
He didn’t argue. He probably couldn’t. He just clenched his jaw as she shifted his weight against her and hauled him up. The strain hit her immediately. He had at least fifty pounds on her, even without the soaked-through wetsuit.
Her legs were already burning as she took her first step through the muck. She was already regretting her choice.
She’d lost her egg, failed her task, and given up her chance at SOLDIER for someone who would have left her to rot.
The weight of him hung heavily on her shoulders. Her arms were trembling. If she just set him down, she could make it back faster. Shinra valued pragmatism. They would admire that.
But she couldn’t make herself do it. Stupid, she told herself. Should have left him. Just the thought felt shameful.
Her Firing Squad captain had signed the recommendation himself. The first female recruit he’d ever sent forward, he’d said, almost proud in that quiet way of his. She could hear his voice as she trudged forward. “You’ll do fine, Sharpe. Don’t overthink it.”
She’d promised she wouldn’t.
Now she’d have to stand in front of him again and explain how she’d carried dead weight instead of finishing the mission. Maybe he’d nod and say it was bad luck, or tell her he’d recommend her again for the next cycle. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe this was her one shot, and it was the first shot she’d ever missed.
She kept her eyes forward. Three spots. That’s all there ever were.
Her thoughts turned to her best friend. The last time she’d seen him, Myles was leaning on the railing in the firing range, practically vibrating with excitement when she told him about the recommendation.
“Three spots?” he’d repeated, eyes wide. “Then one of them’s yours. Easy.”
She’d laughed, shaking her head. “Why are you more confident than I am?”
“Because you don’t miss. Duh.”
The memory stung now. He’d hate her for this.
The recruit stirred again, head rolling against her shoulder. His voice came out weak and frail. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” she said flatly, too tired to lie.
Mercifully, her boots landed on more solid ground. Somewhere beyond the treeline, she could hear the sound of the transport vehicles idling, waiting for the recruits to crawl back out of the swamp.
Azaela’s knees nearly gave when she reached the loading ramp. Two medics in field gear were already waiting.
“Candidate down,” Azaela started, trying not to sound as exhausted as she felt. “Compound fracture, right leg. He—he was attacked by—”
One of the medics cut her off. “We’ll take it from here.”
They pried the recruit from her shoulders, who groaned as they hoisted him onto a stretcher. The sudden removal of his weight left her off balance. She reached for the ramp rail, fingers slipping slightly on the wet metal.
“Step aside, ma’am,” the other medic said, no emotion in his tone. “We need to get him to triage.”
Azaela blinked. Ma’am. Not Cadet Sharpe, or even Recruit.
They passed her without a glance. She stood there, dripping mud and swamp water on the ramp as her adrenaline finally faded.
A third medic strode up to her casually, a scanner in hand, like this was just another day. “Vitals check,” he muttered, sweeping the device over her. “Elevated heart rate. You injured?”
“No.”
He nodded, tapping something on his datapad. He didn’t look at her again when he spoke. “You’ll get a full workup back at HQ. For now, head to transport. You’ll be on the next one back.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, mostly out of habit, but he’d turned away before the words had left her lips.
No one else looked at her. No one asked what happened out there. No one cared that she’d spent an hour carrying an injured man through muck.
Azaela looked down at herself. At the streaks of green blood across her wetsuit, at the tremor in her hands. The camera would have caught it all. Every step, every mistake that led her here.
She climbed onto one of the benches of the transport vehicle, leaning her head back. She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift somewhere else. To the couch in the barracks, a pizza box balanced on her knees, Myles sitting beside her. No mud. No blood. No apathetic medical team.
It was enough to keep her sane on the ride back.