Chapter 258: Volunteering

Chapter 258: Chapter 258: Volunteering

They came to Sunny Vale one at a time, at dusk, as if each had decided separately that it was the only place to go.

Barney arrived first, on foot, trailing woodsmoke and the smell of hot iron. His little fire elemental rode on his shoulder with its arms crossed, looking solemn. Seraphina came next in a hired cart, a stack of notebooks balanced on her knee. The Thornes appeared together a little after sunset, walking down the long road from the academy, Caelen’s cloak snapping behind him and Mirei’s silent boots leaving no sound at all in the dust. Her wind spirit trailed after her in a lazy spiral.

Martha met them at the door with a wooden spoon in her hand and no questions. She looked at each face in turn, and then she stepped aside and said, "There’s soup."

They ate in the farmhouse kitchen, crowded around the long oak table: five climbers, a farmer’s family, and a girl with ink on her fingers who kept glancing at the clock. The soup was thick with Vitality Grain and Earth-Core Roots. Barney had three bowls. Nobody mentioned the Wars until the plates were cleared.

Then the kitchen went quiet, and everyone looked at Rowan.

He had thought about how to begin. He had rehearsed it on the walk back from the capital, and at the stove, and in the golden quiet of Eden. None of it seemed right now.

"Thank you for coming," he said, and stopped. He tipped the brim of his Enchanted Straw Hat, set it on the table in front of him, and tried again. "I won’t pretend this is a social visit."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," said Barney, gently.

"The Confederation’s registry is open. Anyone under thirty and at or below Level fifty can volunteer. The rest will be nominated, or drawn by lot." Rowan turned his cup slowly on the tabletop. "All five of us qualify."

"We know," said Seraphina. Her voice was calm, but her hands were folded very tightly in her lap. "I have been thinking about little else for three days."

"So have I." He looked up. "I want to hear what each of you thinks. Honestly. Before we decide anything."

No one spoke. Outside, the wind stirred the garden, and somewhere beyond the porch, a vast shape shifted in the dark.

Mirei broke first.

"I’m scared," she said, in a small, clear voice.

Caelen turned his head sharply. She did not look at him. She was staring at the table, her fingers tracing a knot in the old wood.

"I’m not ashamed to say it. I’ve been scared since the announcement. I lie awake and think about it. Every night." Her voice wobbled, then steadied. "I’m Level forty. I’m nineteen. I’m in the draw. And the Tower says that nobody comes back."

"Mirei," said Caelen, very quietly.

"No, let me say it." She finally looked up, and her eyes were bright and fierce. "I’m scared. But I’d rather be scared with all of you than safe at home waiting for a name to be read out in Bern."

For a moment, nobody breathed.

"I don’t want to wait," said Barney, slowly. His great hands lay flat on the table, scarred and patient. "That’s what gets me. If they draw my name, it’s over, no say, no choice. But if I walk in there on my own two feet..." He shook his head. "I’d rather go that way. At least it’s mine."

"There is a mathematical argument," said Seraphina.

"Oh no," said Barney.

"Here is the reality." She opened her notebook and turned it around so that the others could see a neat grid of columns, written in her small, cramped hand. "There are roughly eight billion people on this planet. Of those, an estimated four to five billion are under thirty and below Level fifty. The Confederation plans to select one hundred." She tapped the page. "The chance of any single one of us being drawn at random is approximately one in forty million. Small, in isolation."

"That’s not so bad," said Mirei, with a ghost of a laugh.

"But that is not the question." Seraphina’s pen moved down the page. "The question is what happens after a draw. If one of us is selected, and the others are not, then that person goes into the First Round alone. Surrounded by strangers. Without a squad."

Her pen stopped.

"And alone, our survival odds drop considerably."

The kitchen was silent.

"She’s right," said Caelen, at last. He had not moved. His face was stern and still, and his voice, when it came, was very low. "I have thought about it. I have thought about nothing else." His fingers tightened on the pommel of the sword resting across his knees. "If Mirei is drawn, and I am not, I will volunteer anyway. I will find a way. I will not let her go in alone."

"Brother," said Mirei, softly.

"And if I am drawn," he said, "and she is not, I would not wish to go without her. Not because I am afraid." He paused. "Because I would die more quickly."

Mirei reached across the table and took his hand.

It was Rowan who finally said it.

"If one of us is chosen by lot," he said, "and the rest are left behind, whoever goes has almost no chance. That’s the cold truth. We’ve lived through twenty-eight floors, twelve more, and a shaman’s graveyard because we fought together. Every one of us would be dead on floor nine without the others." He looked around the table. "That’s the thing we do. That’s the only thing we do."

"We hold the line," said Caelen.

"We watch each other’s backs," said Mirei.

"Nobody goes alone," said Barney, in his big, rough voice.

They said it in unison. Seraphina said it a half beat late, and Rowan said it last, and the words settled into the warm kitchen like a stone dropped in a still pond.

"So we don’t wait," said Rowan. "We don’t leave it to chance. We volunteer. All five of us, together, as a unit." He drew a breath. "If the Confederation will let us register as a team, we go as a team. If not, we put our names down at the same time and hope they honor the request. Either way, we go in with each other, or not at all."

"It increases our effectiveness," said Seraphina, almost to herself. "Synergy. Coordination. We have the elementals now, and the new gear. A cohesive five-person unit will outperform five individuals by an order of magnitude." She closed her notebook. "From a purely tactical standpoint, it is the only rational choice."

"And from a non-tactical standpoint?" said Mirei.

Seraphina hesitated. Her eyes went, briefly, to the window, and the dark garden beyond it. When she spoke again, her voice was very quiet.

"From a non-tactical standpoint," she said, "I would rather die beside the four of you than live beside anyone else."

No one said anything.

Barney wiped his eyes with the back of his huge hand, loudly, and pretended he had been sneezing.

"Rowan."

It was Martha.

She had been standing at the sink the whole time, her back to the room, a dishtowel clutched in both hands. She did not turn around. But her voice carried across the kitchen, thin and steady, like a thread pulled very tight.

"You’ve already decided."

"Mom..."

"I can tell. You do this thing with your hat." She laughed, a small, broken sound. "When you’ve made up your mind, you set it on the table and don’t touch it again."

He glanced down. His hat lay beside his cup, exactly where he had put it.

"I won’t tell you not to go," said Martha. She turned at last, and her face was wet. "I won’t. You’re sixteen and you’ve done more than most men do in a lifetime, and if there’s anyone on this earth who can walk into that and walk out again, it’s you." She drew a shuddering breath. "But you listen to me. All of you."

She crossed the kitchen, and stopped beside Mirei’s chair, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You come home," she said. "Every one of you. I don’t care what the Tower says. I don’t care what the rules are. You come home, and I’ll have a meal waiting, and a bed, and a bath, and I’ll yell at you for being late." Her voice cracked. "That is a promise, and I’ll hold every single one of you to it."

"Yes, ma’am," said Barney, thickly.

"We will," said Caelen.

Arthur had risen from his chair by the window. He crossed the room in slow, heavy strides, and stopped in front of Rowan. He did not speak. He only laid one broad, calloused hand on his son’s shoulder, and held it there.

It was, Rowan thought, the most eloquent thing his father had ever said.

The registry portal opened at midnight.

They gathered around the kitchen table, five heads bent over a single glowing screen. Sophia stood behind them with her hands clasped, silent, her eyes enormous. Lily slept on in her basket. The lamp had burned low. Outside, the garden hummed softly in the dark.

The form was simple. It asked for a name, an age, a level, a nation of residence. A single box at the bottom read Register as volunteer: Y / N. Below it, in smaller type, a second box: Request group designation (maximum five members): Y / N.

Rowan’s hand hovered over the screen.

"Together?" he said.

"Together," said Barney.

"Together," said Mirei.

"Together," said Caelen.

Seraphina nodded once, and said nothing.

Rowan checked the box, typed his name, and handed the device to Barney. Barney typed his, with great ceremony, and passed it to Seraphina. She tapped hers in with swift, neat strokes and gave it to Caelen. He entered his name carefully, as if it were a signature on a treaty, and slid it across the table to his sister.

Mirei held it for a long moment.

She took a breath. Then she typed her name, and her hand was perfectly steady.

The screen flickered.

[ VOLUNTEER REGISTRATION RECEIVED ]

[ Group Designation: SQUAD 07 ]

[ Members: 5 ]

[ Status: PENDING CONFIRMATION ]

[ Thank you for your courage. ]

The kitchen was quiet.

"Well," said Barney, at last. He leaned back in his chair with a long, creaking sigh. "That’s that."

"That’s that," Rowan agreed.

"Thirty days."

"Twenty-six, now."

"Plenty of time," said Seraphina, dryly, "to become extraordinarily more dangerous."

Rowan smiled, small and thin and fierce. He picked up his hat, set it on his head, and pulled the brim down over his eyes.

"About that," he said. "I think I know where to start."