POV-Duncan
The snoring invaded Duncan’s dreams before dragging him to consciousness—it was rhythmic, grating, and impossible to ignore despite the pillow pressed over ears.
Why, Duncan thought with exhausted frustration, why can’t this guy just breathe quietly like a normal human being?
His roommate—Cedric Harrow, a minor noble from House Harrow which Duncan had never heard of before the Academy—lay sprawled across his bed in a position suggesting he’d collapsed rather than deliberately laid down on his own. Mouth open. Snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors.
Duncan rolled from bed, his massive fra making the movent feel like a geological shift, his instincts urged him to raise his defenses—until his conscious mind reined them in, reminding his body that an Academy morning wasn’t a battlefield.
It wasn’t yet, so paranoid part of him whispered.
He moved to the shared bathroom, finding it rcifully empty—Cedric wouldn’t wake for another hour at least, his schedule apparently viewing morning classes as a suggestions rather than a requirents.
Must be nice, Duncan thought without real bitterness. Must be nice having family wealth that could make my attendance in school matters optional or serve as entertainnt.
Cedric had gotten into Sparkshire through what he cheerfully called "creative admissions procedures"—translation: family money purchasing a spot that rit alone wouldn’t have secured. He’d been surprisingly honest about it, treating his obvious inadequacy as an amusing quirk rather than a shaful secret.
"I’m here because Father thought the military education would ’build character,’" Cedric had explained on the first night. "Not because I’m actually good at any of this. I’ll probably wash out after the first year. But until then—" He’d shrugged. "—might as well enjoy the expensive education I didn’t earn."
The honesty was almost refreshing. No pretense. No false superiority. Just acknowledgnt that he was playing a ga.
In subtle ways, Cedric looked down on Duncan—in the inflection of his speech, in the unconscious way he positioned himself during their conversations.
It wasn’t malicious, and he wasn’t cruel about it. He never tried to dean anyone; the sense of superiority simply existed, unexamined and unintentional.
Duncan could work with that. Had worked with worse during the convoy journey.
He examined himself in the mirror while dressing—the dark green uniform fitting better now than when it was first issued, his body already adapting to the Academy’s brutal physical conditioning schedule.
Still growing, Duncan noted. He was a teenager yet to finish filling out, his fra unfinished. It made him wonder what three more years of relentless training would carve him into.
His fra was already massive by most standards—genetics and hard living producing the build that made him a natural tank. But the Academy training was refining that mass, transforming most of his bulk into functional muscle.
He stepped into the hallway, leaving Cedric to his snoring, his mind already shifting to more important considerations.
He was already an initiate for so ti now so he felt it was ti to integrate an ability core into his being.
-----
Duncan walked toward the Academy exchange office, his thoughts circling around a problem that had occupied his increasing ntal space over the past weeks.
Being a tank was fine. Being a defensive specialist was a necessary role. But being just a punching bag—being a person whose only purpose was absorbing damage while others did the actual fighting—that felt limiting in ways Duncan struggled to articulate.
He thought back to Grim Hollow—back to when he’d first t Bright, when he’d offered a few rough pointers on spear work. The advice had been crude, unpolished, but it had carried truth. Rembering that, he realized he could be more than he was now.
Maybe being a tank doesn’t have to an just passively defending.
The Academy offered core selection that outposts’ limited supply couldn’t match. Cores from Crawlers across Republic territory—common drops from familiar monsters, rare abilities from obscure creatures most outpost soldiers never encountered.
Better pool ans better choices, Duncan recognized. I can actually build deliberately instead of just absorbing whatever cores beca available.
His Bone Guard was his foundation—a sophisticated defensive core that would grow with him through the ranks, that provided a frawork for his entire build architecture.
But what complents defensive specialization without abandoning it?*Duncan wondered. What makes more than just a walking shield?
Enhanced Strength was an obvious choice—more power behind his blocks, ability to counterattack effectively, capacity to control engagent through physical dominance.
But obvious wasn’t necessarily optimal.
Higher perception would help, Duncan considered.
But Bright already filled that role. When or if he tead up with him, it would be completely redundant.
Regeneration would increase my defensive capability—faster recovery, sustainable tanking, an ability to maintain my position through extended engagents.
But that’s doubling down on pure defense. Making a better punching bag instead of more complete fighter.
The exchange office appeared ahead—an administrative building where rit points from outpost service converted to Academy Coins at a favorable ratio, where soldiers’ risked lives translated to purchasing power.
They at least put value to our survival, Duncan thought.
He entered the office, finding it moderately busy—other candidates converting their rit, checking coin balances, researching available cores and equipnt.
The exchange clerk—an older student working the administrative duty—looked up with professional courtesy. "Na and purpose?"
"Duncan. Converting my outpost rit to Academy Coins."
"Docuntation?"
Duncan provided transfer papers from Vester—official records of rit points earned through his squad service, Clear Light’s Eve survival, and various combat operations.
The clerk reviewed with practiced efficiency. "Substantial balance. You accumulated significant rit at your outpost. Converting at current ratio of three rit points to two Academy Coins—that gives you—" He calculated. "—four hundred seventy-three Academy Coins."
That’s more than expected, Duncan thought with surprise. More than most first-years would have access to.
The disastrous holiday seed to have added a huge bonus on his rit.
The coins transferred to Duncan’s Academy account wad digital rather than physical. It was tracked through soul-force identification, and accessible throughout campus for approved purchases.
"Thank you," Duncan said, already planning how to spend the unexpected windfall.
"Just a reminder," the clerk offered. "Don’t rush a core selection, if that’s what you’re planning to do. Four hundred coins is substantial purchasing power, but rare cores cost significantly more. Research thoroughly before committing to a build direction you might regret later."
"Appreciated," Duncan confird.
He left the exchange office with new weight of choice settling on his shoulders.
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