Children of Tengri

The corridor was silent as a crypt.

Captain Qin Sura stood in front of the observation glass, his reflection split by dozens of faint HUD overlays drifting across the surface. Beyond the glass, soldiers marched in quiet formation inside a neural regulation chamber, each step calculated, synchronized, dampened.

Emotionally sterilized. Thought-regulated.

Just like him.

His left eye flickered with internal alerts—light blue pulses shaped like lotus petals. The afterglow of last night's dream still clung to him. A dream that shouldn't have happened. His implants were calibrated to suppress guilt, remorse, fear. But the dream had cut through the layers like static through clean audio.

A girl.

Just a girl.

Running through smoke, crying in a language the implants hadn't translated in time. Her face burned into his optic feed for 0.8 seconds before the plasma burst tore her apart. That same face returned to him now, hours later, as a ghost projected behind his eyelids.

"This is a malfunction," he muttered, trying to convince the cold metal in his chest. "That's all."

A soft chime interrupted his spiral.

General Wu Fei's voice echoed from behind him. "Captain Qin."

Qin turned slowly and saluted. Wu Fei's posture was iron—forged in tradition, polished in silence. The General wore a neural collar of polished obsidian and a heavy robe with embedded command strands. His eyes, however, remained bare—biological, proud.

"Sir."

Wu Fei stepped closer, hands behind his back. "Walk with me."

They exited into a narrow, downward hallway, hexagonal walls shifting in soft pulses. Not surveillance—reminders. Everything was monitored. Not by people. But by the Zhongyan Cognition Grid. And it never forgot.

As they walked, Wu Fei spoke in a calm, deliberate tone.

"You've been red-flagged for emotive fluctuation during and after Operation Y32-Zeta. Explain."

Qin hesitated. "Sir… I executed all tactical orders. Civilian casualties were assessed as within parameters. The strike was surgical."

Wu Fei stopped and turned his head slightly. "Then why did the system detect a 6.4% increase in limbic activity during the event?"

Qin's jaw tensed. The lights above seemed to flicker.

"There was a… visual anomaly, sir. A young civilian ran into the blast zone. I reacted. That's all. I have already performed a self-diagnostic."

Wu Fei studied him for a long moment. His next words were softer—yet sharper.

"Your file was clean before. Model officer. Stable. Consistent. Since Y32-Zeta, there have been three dreams recorded and suppressed by the grid. One appeared to reach conscious recall threshold. You know what that means."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you believe you are compromised?"

Qin straightened. "No, General."

"Good," Wu Fei said. "Then you will report for neural recalibration and be placed on rotation duty until further notice. The Empire does not discard loyal soldiers for momentary noise—but we do not gamble with instability."

There was a silence.

Then Qin asked, "The nomads. Are we still tracking them?"

Wu Fei's lips tightened. "The higher-ups have shifted focus. For now, the nomads are not a priority."

"That's a mistake," Qin said, forgetting the chain of command for a breath.

Wu Fei turned fully to face him. "The mistake was thinking we could extract information from shadows and wind. They've scattered. And your team lost over thirty percent of drone coverage within minutes of their retreat. Their cloaking is not just environmental—it is cultural. They are a people raised in silence."

"I saw how they fought," Qin added, voice lowering. "Those champions… they're not untrained tribesmen. They're warriors. Disciplined. Coordinated. That wasn't desperation. That was doctrine."

Wu Fei nodded.

"Yes. That's why they interest the Empire. And why the Empire has chosen to watch—not act—for now."

He tapped a small, embedded command device on his wrist. Instantly, a feed opened beside them. It showed a psychological activity chart of Captain Qin's mind—color-shifted spheres of thought, spikes, and dips in emotional suppression.

Beneath it, a small tag: "Fluctuation risk: Elevated. Status: Under Watch."

Qin didn't flinch.

Wu Fei added, "You will stabilize. Or you will be replaced. For now, return to barracks."

Qin saluted. "Yes, sir."

As Wu Fei walked away, Qin stood alone for a moment. The corridor seemed colder. The hum of the facility louder. He turned toward the observation glass again and looked at the soldiers still marching in silence.

Identical movements. Blank eyes. Cold perfection.

And in the reflection—just for a second—he thought he saw the girl again