Fieldwielders

Coren sat slouched in her chair at the back of the lecture hall, her arms crossed and her jaw tight. Sleep had come easier the past few nights, but the lingering frustration from the box lesson refused to leave her. It had been nearly a week, and progress was slow—agonisingly slow.

She'd convinced herself that the solution was to create a key using the Fields, but no matter how hard she tried, it hadn't worked. The box remained stubbornly sealed, and her repeated failures gnawed at her.

No matter what the professor—or Sol, or even Lex—had said, Coren didn't feel like she'd made any real progress. Hearing the Melody was one thing, but understanding it? Using it? That felt impossible, like trying to hold water in her open hands. She understood from Lyra's lesson that building a song was likely the key, but how could she possibly do that when the notes refused to align in her mind?

Her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, and she let out a soft sigh. Today was a guest lecture on ethics, and Coren still wasn't sure why Lyra had insisted she attend. It wasn't as though resolving abstract philosophical debates would help her figure out how to open the damn box. The thought made her scowl, her fingers drumming impatiently against the edge of her desk.

But then she caught herself. She'd been too distracted lately, too caught up in her frustration. Ethics wasn't just some intellectual exercise—it would be integral to her work as an archaeologist. The decisions she made in the field, the artifacts she uncovered, the stories she told—those choices would ripple outward, impacting people in ways she might not even foresee. The thought gave her pause. With a quiet sigh, she straightened slightly in her seat. Maybe I need this after all, she thought, forcing herself to focus. If she wanted to uncover the past, she had to be ready to wrestle with the weight of those discoveries—and the responsibilities that came with them.

Around her, students chattered quietly as they filed into their seats, some adjusting the holo-displays embedded in their desks. The lecture hall wasn't particularly large, but the high, arched ceiling and the soft glow of the room's lights gave it an airy feel. Coren sat in the back, away from the clustered groups of students who seemed to know each other already. She didn't feel like socialising.

"Good morning," a voice called out, cutting through the buzz of conversation.

The instructor strode into the room, her presence commanding despite her small frame. She wore a deep gold robe with the crest of the Fieldwielder Academy embroidered on the chest, and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Her Companion, a pale yellow orb, floated silently at her side, its glow steady and watchful.

"My name is Commander Sammella," she said, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room. "Today, we'll be discussing an ethical dilemma involving contested claims to land—specifically when those claims involve history, culture, and religion."

Coren was confused, her brow furrowing as the murmurs of the class rose and fell like a tide. The guest lecture was supposed to be given by an instructor from the Fieldwielder Academy—a respected figure, sure, but still a relatively routine presence in these kinds of sessions. Instead, standing at the front of the room was Commander Sammella herself, the head of the entire Fieldwielder Association. Coren's mind raced. Surely someone of her rank had far more important things to be doing than addressing a group of students at Solvix III University. What was she doing here?

Coren tried to dredge up everything she'd ever read about the enigmatic Commander, though the details were frustratingly sparse. Sammella's age was unknown, but she was at least 300 years old—one of the oldest bonded Fieldwielders in recorded history. It was said that she ran the Association with an iron will, single-handedly keeping its sprawling operations in check. Her reputation was formidable, but beyond her public image, very little was known. She rarely gave interviews, and there were no personal accounts or anecdotes that hinted at who she truly was beneath the polished exterior. Coren couldn't help but wonder if this lecture would provide some insight, if even a glimpse of the person behind the title would slip through.

She shifted in her seat, her interest piqued. The usual low hum of disinterest that hung in the lecture hall during most guest lectures had disappeared. The rest of the students seemed to sense the weight of Sammella's presence, sitting straighter in their seats, their whispers quieter, their gazes sharper. Even the most apathetic among them couldn't hide their interest. Sammella hadn't even spoken yet, but the sheer force of her reputation had already changed the atmosphere in the room.

Coren's initial confusion gave way to anticipation. The chance to hear directly from someone so steeped in history and power wasn't something she'd expected—or ever thought she'd experience. Whatever Commander Sammella had come to say, Coren knew it was going to be significant. This wasn't just a lecture anymore; it was an opportunity. What could be so important that someone like her decided to speak to us directly? Coren thought, her pulse quickening slightly. One thing was certain: she wouldn't miss a single word.

The Commander tapped a control on her lectern, and a shimmering holo-projection sprang to life at the front of the room. The image depicted a stunningly lush valley surrounded by jagged, snow-dusted mountains, dotted with crumbling ruins half-buried in overgrown vegetation. The scene was almost surreal—life and history colliding in a quiet, forgotten corner of the universe. The air in the room seemed to shift as every eye fixed on the vivid display.

"This is the Leranos Valley," Commander Sammella said, her voice steady, precise, and commanding. She gestured toward the image, her presence effortlessly drawing the attention of the entire hall. "An uninhabited region on the outskirts of Mars in the Terra system. Once a desolate stretch of red wasteland, it now flourishes, thanks to early terraforming efforts prior to the Severance. However, this valley has recently become the subject of intense contention between three factions, each of whom claims it for their own purposes."

Her finger danced across the controls again, and the projection split into three panels, each showing a representative of one of the factions standing beside their respective banners. The figures loomed larger than life, as though they were in the room themselves—an older man in a sharp corporate uniform, a woman clad in flowing religious robes, and a rugged settler in practical gear. Sammella stepped to the side, gesturing toward the first image on the left.

"The first faction, M5Corp," Sammella began, her voice ringing clear, "claims the valley based on historical records. They argue that their ancestors built a colony here centuries ago, before the Severance. According to their research, the ruins scattered throughout the region are remnants of their corporate settlements—buildings constructed in the twilight of humanity's galactic reach. They contend that this valley is their rightful inheritance, a connection to their pre-Severance identity."

Coren's brow furrowed as she listened, her mind flickering back to various expeditions she had read about—similar claims by corporations attempting to tie themselves to humanity's forgotten past. Mars, however, was particularly complicated. There were countless settlements and ruins spread across its surface, some dating back to before its terraforming and others after. The idea of corporate ancestry being used as a justification for land rights felt tenuous, though not without precedent. She tapped her pen against her notebook, trying to piece it together.

The Commander shifted her attention to the second image, the woman in robes framed by an ethereal golden glow. "The second faction, the Solaris Church," Sammella continued, her tone remaining measured but with a subtle hint of skepticism, "claims that the valley holds significant spiritual value. Their sacred texts describe the Leranos Valley as a place of divine connection—a sacred site where humanity can commune with the Soul Field itself. They argue that this land must be preserved, untouched by development or commerce, so that its holiness is not desecrated."

Coren leaned back in her seat, her mind catching on this second claim. The Solaris Church was one of the oldest religious orders still active in the pocket. Known for their emphasis on the cycle of souls and their belief in ultimate spiritual purification, their influence was both widespread and polarizing. She could almost hear their arguments now—speeches about protecting the valley's sanctity for the betterment of humanity's collective soul. While the religious fervor of the claim was compelling, Coren couldn't ignore the glaring lack of evidence tying the site to their sacred texts beyond vague interpretations.

"And finally," Sammella said, her voice softening ever so slightly, "we have the third faction: modern settlers." She gestured toward the third panel, where the rugged figure of a settler stood with crossed arms, his gaze firm and defiant. "They argue for practicality. The Leranos Valley is one of the few remaining regions capable of supporting large-scale sustainable agriculture. They claim the valley should be developed to support the survival of future generations, providing food and resources for the broader population in the pocket dimension."

Coren's lips thinned. The settlers' claim was the simplest, the most utilitarian, but it also carried the weight of immediate necessity. A lush, fertile valley in an ecosystem that struggled to sustain life could be the difference between survival and starvation for countless families. And yet, would development erase its historical and spiritual significance? Could those elements coexist, or was one destined to dominate the others?

The holo-projection faded, leaving only the background noise of the holopads and the silence of the lecture hall. Sammella turned her piercing gaze on the students, her hands clasped behind her back. Her presence seemed to fill the room, as though she could see through every uncertain glance and lingering hesitation.

"Now," she said, her tone calm but with an edge that demanded engagement, "who has the strongest claim to the Leranos Valley? And why?"

The room fell silent.

Coren leaned back in her chair, her mind working through the complexities of the question. Historical rights, spiritual significance, or survival—each argument had merit in its own way, but none felt complete. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with pieces missing.

A hand shot up in the front row. A student with neatly combed hair and a voice full of confidence spoke first. "The historical faction has the strongest claim," he said. "The ruins prove that their ancestors were there first. It's their land by heritage."

Sammella nodded faintly but offered no comment, her expression unreadable. "Anyone else?"

Another hand rose, this time from a young woman seated near the centre of the hall. "I think the religious order has the strongest claim," she said. "If the valley is truly a sacred site, preserving it is more important than anything else."

Coren frowned. She could understand the sentiment, but something about that answer felt too narrow. Too reductive.

"Survival takes precedence," another student argued from the back. "The valley should go to the settlers. History and spirituality don't matter if people can't eat."

Sammella's gaze swept across the room, eventually settling on Coren. "Ms. Drax," she said evenly. "You've been rather quiet. What do you think?"

Coren stiffened as the entire class turned toward her, the weight of their attention pressing down on her. She shot Lyra—seated toward the back—a quick glance, and her mentor's faint, knowing smile told her everything. Lyra had known about this in advance, maybe even set it up.

Coren exhaled, her fingers curling against the edge of her desk as she gathered her thoughts. "They're all wrong," she said finally , her voice shaky due to her nerves buzzing beneath the surface.

A murmur rippled through the class, a mix of curiosity and surprise.

Sammella raised a silver eyebrow, gesturing for Coren to continue. "Go on."

Coren leaned forward slightly, gesturing toward the front of the room and the now-dimmed holo-display. "Well, each faction is only looking at one piece of the valley," she began. "The historians care about its past, the religious order focuses on its spiritual meaning, and the settlers see its practical value. But none of them are seeing the valley as a whole. It isn't just one thing—it's all of those things, all at once. Breaking it apart into pieces doesn't do justice to what it really is."

Sammella tilted her head, intrigued. "And how would you resolve the conflict?"

Coren hesitated, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of her desk as she searched for an answer. " err, I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe the solution isn't about deciding which claim is strongest. Maybe it's about finding a way to balance them. But…" She paused, her brow furrowing. "That's also a naïve answer."

A faint smile flickered across Sammella's lips. "An interesting perspective. Why do you think it's naïve?"

Coren took a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze flicking to the front of the room as if the empty holo-display might hold the answers she lacked. "Because none of the factions are acting purely out of logic," she said. "They don't have a single, simple motive. Their claims aren't just about the valley itself—they're tangled up in personal interests, cultural identity, and political agendas. That makes it hard to negotiate in good faith. It's not just about the land; it's about what the land means to them."

Sammella nodded, clearly pleased by the depth of Coren's response. But she wasn't about to let the conversation end there. "So," she said, her tone probing, "is it a case of might makes right? Should the strongest faction—whether physically, economically, or politically—decide the fate of the valley?"

Coren felt the question's gravity bear down on her. She ran a hand through her hair, stalling as she considered her response. Finally, she said, "If there were a fourth party—neutral but overwhelmingly strong—they could force the factions to negotiate. But even that…" She trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

"Like the Fieldwielders Association, perhaps?" Sammella suggested, her sharp gaze locking onto Coren. "Wouldn't that make us tyrants, imposing our will on others? Who's to say our neutrality would remain unchallenged?"

Coren leaned back in her seat, her chest tightening at the implication. She realised now that this wasn't just about the Leranos Valley—it was about power, responsibility, and the consequences of wielding both. The lesson wasn't hypothetical. It was personal. Coren realised the commander must know she could access all six melodies.

She spoke again, her voice quieter but laced with conviction. "Human history is full of survival of the fittest," she said. "It's always been the strong who make the rules. But…" She hesitated, her words faltering.

Sammella leaned forward slightly, her expression sharp and expectant. "But does that make it right?"

The room went still. The weight of the question seemed to resonate beyond the walls of the lecture hall, pressing against Coren's mind like an unrelenting tide. She opened her mouth to answer but found that no words came.

Sammella regarded her for a moment longer, then straightened, her gaze sweeping over the rest of the class. "Think on that," she said simply, before moving on to the next topic.

Coren sat back in her chair, her thoughts swirling like a storm. She wasn't sure if her answers had been satisfactory—or if there even was a satisfactory answer.

But one thing was clear. The question wasn't going away.

As the lecture concluded, Coren gathered her things, her thoughts still tangled in the weight of the questions Sammella had posed. She felt Sol's presence brush against her mind—a faint, steady pulse of energy.

"Be careful around her, Coren," Sol's voice whispered in her mind. "The Commander… she feels dangerous to me. There's something off."

Coren stiffened slightly, glancing at the petite but still imposing figure of Commander Sammella as she exited the lecture hall. Her movements were deliberate, her presence commanding, even as students whispered in her wake. Coren couldn't shake the unease Sol had planted in her mind.

Lyra approached, her usual calm demeanour feeling just a touch more restrained than normal. "Coren," she said softly, her green eyes flickering with something unreadable. "The Commander has requested to meet with you. Follow me."

The two walked through the pristine halls of the university in silence, the buzz of the lighting and the occasional murmur of passing students the only sounds. Coren stole a glance at Lyra as they walked. Her mentor's posture was straighter than usual, her steps measured, as though she were deliberately masking any emotion. She didn't think Lyra could get any more formal at work.

When they entered the meeting room, Coren's heart skipped a beat. Commander Sammella was already there, her presence commanding the space effortlessly. She stood near a sleek, minimalist table, her arms crossed over her chest. Her golden-white uniform radiated energy, its luminous threads flowing like living circuits that pulsed in rhythm with her movements. Up close, the aura of authority she exuded was palpable, almost suffocating.

Sammella's eyes turned toward them, sharp and unyielding, locking onto Coren with unnerving precision. "So," she began, her voice smooth yet carrying a subtle, unmistakable edge, "you're the one bonded to Sol in this cycle."

Coren felt her breath hitch, her pulse quickening under the weight of Sammella's piercing gaze. She straightened reflexively, her instincts screaming that this was not a woman to be underestimated. "Yes, ma'am," she said, her voice steady but quieter than she intended.

Sammella stepped forward, her measured pace and glowing presence amplifying the pressure in the room. Coren could feel her scrutiny, as though Sammella were peering beyond her physical form, into her very essence. "I was impressed with your answers during the lecture," Sammella said, her tone cool but with a faint trace of something almost resembling approval. "You showed… potential. But potential, Ms. Drax, is a double-edged sword. Left unchecked, it is more dangerous than any weapon."

Coren swallowed hard, unsure whether to be flattered or alarmed. "Thank you, Commander," she replied cautiously, her words careful and deliberate.

Sammella tilted her head, her golden gaze narrowing slightly. Her voice softened, but the sharpness never left it. "Tell me, Ms. Drax," she said, leaning closer, "do you believe might makes right?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Coren hesitated, her thoughts racing as she considered her response. "I don't know," she admitted finally, her voice honest but uncertain. "I think it depends… on who holds the power and what they choose to do with it."

A faint, enigmatic smile played on Sammella's lips, though her eyes remained as cold and unreadable as ever. "A cautious answer," she said, straightening. "But one day, caution will not serve you. There will come a time when you must decide—clearly and without hesitation—whether might makes right. You have the potential, Ms. Drax, to become the strongest person in the pocket."

Coren blinked, her breath catching at the weight of Sammella's words. The strongest? The very idea was almost laughable to her. Her gaze flicked to Lyra, who stood quietly to the side, her posture as composed as ever, though her tightly clasped hands betrayed a tension she rarely showed.

Sammella's gaze lingered on Coren for a moment longer before she turned sharply on her heel. Her glowing form moved toward the exit, her steps precise and deliberate. As she reached the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Consider your answer carefully, Ms. Drax," she said, her tone firm. "Because if the day comes when you must wield your power, the consequences will be yours to bear."

The door slid shut behind her with a quiet hiss, and the oppressive silence she left in her wake seemed to press down on the room. Coren released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and turned to Lyra, her voice hushed but laced with curiosity. "What do you think of her?"

Lyra hesitated, her gaze distant as her fingers lightly brushed the pendant hanging from her neck. "She's someone who sees the world in absolutes," she said finally. "And people like that… they're dangerous, Coren. Don't trust her."

Lyra's expression was unreadable for a moment, her green eyes flickering as if she were weighing her words carefully. Finally, she said, "The Commander is… complicated. She has her reasons for everything she does. But trust is not something I'd extend to her lightly."

Coren frowned, considering Lyra's words. "She seemed… guarded. Like she knows more than she's letting on. But I guess that's normal for someone in her position, right?"

Lyra didn't respond immediately. Instead, she reached up and touched the necklace around her neck—the leather cord holding the fragment of burnt metal she took off. "Power often hides its secrets well, Coren," she said quietly. "And Sammella has been in power for a very long time."

Coren tilted her head, sensing there was something more Lyra wasn't saying. But before she could press, Lyra straightened, her usual composure snapping back into place. "Just… be careful," Lyra added, her voice softer now.

Coren nodded slowly, Sol's earlier warning still fresh in her mind. As they left the room, her thoughts swirled with questions, but one stood out above the rest: If it came down to it, what would her answer be?