CHAPTER 51: CHAPTER 51

They started early.

The next morning, a knock sounded on the guest room door before the sun was fully up. Ragna groaned into her pillow. Mira opened one eye. Lyris was already awake, sitting on the edge of her bunk, lacing her boots.

Ward’s voice came through the door. "Rise and shine. Day one."

Ragna rolled over. "You people don’t sleep, do you?"

"We do," Ward said. "We just also work. Move it."

Lyris stood and pulled her cloak on out of habit, then stopped when her fingers brushed the unfamiliar fabric of the Atlas-issued sweater they had left last night. It was light, soft, and warmer than it looked. She settled for mixing both: sweater under, cloak over.

Mira pushed herself upright, hair a tangle. "Is this another briefing?"

"Not yet," Ward replied. "Medical check, baseline tests, admin. If we’re going to work with you, we need records."

Ragna sat up and squinted at the small digital clock on the wall. "What time is it?"

"Zero six thirty," Ward answered. "Translation: early, but not that early. Come on."

Fifteen minutes later, they followed him through the corridors again. The base was different at this hour. Fewer engines, more footsteps. Soldiers on morning runs passed in groups, breath misting in the cool air. Some nodded at Ward. Others glanced at the three foreigners with open curiosity.

Ragna yawned into the back of her hand. "Do they always run in packs?"

"Unit cohesion," Ward said. "You’ll get a taste later."

"I did not agree to running," she muttered.

"You agreed to integration. Running comes with it."

The medical wing smelled clean and sharp. White walls. Stainless steel counters. Soft beeping from machines whose purpose the adventurers couldn’t guess.

A woman in blue scrubs met them at the entrance. Her hair was tied back tight, a badge clipped to her chest. "These are the liaisons?"

"Yeah," Ward said. "They’re fresh. Go easy."

She snorted. "Define easy."

Her eyes moved over the three. Not hostile. Measuring.

"I’m Doctor Harper," she said. "You can call me Harper. We’re doing basic checks. Height, weight, vision, pulse, blood pressure. We’ll draw blood if you let us. Helps our med team keep you alive later."

The word "blood" made Ragna’s ears twitch. Mira’s brows drew together. Lyris just nodded.

"If it helps treatment, we allow it," Lyris said.

Ragna folded her arms. "Nobody said anything about taking our blood."

Ward shrugged. "It’s not a tax. You can refuse. Then when something demon-related bites you, our medics guess instead of knowing. Your call."

Ragna grumbled but didn’t argue further.

They were separated by curtains into three adjacent stations.

Lyris sat on the exam bed while Harper wrapped a cuff around her arm. The device tightened. Lyris watched, muscles tense, then relaxed when Harper said, "Just checking the pressure of your blood. Normal. Good."

"You can feel that without touching?"

"The machine does. I understand the numbers. That’s enough."

Harper moved a small light in front of Lyris’s eyes. "Follow this."

Lyris tracked it smoothly. Years of archery paid off. Harper grunted in approval. "Vision’s sharp. No surprise."

At the next station, a nurse tried to get Mira to stand on a digital scale. Mira looked down at the flat surface. "This measures my weight?"

"Yes," the nurse said. "Just stand still."

Mira stepped on. The numbers flashed and settled. The nurse wrote them down.

"You could do that with a balance scale and some stones," Mira said.

"Sure," the nurse replied. "But this way, I don’t need stones."

Ragna’s turn was louder.

"You’re tall," the medic said, adjusting the height rod.

"Thank you," Ragna said.

"And heavy."

"That is also true."

When they drew blood, Ragna watched the needle pierce her skin with open fascination. "You people put metal inside your veins often?"

"Only a little," Harper said dryly. "You’re fine."

Ragna watched the vial fill. "This better make your healing magic stronger."

"It’s not magic," Harper said. "And yes. In a way."

Mira averted her eyes when it was her turn. "I handle mana currents, not this."

"It’s just blood," the nurse said gently. "You’ve seen more on battlefields."

"Yes," Mira said. "And I prefer it inside bodies."

Within half an hour it was done. Bandages on arms, numbers in charts, notes on minor scars and old injuries.

Harper handed Albert a tablet when he arrived midway through.

"They’re healthy," she said. "Stronger baseline muscle density than untrained civilians. The beastkin’s endurance markers are off our charts, but that’s not surprising."

Ragna puffed up a little. "Told you I’m strong."

"You’re also slightly anemic," Harper added.

Ragna blinked. "...What?"

"You need more iron," Harper said. "We’ll fix it. That fried chicken you like so much will help."

Ragna nodded slowly. "Then I will eat more of it. For medical reasons."

Ward rolled his eyes. "Of course."

After medical came equipment.

They were led to a smaller armory, not the full weapons depot. No one handed them rifles. Not yet.

Sergeant Ramirez waited inside, arms crossed. "We’re issuing you basic protective gear," he said. "Nothing fancy. Soft armor vests, comm units you can clip to your belt, and labeled tags so our people know you’re cleared."

He held up a black vest. "This goes over your clothes. It won’t stop a demon’s claw, but it might stop shrapnel, or a stray round if one of ours misses."

Lyris took one, feeling the weight. It was heavier than leather, lighter than plate. "You fight with these always?"

"When we can," Ramirez said. "Sometimes you don’t get the choice."

Ragna struggled with the straps until a bored-looking quartermaster stepped in and adjusted them with practiced hands. "Stop flexing," he said. "You’re making it tighter."

"I’m not flexing," Ragna protested.

"You are absolutely flexing," Mira said.

Ramirez handed each of them a small rectangular device with a clip and a short antenna. "These are radios," he said. "Short-range. There’s a push button here. When you hold it down, you can speak. Our people will hear you on the channel we set."

Mira turned it over in her hands. "So this is how you spoke to the flying machine?"

"Exactly," Ramirez said. "You press, you talk. You let go, you listen. Don’t play with it. Don’t slam it into the ground. It’s not a rock."

Ragna frowned. "Does it use mana?"

"Electricity," Ramirez said. "Don’t worry about how. Just worry about not breaking it."

He handed out one more item each: a small laminated card on a cord.

"Base ID," he said. "If someone stops you and asks who cleared you to be here, you show this. You lose it, you get to explain yourself to security, and no one likes that conversation."

The cards bore their names, a small Atlas emblem, and the word LIAISON printed under their faces. The pictures were crude by Atlas standards—fast snaps taken in the hallway—but the adventurers stared at them like small paintings.

"They... captured me," Lyris murmured.

"That’s how you look," Ward said.

"My ears look weird," Ragna complained.

"Your ears look the same," Mira said.

"Exactly," Ragna grumbled.

Admin finished, the morning opened up. Albert had other meetings and left them with Ward and Ramirez.

"Next piece of integration is social," Ward said. "We can’t glue you to briefing rooms all day. You need to see how people here live when they’re not drilling or shooting."

Ragna brightened. "Does that involve more food?"

"Partly," Ward said. "Also laundry, training, and boredom. Welcome to military life."

They started in the mess hall.

By midmorning it was in its off-peak lull. Some soldiers drank coffee. Others ate late breakfast. A small corner had been stocked with cereal boxes, milk dispensers, and trays of eggs, rice, and sausage.

Ragna grabbed a tray and moved like a practiced raider through the line. She piled eggs, chicken, two biscuits, and something labeled "pancakes" without asking what it was.

Lyris’s tray was neater. Bits of everything, not too much of anything. Mira focused on the rice and eggs, eyeing the cereal with suspicion.

She poked a cornflake with her spoon. "It floats."

"It’s supposed to," Ward said.

"Food should not float."

"Soup floats," Ragna pointed out with her mouth already full.

"That is different," Mira said.

They took an empty table. A few soldiers at nearby tables gave them nods or brief smiles. One leaned over.

"You the new liaisons?" he asked.

Lyris nodded. "So they tell us."

"Good," the soldier said. "Maybe now command will stop guessing when it comes to local geography."

"We were doing fine," Ward said.

"You thought the temple on the hill was a watchtower," the soldier reminded him.

Ward scowled. "It looked like a watchtower."

Lyris suppressed a smile.

A young private walked past with a stack of trays. He stumbled when Ragna’s tail flicked across the aisle. The trays rattled but stayed in his grip.

"Sorry," Ragna said.

He stared, then blurted, "Your ears are awesome," and walked faster.

Ragna watched him go, ears flattening. "This keeps happening."

"Children and young soldiers," Mira said. "Same brain."

From there, Ward took them through less formal corners of base life.

They passed a small rec room where soldiers lounged on couches watching something flicker across a large screen. Figures moved and shouted, but it wasn’t a battle. It was a game. Two teams ran back and forth chasing a ball.

Ragna narrowed her eyes. "Is that training?"

"No," Ward said.

"Wagering?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But mostly entertainment. Sport from our world."

Mira watched the way the crowd reacted when someone scored. "They cheer like it matters."

"To them, it does," Ward said.

Lyris studied the scene. No ranking officer barking orders. No noble with servants. Just soldiers side by side, laughing, shouting advice to players who couldn’t hear them. For all the metal and strange tools, this felt familiar: people trying to forget the weight of their work for a few hours.

"What’s it called?" she asked.

"Football," Ward said. "We have too many variations. Don’t worry about it."

Next they visited the laundry block.

Rows of machines hummed, water sloshing inside metal drums. Two soldiers sorted piles of uniforms.

Mira blinked. "You wash clothes with machines too?"

"Sometimes," Ward said. "Be glad you’re not stuck hand-scrubbing armor. These save backs and time."

Ragna stuck her hand on one machine’s lid.

"It vibrates," she said. "Feels like it’s growling."

"It’s just spinning," one of the soldiers said.

"It’s angry spinning," Ragna replied.

They moved on.

On one walkway overlooking the motor pool, they stopped to watch a group of mechanics on a break. One sat on a crate strumming a guitar. The chords were simple. The tune rough but steady. A few soldiers hummed along.

Lyris listened, head tilted. "That’s not a song from our lands."

"It’s not," Ward said. "Different world, different music."

"Do your people sing marching songs?" she asked.

"Plenty," Ward said. "Maybe you’ll hear a few if you stick around long enough."

By midday, Ward checked his tablet again. "We’ve got an hour before intel wants your brains," he said. "You can rest, wander within designated areas, or stare at more machines."

Ragna pointed toward the training field where soldiers now ran obstacle courses. "I want to try that."

Ward considered. "Fine. Ramirez?"

The sergeant nodded. "I’ll make sure she doesn’t break her neck."

Lyris glanced at Mira. "You?"

"I’ll watch," Mira said firmly. "Someone has to keep count of how many times she falls."

"I heard that," Ragna said.

They approached the field. A cadre of drill instructors watched as soldiers sprinted, crawled under netting, climbed walls, and swung over pits.

Ramirez spoke briefly with one of the instructors, then waved Ragna over. "You said you wanted to see how we fight. This is how we prepare for the boring part in between."

Ragna cracked her knuckles. "How hard could it be?"

The course answered.

She sprinted well. Years of combat gave her speed and balance. The first hurdle she cleared without effort. The crawling segment under the net annoyed her but didn’t slow her much.

Then she hit the wall.

The wooden barrier rose higher than any fence she’d ever vaulted. No handholds. Minimal footholds. Designed to be climbed with technique, not raw power.

Ragna jumped, caught the top edge with her hands, and tried to pull herself over. Her paws scrabbled against the wood. Muscles bunched. She got halfway before sliding down.

The instructor called out: "Use your legs, not just your arms. Plant, push, then pull."

"Your obstacle insults me," Ragna muttered.

She tried again, this time following instructions. Foot, push, hook one arm, swing the leg. It was clumsy, but on the third attempt she got herself over and dropped down the other side with a loud thud.

Mira clapped once, slow. "Elegant."

"Shut up," Ragna panted.

The monkey bars were easier. She swung hand over hand, grinning when some of the watching soldiers whistled. A rope climb at the end nearly killed her enthusiasm, but stubbornness carried her through.

She collapsed on the grass at the finish line, chest heaving, sweat beading along her forehead fur.

Ramirez offered her a canteen. "Not bad," he said. "For a first run. You’d pass a basic fitness test."

Ragna gulped water. "Your training is stupid."

"Effective, though," he replied.

She didn’t argue.

Lyris and Mira spent that hour observing. Lyris watched foot placement, coordination, breathing patterns. Mira watched the instructors: how they paced, when they pushed, when they let someone rest. They weren’t kind, but they weren’t wasteful either. Every insult had a purpose. Every lap had a reason.

"You could run this course," Lyris said quietly.

"Physically?" Mira asked. "Probably. Magically? I don’t see the point."

"The point is practice under strain," Lyris said. "Not fighting. Preparing to fight."

Mira shrugged. "My preparation is chanting and potion brewing. But I can see why this matters for them."

Afternoon brought them back to work.

Intel sessions were dense, but not dramatic. They sat at a table drinking coffee that Mira declared "burnt mana in liquid form" while Ward and a pair of analysts asked questions and drew diagrams.

How far was Altfordia’s capital from Aldo by road. Which noble families held border fiefs. How often the Adventurer’s Guild cooperated with royal knights. Which temples had sway over commoners. What towns lay between Aldo and the nearest demon-corrupted zone.

The adventurers answered as best they could.

By late afternoon, their voices had grown hoarse.

"Last one for today," one analyst said, rubbing his eyes. "Any area nearby where people vanish and nobody investigates."

Ragna answered at once. "The Marsh of Hollow Reeds."

Mira and Lyris both nodded.

"Everyone assumes it’s curses," Mira said. "And nobody wants to fight curses."

The analyst wrote that down with too much interest. "Noted."

When they were finally released, Ward looked about as tired as they felt.

"Debrief done," he said. "You’re off the hook until tomorrow morning. No scheduled duties tonight. Eat, sleep, wander. Just don’t go past red-marked doors or climb into any vehicles without asking."

Ragna raised a hand. "Can we visit the villagers again?"

Ward thought about it. "Stay in pairs. Don’t talk policy. No promises you’ll have free time like this every day, so use it."

They took that as permission.

The sun was lower now, sky streaked in muted colors. The base noise shifted to an evening rhythm. Fewer drills. More talking. Smells from the mess hall thickened.

Lyris drifted toward the Aldo residential section without needing to say it aloud. Mira and Ragna followed.

They found Marla outside one of the prefab houses, hanging laundry on a line. Her child from earlier now ran in circles with two other kids, chasing a ball that bounced off the side of a unit.

Marla smiled when she saw them. "You survived your first day with the sky people."

"Barely," Ragna said. "Their training is cruel."

Marla laughed. "If it keeps them strong, I’m not complaining."

Tovin sat on a crate nearby, carving something with a small knife. He held it up as they approached.

"Bow grip," he said to Lyris. "Your old one burned. Figured you’d need a new one someday."

Lyris took the piece of wood. It fit in her hand better than she expected. "You carved this from memory?"

"You held a bow for half your life," Tovin said. "Hard to forget."

The three adventurers traded small stories for a while. Nothing about Demon Lords. Nothing about strategy. Just mundane things.

How the village children had discovered that the Popeyes stall sometimes gave out extra biscuits if you showed up late in the evening. How one of the Atlas medics had patched an old shepherd’s lungs well enough that he could climb small hills again. How the villagers were arguing about whether to rebuild their fields outside the wall or accept Atlas’s offer to teach them new planting methods within its protection.

Mira listened, head tilted. "They treat you like... partners."

Marla shrugged. "Some days it feels like that. Other days, I remember they have machines that fly over mountains. Hard to feel equal."

Tovin scratched his chin. "But they listen. Ask questions. They’re not like nobles. Nobles command and punish. These people ask and plan."

Night fell fully.

Lights in the base clicked on in stages. The sky above Aldo glowed faintly from them. No torches. No smoky lanterns. Clean, steady light.

Lyris watched a drone buzz overhead for a patrol circuit. "Marla," she said quietly. "Do you regret staying here?"

Marla shook her head. "No. I regret that we needed rescuing at all. But my children sleep without screaming now. That’s worth strange walls and stranger neighbors."

Later, back in their guest room, the three sat in unfamiliar silence. Not the wary silence of a camp in dangerous woods. A tired one.

Mira sat on the lower bunk, turning her new radio over and over. Ragna lay on the top bunk, one leg dangling, tail draped like a curtain. Lyris sat at the small desk, staring at nothing for a long time.

Finally, Ragna spoke into the dim room.

"So," she said. "Day one of integration."

Mira snorted. "We were measured, poked, lectured, and half-killed by an obstacle course. And somehow, Ragna is still thinking about fried chicken."

"I am thinking about the Demon Lord too," Ragna said. "Just... less. For now."

Lyris rested her arms on the desk. "What do you think?"

Mira considered. "They are dangerous. Their weapons, their organization, their speed. A kingdom run by people like this could conquer half the continent before anyone understood what was happening."

"Yeah," Ragna said. "But they fed an entire village and didn’t ask for bodies in return. That counts for something."

Lyris nodded. "They move fast. Too fast. Our world is slow. But slow hasn’t protected anyone."

She thought of Aldo’s old request sheet, yellowing on the guild board.

Slow had killed.

Ragna rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "You think we made a mistake agreeing to this?"

Mira shook her head, surprising herself with how certain she felt. "No. I think we would have made a mistake walking away."

Lyris reached into her pouch and pulled out her new ID card. The small rectangle gleamed faintly in the lamplight.

Her face. Her name. A symbol from another world.

She set it down carefully beside her Guild tag.

Two worlds, side by side.

"We’re in it now," she said. "We might as well see where it goes."

Outside, engines rumbled. On the other side of the wall, something in the dark fields howled and was answered by the distant clatter of a patrol vehicle moving to intercept.

Inside, in one small guest room, three C-rank adventurers lay down to sleep in beds softer than any inn they had ever paid for, under a roof more secure than any town wall they had ever defended.

For the first time in years, none of them slept with weapons in hand.

Morning would come with more drills, more questions, more shocks.

For now, integration meant one simple thing.

They were no longer alone in their fight.