Chapter 11
The Commander's Gaze
The Soul-Hunter commander observes Eli's unusual effectiveness. Suspicious but impressed, they begin to question Eli's 'fashionable' gloves and his true potential.
The Commander’s gaze was a physical thing, a weight that settled on my shoulders the moment I’d entered the training arena. It wasn’t the usual glint of assessment you’d get from a drill sergeant, or the calculating stare of a predator sizing up prey. This was something else, something ancient and weary, like looking into the eyes of a mountain that had seen empires rise and crumble. I’d always been good at blending in, at fading into the background even in a crowd of thousands. But here, under that relentless scrutiny, I felt like a specimen pinned to a board.
“Impressive,” the Commander’s voice, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in my very bones, cut through the din of sparring soldiers. “Truly impressive.”
I’d just finished a bout with a surprisingly agile animated knight, one of those hulking brutes that looked like they’d been cobbled together from scrap metal and pure malice. My gloves, my beautiful, fashionable gloves, had handled him with their usual… flair. A quick jab to the chest, a burst of light, and then ash. The soul, a shimmering wisp, had detached itself, briefly hovering before dissolving into the ether. It was a process I was getting used to, a grim dance I performed with increasing confidence.
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