Through The Ashes

6

"Every single one of you did great yesterday," Del said, his eyes jumping from one face to another. The group of hunters stood in line inside Del's tent, listening intently. Jorn stood near the end, arms crossed over her chest, her face blank, but her mind racing.

She kinda hated these debriefs. Standing here, side by side with the others, while Del praised their efforts, made her stomach churn. It wasn't that she didn't care about doing a good job—survival demanded it—but the attention, the shared recognition, always made her uncomfortable.

"That teamwork is what's going to keep us alive out there," Del continued, pacing slightly in front of the group, hands on his hips. "You communicated well, stayed alert, and most importantly, you all came back in one piece."

"Today, you can take the day off. More routes will be given tomorrow. Soon, you'll be split up into bigger groups carrying bigger weapons, with bigger goals."

Jorn's eyes drifted toward Mara, standing a few spaces down, her posture relaxed but her eyes alert. There was still dirt smudged on her cheek from yesterday's scavenging trip, but her expression was serious, focused. She had done well. Jorn couldn't deny that.

"If you have any questions or concerns, don't be afraid to let me or Nicky know. Enjoy the rest of the day."

Everyone left in a single file line.

Jorn made her way back to her tent, her eyes landing on Spencer's katana, propped up in a corner. Sometimes, she forgot it was there. She hardly ever used it, not since she learned how to use a gun.

The katana was a relic from a time when the world felt different—less hostile, more familiar. It had been Spencer's favorite weapon to collect and use. Now it was a symbol of what had been lost. Their friendship now just a distant memory.

Jorn grabbed the katana, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she sat down on her cot. Unsheathing it, she ran her fingers along the blade, feeling the cold steel beneath her touch. The katana was well-maintained, its edge still sharp.

It was heavier than she remembered, and the thought of wielding it again seemed almost absurd given how accustomed she had become to the ease of a firearm. Yet, as she held it, she couldn't help but feel like she needed to start using it again.

She decided it was long overdue for some practice, getting up with the katana in hand as she left her tent.

As she walked to a secluded spot, she observed the camp's daily hustle—people moving about, children running around, adults engaging in casual conversation. It all seemed so normal, so mundane, a perfect façade covering the chaos lurking just beyond their little sanctuary.

The air was cooler today as Jorn tried to focus on the rhythm of her steps, the weight of the katana, and the steady beat of her own heart.

She adjusted her stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. She gripped the handle, feeling the texture of the wrapped leather under her fingers, the way it molded to her palms. It had always felt like Spencer's weapon, not hers. But now, it was all she had left of him.

Jorn exhaled, focusing her mind.

She raised the blade, her right hand near the guard, her left at the base of the hilt. The katana glinted in the low light, a thin line of steel cutting through the dimming day. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the invisible target ahead. Slowly, she brought the sword down in a smooth arc, her muscles protesting slightly from the unfamiliar motion.

Too stiff, she thought, straightening her back and shaking out her shoulders. She had seen Spencer move like water with this blade, effortless and fluid. It wasn't about brute strength—it was about precision and control. For someone who never took anything seriously, he was insanely good at it.