Whispers from the Void

The cold, metallic clang of the weapons being assembled echoed through the basement, mingling with the sharp, staccato beat of Mark's racing heart. The room, once dim and gloomy, now felt charged with the heavy weight of anticipation. Valen moved swiftly around the table, pulling out different items from the crates, checking their power levels, and explaining the basic uses of each weapon. Her calm, focused demeanor contrasted with the intensity in the air, but Mark couldn't ignore the gnawing sense of dread that had been building in his gut since their arrival.

"Hold it like this," Valen instructed Eleanor, her voice firm as she placed the dimensional weapon in her hands. "Be mindful of the energy field. It'll hum when it's active, and that's your cue to strike."

Eleanor nodded, fingers twitching nervously around the grip of the weapon. Mark could see the tension in her shoulders, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her. He glanced at his own weapon— the jagged blade— and couldn't shake the feeling that they were being thrust into something they weren't prepared for.

"You're doing great," Valen said, catching his eye. Her tone was softer now, less like the trained soldier, more like someone who'd seen too much and had learned how to survive. "Just remember, these weapons were made for people who knew how to fight. You're going to have to train hard if you want to stay alive."

Mark nodded, but he didn't feel reassured. His mind kept circling back to the question: *Who is this girl, really?* How did she know so much about the creatures and the weapons?

Valen was pulling something else from the crate when she stopped, eyes flicking over the group with a sort of quiet intensity. She turned her back on them for a moment, then finally spoke, her voice carrying an unexpected weight.

"I wasn't always like this," she began, her tone flat, as if she were recalling something too painful to discuss openly. "I wasn't always... a tracker. Or someone who knew how to fight."

Eleanor, who had been adjusting her grip on the weapon, looked up, her eyes soft with curiosity. "Then how did you end up like this?"

Valen paused, her fingers tracing the edge of one of the weapons. The room seemed to grow even quieter, the weight of the question hanging in the air. For a long moment, Valen didn't answer. When she finally spoke, her words came slowly, measured, as though she was choosing them carefully.

"It wasn't always bad. At least, not at first. My father… he was everything to me when I was younger. He was a big man in the town, a well-respected man. He worked in construction, came home every night smelling of sawdust and sweat. We lived in a nice house. A house that felt like home, warm and full of life."

Her voice cracked just slightly, a brief hitch that only those listening closely would catch. "But my father had a secret. A darkness. A demon he kept hidden for a long time. His addiction… it started when I was about six. He'd come home after work and drink. Not just a beer or two, but whole bottles of vodka. He'd drink until his face turned red, until his temper would snap. And when he drank, it wasn't just his temper that came out."

Mark felt a cold chill crawl down his spine as Valen's words grew heavier, darker. "My mother tried to hide it from me at first. She'd tell me everything was fine, that Dad was just having a bad day. But when I was eight, I saw it for myself. He hit her. And then he'd blame her for everything, say it was her fault that he was losing everything—his job, his respect, his friends. But he never told me why."

Mark shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tightening on the jagged blade, sensing where the story was going.

Valen's eyes hardened as she continued, her voice unwavering despite the emotion that bled through. "Things got worse. One night, when I was eleven, I woke up to screams. I ran downstairs and found my father yelling at my mother. She'd been trying to talk him out of selling the house—his debts were mounting. The bills couldn't be paid anymore, and the house was on the brink of being foreclosed. But my father didn't care. He said it was my fault. That if I hadn't *existed*, he wouldn't have been trapped in this life of misery."

Mark felt a sickening knot form in his stomach as Valen's words grew more painful. "I don't know what happened next, but I'll never forget it. I stood there, frozen, watching him hit her again. And then… she just stopped fighting. She stopped speaking. It was like she gave up."

She paused, her hands trembling slightly. "The next day, my mother was dead. They said it was an overdose. But I know better. She didn't want to live with him anymore. She couldn't handle it, and I—I couldn't save her."

Mark's throat tightened as he struggled to find words, unsure of how to comfort her. But Valen wasn't finished. She looked up, her eyes sharp and focused now, more like the girl he'd seen earlier—the one who had killed the creature in the forest, the one who had survived.

"I blamed myself," she continued, her voice low but fierce. "Because I was the reason he was in prison. I didn't do it, but I made the mistake of telling someone about the fights, about what he was doing. He got arrested for domestic abuse, and I thought maybe things would get better. But they didn't. Everything fell apart. The bank seized the house. And I ended up in the streets. Alone."

She wiped a hand across her face, her jaw clenched tight as she took a deep breath. "I was just a kid. Twelve years old. But I had to survive. And I learned fast. You don't get a second chance when you're on your own. I learned how to pick locks, how to find food, how to defend myself. And when I found out about the scientists, about what they were doing—well, it felt like everything had come full circle. I had no family, no home. But I wasn't about to let anyone else fall into that same trap."

Valen stood still for a long moment, as if waiting for the group to respond. But Mark didn't know what to say. He only felt a deep sympathy, a bond with her that had never existed before. They were both survivors in a world that had thrown everything it had at them.

"I know what you're thinking," Valen said, breaking the silence. "You think I'm a monster. That I'm just a product of my past. But the truth is, I'm trying to stop the cycle. What happened to me—it doesn't have to happen to anyone else. These creatures, these *things*... they don't care about you or your world. All they care about is feeding their power. And if we don't stop them now, the world you know will be gone."

She straightened up, her gaze piercing. "Now, we train. You need to be ready. Because what's coming will make everything you've seen so far look like nothing."

Mark stood, the weight of his own past pressing against him. It was clear that Valen's story had shaped her, just as the horrors of the world they were fighting had shaped him. The stakes were higher than any of them had realized. And in that moment, Mark made a vow.

He wouldn't let this world fall. Not while there was still a chance to save it.

And so, with the weapons in hand and the weight of Valen's past hanging in the air, they began their training. The fight for survival had truly begun.