Whispers from the Void

The hum of weapons being calibrated, the sharp sound of metal against stone, and the occasional crackle of energy filled the basement as Mark stood in front of a crude makeshift target. The training had been relentless, each hour more exhausting than the last. The weapons Valen had provided them with—strange, alien in their design—weren't like anything Mark had ever seen. They hummed with an unnatural energy, glowing faintly in the dim light of the basement.

Mark gripped the jagged blade again, feeling its weight, the strange heat that seemed to seep into his hand. He swung it through the air, the blade cutting a swath of silence, the odd blue glow trailing behind it. It was like nothing he had ever used, not even close to any weapon he had handled before. It was both familiar and foreign at once.

"You're holding it too loosely," Valen's voice cut through his concentration. She stood nearby, her arms crossed, watching him with a sharp, focused gaze.

Mark lowered the blade, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I thought the grip was supposed to be light," he said, the question lingering in his voice.

"No," she answered firmly. "The blade responds to your intention. A light grip will make it unstable, and you need control. Hold it tight, but not too tight. Imagine it as an extension of yourself." Valen moved closer, demonstrating with swift, fluid movements. "Like this," she said, swinging her own blade in a smooth arc through the air. "It's all about focus. The weapon will follow your lead."

Mark nodded, absorbing her words. He adjusted his grip, trying again. This time, the blade felt more responsive, more like something he could control rather than something that controlled him.

Valen glanced at him with an approving look. "Better. But it's not just about how you hold it. It's about the intention behind every movement." She walked around him, inspecting his stance. "You have to *feel* the weapon. The more connected you are, the more effective it will be."

He swung the blade once more, more confidently this time, and it sliced through the air with a sharper, more purposeful sound.

"Good," Valen said, stepping back. "Now, let's work on the dimensional weapon." She gestured to the strange gun-like device that lay beside him on the table.

Mark hesitated, unsure of how it would feel compared to the blade. "How does this one work?" he asked.

Valen's eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and wariness. "This is a dimensional weapon. It disrupts the fabric of reality. When activated, it can tear through the boundary between dimensions, sending out a wave that momentarily displaces any creature caught in it. It's not a perfect solution—nothing is—but it's effective against the creatures."

She handed him the weapon, making sure his fingers wrapped securely around the grip. "When you activate it, it'll hum. That hum means it's ready. The energy will be unstable, so be quick with your shot."

Mark nodded, his mind racing. He pressed the activation switch. The weapon hummed, a low, vibrating sound that felt like it was resonating deep inside his chest. He aimed at the target, hesitated for a moment, then fired. A burst of blue energy shot from the barrel, slamming into the target with a shockwave that made the air ripple. The target, a practice dummy covered in some kind of thick cloth, crumpled into nothingness, the fabric disintegrating like sand being blown away.

"Well done," Valen said, her tone more approving this time. "Now, let's go over how it's made."

Mark blinked in surprise. "How it's made?"

Valen nodded. "Yes. You need to understand the mechanics if you're going to use these weapons effectively. The dimensional weapon is powered by a small core, which draws energy from the fabric of the dimension itself. When you activate it, you're temporarily opening a rift in the dimensional barrier and redirecting that energy."

Mark absorbed her explanation. The way she spoke—like she had been trained in this for years—impressed him. It was clear that she was knowledgeable, not just about how to use the weapons, but about how to survive. Every piece of information she gave felt like a lifeline in a world that was rapidly slipping into chaos.

He glanced at her, wondering about her past, how she came to be so well-versed in all this. She seemed to read his mind.

"Want to know how I know all this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mark felt a pang of curiosity. "Yeah, actually. I've been wondering." He put the weapon down, his gaze lingering on Valen, waiting for her to answer.

She looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. "I was trained. By the people who made these weapons. They were scientists, but not in the traditional sense. They were... something else. They taught me how to use these weapons because I needed to survive."

Valen turned to him, her voice softer now. "How old are you, Mark?"

Mark hesitated, taken aback by the unexpected question. "I'm twenty-five," he answered after a moment, unsure of where this was going.

Valen studied him for a second, her gaze curious but without judgment. "What do you like to do? What are your interests?" Her voice had a playful edge now, a slight teasing tone that reminded him she was still just a young person, despite all the darkness that surrounded her.

Mark felt a knot form in his stomach. The question felt too personal, too far beyond the walls he'd carefully built around himself. He shifted uncomfortably, forcing a smile.

"I don't know," he said, his voice sounding hollow even to himself. "I guess I like... working with my hands. I used to fix things—cars, machines. That kind of stuff. I don't really have much time for hobbies these days."

Valen's expression softened, but her curiosity didn't let up. "I get it. Things change when you're in survival mode." She paused, then added, almost like an afterthought, "What about your past? What happened before all this?"

Mark's stomach twisted painfully at the question. He felt the weight of his own silence pressing in on him. His past was something he'd buried deep, something he didn't want to bring to the surface. The loss, the mistakes, the things he'd done and left undone—it was easier to ignore them.

He avoided her gaze, shifting uncomfortably. "I'd rather not talk about it," he muttered, his voice tight.

Valen didn't push. She simply nodded, the understanding between them hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, they both stood in silence, the weight of their respective pasts weighing them down, but neither willing to speak it aloud.

After a long moment, Valen gave him a small, understanding smile. "Fair enough," she said softly. "We all have things we don't want to talk about. But, just know that whatever's in the past, we're here now. And we have a job to do."

Mark nodded, grateful for her unspoken understanding. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to move forward. He wasn't sure what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn't alone in facing it.