New Roles

The main building was buzzing with energy when Elijah, Visconti, and Kieran arrived.

Cadets were everywhere, chattering excitedly or nervously about the new roles they were about to receive.

The air felt thick with anticipation, and Elijah could feel the tension as they maneuvered through the crowd.

"I bet I'll be ranged," Kieran said confidently, stretching his arms. "I mean, have you seen my aim? Perfect."

"You hit a tree branch during target practice last week," Visconti deadpanned.

"That branch was the target," Kieran argued.

Elijah rolled his eyes, staying quiet as they waded through the crowd.

Suddenly, the loud crackle of a mic filled the room, making everyone wince.

A familiar instructor stepped up to the podium, holding the microphone like it was a prized possession.

"MIC TEST! MIC TEST! ONE, TWO, THREE! ONE, TWO, THREE!" the instructor shouted, his voice booming unnecessarily.

Kieran winced, covering his ears. "Did he just yell into the mic? Isn't that what it's for? To make you louder?"

"Shh," Elijah said, though he was holding back a chuckle.

"TODAY WE'LL BE ASSIGNING YOU TO A NEW POSITION!" the instructor continued, as though addressing a crowd in the next city. "THE ROLE ASSIGNING WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN THREE WEEKS LATER, BUT IT WILL BE ADVANCED BECAUSE OF AN EMERGENCY. AND THERE WILL BE NO PATROL FOR A WHILE."

At the mention of no patrol, a wave of collective relief swept through the room.

Elijah wasn't the only one silently rejoicing.

No patrol? Finally, some peace.

Kieran whispered to no one in particular, "No patrol? Oh, sweet mercy, I take back all the bad things I said about the instructors."

"YOUR PERFORMANCE IN YOUR ROLES WILL BE EVALUATED IN A THREE-VERSUS-THREE MATCH."

The instructor's announcement hit like a bombshell, and the room fell into stunned silence.

"Are you kidding me?" someone muttered.

"Oh, come on!" Kieran whined, sinking into his seat dramatically. "Can't we have one good day?"

The instructor ignored the complaints, continuing without missing a beat. "THERE ARE THREE ROLES: MELEE, RANGED, AND SUPPORT."

As the instructor's voice echoed, a holographic display appeared in front of each cadet, listing their assigned roles.

Elijah stared at the glowing screen in front of him, blinking in disbelief.

His name was listed under Melee Fighters.

"Wait… what?" he muttered, frowning.

He had chosen a gun as his main weapon during the last weapons selection. Why wasn't he in Ranged?

Visconti leaned over, his name also under Melee Fighters. "Looks like we're both in the frontlines, huh?"

Elijah gave him a look. "You're not surprised?"

Visconti shrugged. "Hydrofreezing is all rounder, and I chose a rapier. Makes sense. You, though… good luck."

Elijah glanced at him. "You, I understand. You're practically a walking glacier with Hydrofreezing. But me?"

Visconti smirked. "Maybe they think your gravity powers are better up close and personal."

Elijah sighed, still baffled.

Then they heard a groan loud enough to turn heads.

"Ranged? RANGED?!" Kieran whined, dramatically clutching his head. His name was under Ranged Fighters. "Why am I the odd one out? Why aren't I with you guys?!"

"Why am I stuck with the cowards who hide behind walls and shoot from a distance?!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

Visconti raised an eyebrow. "You literally just said your aim is perfect."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want to be lumped in with—ugh—ranged fighters!"

"Ranged fighters aren't cowards," Elijah said calmly, though his lips twitched with amusement. "They're just... strategic."

Kieran crossed his arms, grumbling. "Strategic my foot. I'll bet you two get all the action while I'm stuck babysitting from the sidelines."

Elijah couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe if you complain loudly enough, they'll switch you to support."

Kieran shot him a horrified look. "Don't even joke about that, Elijah. Support is where dreams go to die."

Visconti leaned back in his chair, smirking. "I think ranged suits you. You're already good at yelling from a distance."

"But... Seriously," Visconti paused."I think it's fair." Visconti said.

"Fair?!" Kieran snapped, jabbing a finger toward his name. "Ranged fighters are cowards who only fight from far away! I'm not a coward!"

"Could've fooled me," Visconti quipped.

Kieran turned to Elijah, gesturing wildly. "Come on, Elijah, back me up here!"

Elijah took a slow, deliberate sip of his water before responding. "Kieran, the last time we did combat training, you screamed and ran when someone threw a rock at you."

Kieran gasped, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "That rock was huge! It could've been a meteor!"

Visconti burst out laughing. "A meteor? It was the size of my fist!"

"It was flying at Mach speed!" Kieran protested.

Elijah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Kieran, you're in Ranged. Accept it and move on."

Kieran crossed his arms, pouting. "Fine. But when I become the best Ranged fighter this camp has ever seen, don't come crying to me for help!"

Visconti raised an eyebrow. "I'll take my chances."

Kieran glared at him. "Keep talking, Mr. Melee. Let's see how tough you are when you're face-to-face with someone who can actually fight."

Elijah shook his head, trying not to laugh. Despite the chaos, it was oddly comforting to see their usual banter continuing in the midst of uncertainty.

"Focus," he said, though his voice was light. "We've got a match coming up, and I'd rather not embarrass myself in front of everyone."

Kieran groaned, slumping his shoulder. "Fine, but if we lose, I'm blaming you two."

"Blame yourself for missing your imaginary target," Visconti shot back.

As the instructor continued explaining the evaluation process, Elijah tilted his head slightly, mentally preparing himself. 'Melee fighter, huh? Well, guess I'll have to make it work.'