Blue light flickered against the walls as the echo of their return spell faded. The five of them reappeared inside Station 10’s upper chamber, a circular hall lit by softly pulsing lanterns, casting soul-blue shadows across the wooden beams.

  Jin stretched with a loud yawn, rubbing the back of his neck. “Whew. Well, that could’ve gone worse. Could’ve gone better, too. But hey, not bad for your first death trial.”

  Ezren, still half in a daze, looked like he was trying to process about six different existential questions at once.

  Reya shot Jin a side-glance. “Don’t be flippant.”

  “I’m not flippant,” Jin said, then immediately pointed both fingers at Ezren like finger guns. “I’m breezy.”

  Reya sighed, turning away without engaging.

  Jin turned to Ezren, giving him a mild once-over. “Anyway, rookie, it’s late. You’ve had a hell of a first day. We’ll start training and orientation tomorrow, bright and soul-screaming. For now? Get some rest.”

  He gestured lazily to a hallway just off to the right. “Your room’s down that way, second door on the right. Whatever you do, don’t go left. Female quarters. Strictly off-limits unless you want a disciplinary spear through the chest.”

  Ezren blinked. “...You’re kidding, right?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Jin said, raising an eyebrow, then tilted his head subtly toward Reya. “She’s the one with the spear. And trust me, she doesn’t miss.”

  Ezren followed the direction without further argument, dragging his feet a little as the weariness started catching up to him.

  His room was... surprisingly nice.

  Spacious enough for a single occupant to move comfortably, with a modest bed tucked beneath a round paper lantern. A soft rug lay under a wooden desk that held a blank notebook and a smooth-surfaced inkstone. Beside it, a cushioned chair that looked inviting enough to melt into. Against the far wall stood a wardrobe made of dark-stained wood, and beside it, a sliding door that led into a private washroom, small but clean, tiled in white stone.

  Ezren opened the wardrobe. Inside were neatly folded clothes in muted Station 10 colors, ash white with blue-gray trim, along with underclothes, a light robe, and what looked like a uniform variant tailored to his size.

  “Okay... weirdly cozy,” he muttered.

  He took a quick shower, scrubbing away the sweat and stress of what had probably been the longest day of his afterlife. The water was warm, the soap smelled like herbs, and the towel was absurdly soft.

  Dressed in a fresh robe, he collapsed into bed with a groan.

  He wanted to stay awake. Wanted to figure things out. Wanted to scream a little more about how none of this made sense.

  But the moment his head hit the pillow, fatigue wrapped around him like a weighted blanket.

  Sleep came quickly.

  And for the first time since dying, he didn’t dream.

  The next morning, soft dawnlight filtered through the tall, narrow windows of Station 10’s training hall, casting golden streaks across the polished floor. The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of incense gently burning near the wall sconces.

  Ezren stood in the center of the chamber, arms crossed, eyes adjusting to the warm light spilling in. Reya was already nearby, clipboard in hand and posture straight, as if she'd been waiting for hours.

  Jin, as usual, had claimed the elevated observation platform at the back of the room,a raised structure with a low railing meant for instructors. He sat cross-legged, tea cup in hand, sipping leisurely like this was a peaceful morning ritual rather than the start of a training session.

  Ezren glanced around. “So... where are the others?”

  Jin yawned mid-stretch, barely lifting one hand as he spoke. “Still asleep. Roll call for recruits isn’t until later. You, however, are a special case.”

  “Special?”

  “You didn’t go through the academy,” Reya said, stepping forward. “That means we have to evaluate and train you separately. No baseline, no certs, no foundation. You’re starting from zero.”

  Jin dropped down from the railing and approached, setting his cup aside. “Right then. Might as well make this formal.” He gave a sweeping half-bow, one hand over his chest. “Jin. Captain of Station 10. Chaos incarnate. Soul shepherd. Probably your worst nightmare for the foreseeable future.”

  Reya gave a subtle bow of her own. “Reya. Vice-Captain of Station 10. I handle scheduling, logistics, and cleaning up his messes.”

  “Untrue,” Jin muttered. “You enable my messes.”

  Reya shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, the kind of look an angry cat might give just before pouncing. Her silence spoke volumes.

  Jin just laughed it off lazily, clearly unfazed by the glare, as if he’d seen it a thousand times and wore it like a badge of honor.

  Ezren rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Got it. Captain and Vice-Captain. This is gonna be... fun.” He glanced between the two of them, then asked, “So... what’s the drill today?”

  Jin gestured toward a rack lined with various weapons, swords, spears, sai, even a pair of nunchaku. "Pick your poison," he said with a yawn.

  Ezren walked over, eyes scanning the rack with growing uncertainty. "Do I only get one?"

  "Yeah," Jin replied. "Why would you need more? Planning to juggle them?"

  After a long pause and a few rounds of pacing, Ezren’s hand finally settled on a simple bo-staff, polished wood, unadorned, and distinctly non-lethal.

  Jin arched a brow. "Interesting choice. Any reason you're going with the broomstick over something sharp?"

  Ezren gave a half-shrug. "Aren’t Conductors supposed to guide spirits? Help them pass peacefully? I just... don’t really like the idea of hurting anyone, even if they’re not exactly alive."

  Jin gave a small, knowing smile. "I see. Noble. Misguided, maybe, but noble. Guiding spirits is just part of our job, though."

  He stepped back and stretched. "Anyway, I’ll keep watch here. Reya’s your real instructor for this bit, lucky you."

  Reya stepped forward, calm and composed as always. She gestured for Ezren to take a seat on the polished floor.

  "Before you can use your weapon properly, you need to understand the source of all Conductor abilities, Anima."

  Ezren sat cross-legged, watching her carefully.

  "Anima," she began, "is the spiritual essence of all things. Emotions, memories, willpower, everything that makes a soul unique. It’s not magic. It’s not just energy. It’s you, projected outward."

  Ezren frowned slightly. "But I’m not a Spirit Veil... do I even have Anima?"

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Reya nodded without hesitation. "Yes. All living and spirit-born beings possess Anima. Spirit Veils are naturally attuned to it, it flows through them from the moment they awaken. But humans never developed the same connection. For you, Anima manifests through instinct, emotion, and willpower. It's harder to control, but no less real."

  She paused briefly, then added, "Some even use Anima for personal desire, to manifest their will regardless of balance or purpose. It’s possible to wield Anima recklessly, to burn through it in pursuit of strength or vengeance. But that kind of use leaves scars, on the soul and on the world."

  She let that settle for a beat before continuing. "For Conductors, Anima is how we connect to the world between life and death. It’s what lets us guide lost spirits, purify Wraiths, and protect the living. It is our anchor... and our voice."

  Reya moved her hand slowly through the air. As she did, the nearby incense smoke shifted, curling into a spiral without wind. "Anima isn’t about strength," she said softly. "It’s about clarity. You can’t fake it. The Veil responds only to truth."

  She turned to Ezren, eyes steady. “Yesterday, when you stood before the Elders... what were you feeling?”

  Ezren hesitated, eyes dropping to the polished floor. “I was angry,” he admitted. “Confused. Helpless. Like everything had been taken from me, and no one even cared enough to explain why.”

  He looked up at her. “But under all that… I think I just didn’t want to disappear. Not without meaning something.”

  Reya gave a slight nod, not judgmental, not surprised.

  “Then that,” she said quietly, “is your anchor. Your truth.”

  She gestured toward his chest, then to the bo staff resting beside him. “Close your eyes. Don’t think about ‘how.’ Just remember that feeling. Let it rise. Let it speak.”

  Ezren did as instructed. The memory returned sharper than expected, the weight of judgmental eyes, the pounding of his heart, the desperation in his voice as he shouted back at the Elders.

  And then, something stirred.

  A faint warmth in his chest. A pressure in his fingertips. Like something unseen was rising just beneath his skin.

  The bo staff hummed softly.

  Only for a second.

  But it was enough.

  Ezren’s eyes snapped open.

  Reya blinked, her expression briefly shifting, not to surprise, but to subtle intrigue. She hadn’t expected that.

  “Most recruits take days before their Anima responds,” she murmured. “You already showed a glimpse on your first try...”

  Jin let out a low whistle from the platform. “Huh. Maybe humans really do have something going for them. Emotional creatures, guess that hits harder with the Veil.”

  Then he added, more soberly, “But emotion’s a double-edged blade. It gives you power, yeah, but it also makes you reckless. Temptation, impulse, lack of control. That’s the other half of being human.”

  Ezren looked down at his hands, then glanced toward Jin. “Is that why the Elders were afraid of me? Why they called me an anomaly?”

  Jin’s gaze flicked his way, and for a moment, the usual playfulness faded.

  “Not entirely,” he said, voice low. “But yeah… part of it. You’re unpredictable. You weren’t supposed to exist, let alone bond with the Veil. That scares them.”

  He paused, then added, more bitterly, “The Elders like to dress it up in ritual and purpose, but most of them are just scared old bastards clinging to control. They want order, obedience, a world that bends to their rules. Not something that reminds them how little they actually understand.”

  Ezren tried again, gripping the staff tighter, closing his eyes, and recalling the emotion. The warmth sparked… then flickered… then died. Again and again, his focus broke after barely ten seconds, like a signal trying to hold through static.

  Reya crossed her arms with a quiet sigh. "This is going nowhere."

  She turned toward Jin. "We’ve got missions piling up from the Bureau, three days’ worth, and not enough personnel to clear them. If we keep falling behind, we’re going to end up flagged, or worse, punished directly by the Veil King herself."

  Jin didn’t respond right away. He tapped his chin in thought, then shrugged. "Well... why don’t we try something different?"

  Reya narrowed her eyes. "What now?"

  "Let’s put him on his first field mission," Jin said casually.

  Reya blinked. "You’re serious? He can barely hold his Anima for more than a few seconds."

  "And yet he still sparked it," Jin replied. "That’s rare. It means he’s ready for pressure. Doesn’t need to be a fight, just a simple passing. One stubborn soul. I’ll supervise."

  Reya looked hesitant but said nothing, weighing the risk.

  Jin turned to the side and picked up a neatly folded set of clothes resting on the railing. With a casual toss, he flung them toward Ezren, who barely caught them.

  "Suit up," Jin said. "You’ll need your official uniform."

  Ezren unfolded the garments. The fabric was clean and ceremonial, but clearly made for function. A white outer robe trimmed in cool blue draped over a darker, high-collared tunic and wrapped at the waist with a matching sash. The pants were a deep gray, tucked neatly into fitted boots that offered solid footing. Decorative stitching lined the collar and sleeves, delicate, patterned thread-work that caught the light just slightly, adding a touch of quiet elegance to the otherwise simple uniform. Stitched into the left side of the chest was a minimalist insignia: a teardrop-shaped flame, the symbol of Station 10.

  Ezren ran his fingers over the fabric, then looked up, brow furrowed. "Why does it look so... ceremonial? Kind of stiff for field work."

  Jin smirked. "It’s intentional. We’re often the first thing a spirit sees after death. The robes are designed to look calm, composed, something that builds trust. You don’t want to scare a soul that just lost everything."

  Ezren blinked. "This looks... different from yours."

  Jin flashed a grin. "That’s because it is. You’re looking at standard issue. You’ll be able to customize your uniform once you rank up, Vice-Captain or higher. ‘Til then, you wear the veil-white."

  Ezren held the fabric a little more carefully now, the weight of responsibility starting to feel more real in his hands.

  Jin stretched again. "Get changed. Meet me in my office. We’re heading out immediately."

  Ezren arrived at Station 10’s main office a few minutes later, his new uniform only slightly too stiff, his nerves buzzing beneath it.

  The office was more mundane than he expected. Tiled floors, plain walls, and a central desk cluttered with paperwork, file folders, and a few half-filled tea cups. A dusty computer sat in the corner of the desk, its screen displaying an outdated task tracker. Along the side wall was a large cork-board pinned with maps, schedules, sticky notes, and scribbled memos like “Report due - Thurs!” or “Don’t forget Zone 3 rotation.”

  Jin was seated behind the desk, reclined in his chair with his boots kicked up onto a stack of unsorted files. Reya stood beside him, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

  “Alright,” Jin said, waving Ezren in. “Your first mission’s a simple one. We’re heading to a small residential district. An old woman, about eighty-three, is nearing her time. Our job is to guide her spirit peacefully once she passes.”

  Ezren blinked. “Wait… am I doing the passing?”

  Jin nodded. “Yep. I’ll supervise, maybe toss a tip or two if you ask, but this is on you. First field, first soul.”

  Reya glanced sideways. “Then why are you going? I can supervise just as well.”

  Jin gave a sheepish smile, followed by a dramatic puff of his chest. “It’s a captain’s duty to help guide rookies, especially on their first missions.”

  Reya narrowed her eyes. “You just want to escape all this paperwork.”

  Jin laughed openly. “Guilty! You saw right through me, Vice-Captain.”

  She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Just be careful. Even simple passings can turn complicated fast.”

  A short while later, Ezren followed Jin through one of Station 10’s inner corridors, one he hadn’t noticed before. They descended a tight spiral staircase carved into the back wing of the compound. The air grew cooler with each step, and soft blue flames lined the narrow walls, flickering quietly inside crystalline sconces.

  The tiled floor beneath their feet echoed faintly with every step. The deeper they went, the more the walls began to resemble an underground station, smooth stone, dim lights, and that same strange hush that falls over hidden places.

  Finally, the stairway opened up into a platform, unmistakably a subway terminal, though more elegant and haunting. An obsidian-colored train sat idle at the rails, its windows glowing faintly with spiritual light. Pale lanterns floated above it, tethered to nothing, flickering in the still air.

  Ezren stared. “We have a train?”

  Jin grinned. “Welcome to the Conductor Line. Our one-way ride to the living world.”

  Ezren stepped closer, taking in the surreal sight. His breath caught slightly, a mix of nerves and awe flooding him. His first mission. His first passing. His chest tightened.

  He started to take deep breaths, grounding himself.

  Jin noticed and gave him a firm pat on the back. “You’ll be fine. I’ve got your back. Just focus on the soul. Everything else will follow.”

  Ezren nodded slowly, bracing himself as they boarded.

  9:03 AM, Living World

  Somewhere in a quiet district, the scent of warm bread filled the air.

  An elderly woman stood inside a small, humble bakery tucked into a stone-lined corner street. The space was neat and cozy, wooden shelves stacked with morning loaves, sweet buns, and fruit-glazed pastries. A chalkboard sign outside read: Nana Elin’s Bakery – Open at 9, Close at Soul’s Rest.

  Elin moved slowly, her hands practiced as she set out the last of the morning trays. But her breathing was heavier than usual. Her legs ached more than they had the day before.

  She paused, one hand on the counter to steady herself. “Hm… must be the rain coming,” she murmured.

  A girl in her teens, bright-eyed, apron-wrapped, peeked out from the kitchen. “Grandma, you okay?”

  Elin gave a small smile. “Just a little tired, dear. Watch the front for me for a while, will you?”

  The girl nodded quickly and hurried out to take over.

  Elin eased into a cushioned stool behind the counter. She glanced out the front window at the quiet morning street. Her hand hovered briefly over her chest, a strange, light pressure building within.

  Still, she smiled.

  “Not yet,” she whispered. “A little longer.”