The silence between them said more than any oath ever could.
Then Mara spoke—low and deliberate, like someone stepping carefully over sacred ground.
"All the Sigils placed their bets on you."
Vael didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just stood there, eyes steady, cold, distant. The kind of silence that didn't come from stillness—but from something long since buried.
Lucian folded his arms. "Including us."
"You're not here because you ranked well," Mara said. "You're here because you walked out of Ashfall."
That name cracked the quiet like a splinter.
Lucian nodded slowly. "Two weeks before the entrance exam. The sky tore open. Two gods descended. The region was erased."
"We watched from far above," Mara said. "And afterward, we reviewed the echoes. Everyone we sent in after said the same thing—there was nothing left."
"Except for one anomaly," Lucian added. "A presence. Unmarked. Unblessed. Human."
Vael's voice came quiet, even. "There were two anomalies."
They looked at him. Waited.
Vael didn't look away. "Me. And her."
Mara's gaze sharpened. "Selene."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "Your mother."
Vael nodded once. "She stayed behind the moment she saw the sky fracture. She didn't hesitate."
He paused—not out of emotion, but out of precision.
"She told me not to let fear decide my path. Told me to be brave. For both of us."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't slow down. It wasn't a memory. It was a command still active in his mind.
"I told her I wouldn't leave her."
His fingers curled briefly at his side. A flicker. Gone just as fast.
"She died protecting me. But I made her a promise before she fell."
Mara's voice was cautious now. "A promise?"
"I said I'd save her," Vael said. "Not just survive. Not just live. Save her."
Lucian watched him, silent.
"You think she's still alive?" Mara asked, but there was no mockery in it. Only calculation.
"I don't know what she is," Vael said. "But dead doesn't mean unreachable. Not to me. Not anymore."
Lucian stepped forward, quiet. "That's why you hold back. Why you don't play the game. Why you don't care about the Academy, or the Order, or any of it."
"I'll play along," Vael said. "I'll fight your battles. I'll follow your rules. But don't mistake that for loyalty."
Mara raised a brow. "Then what is it?"
Vael met her eyes. "A transaction. You protect my path, I clear yours. But if you get in my way—if anyone gets in my way—"
He didn't finish the threat. He didn't need to.
Lucian exhaled slowly. "You're not a student. You're a storm waiting for a reason."
Mara's tone shifted. No longer evaluating. Now, accepting. "And maybe that's what we need."
Lucian nodded. "Someone who doesn't fear gods. Someone who already broke through the divine once."
"Someone with nothing left to lose," Mara said, watching him closely.
Vael looked past them, toward the horizon.
"No," he said. "I have one thing left to lose. And I already lost her once."
He turned back to them, voice cold as frost. "I won't let that happen again."
Mara said nothing.
Lucian didn't smile.
He just nodded, slowly. "Then let's talk about what comes next."
She stepped forward, her tone shifting—less sharp, more resolute. "These sessions aren't just extra drills. They're a separate path. One only a few even know exists."
Lucian added, "This isn't Academy protocol. This is us. The Sigils. Training you directly."
Vael's gaze sharpened, but he said nothing.
"You'll learn what's been buried," Mara continued. "What we learned fighting in silence, bleeding in shadows. The kind of strength the Order doesn't teach."
Lucian paced slowly. "We're going to break you down. Strip out the hesitation, the excess. And rebuild you. Not into a warrior. Into a weapon."
"Each of the Seven will train you," Mara said. "One by one. And if you survive that—then maybe you'll be ready."
Lucian turned, gesturing toward the rack of weapons behind him. Blades, spears, axes, staffs—polished steel and worn iron, side by side. "First step: your weapon. You'll train with it until it's part of you."
Vael stepped forward slowly. Eyes passed over steel and shadow.
Then—
The Voice stirred in his mind. Low. Measured. Absolute.
"Don't."
"Not yet. Let your body be your weapon. Learn every weakness in your own flesh before wielding steel to hide it."
"You'll know when it's time."
Vael stopped. Turned back to Lucian.
"I choose none."
Lucian frowned. "None?"
"I'll fight without one," Vael said.
Lucian stepped closer, searching his face. "You sure about that? A weapon gives reach. Pressure. Margin for error."
"I don't need margin," Vael said. "Not yet."
Lucian narrowed his eyes. "What about the crimson power you used on the Goblin Lord? That wasn't just fists and footwork. You cut through him like he was paper."
Vael met his gaze without hesitation. "I'm not using that here."
"Why?"
"Because that wasn't control. That was reaction. Power without discipline is a liability."
Lucian watched him for a long second, then nodded once. "Fair. That's the right answer."
He stepped into the arena. "Then let's see what your body can do."
He stepped onto the dirt, motioned Vael forward. "Then we start with the oldest form of combat. Body against body."
"No sigils. No flow manipulation. Just leverage, rhythm, and pain."
Vael moved into stance.
Lucian was already in motion.
The first strike came fast—aimed at balance, not damage. Vael adjusted, countered, but caught a knee to the ribs.
"Again," Lucian said.
He didn't slow down.
Strike. Reset. Sweep. Block. Pain. Correction.
Lucian's voice cut between each hit. "Footwork's too loud."
"Shoulders too tense."
"You fight like you're trying to survive. Don't. Fight like you refuse to die."
Vael never spoke. He just adapted.
Time passed. The moon shifted.
Lucian stepped back finally, breathing hard. "He's yours," he said without turning.
Vael straightened, still silent, his body marked with bruises but his stance unbroken.
The air hadn't cooled yet. The fight lingered in his breath, his bones. But something deeper—quieter—waited beneath the surface.
Mara saw it.
She was already moving forward.
"My turn."
Mara stopped a few paces from him, her eyes steady.
"You're holding back something more than muscle memory," she said.
"That power… the one you used against the Goblin Lord. We're going to train with that."
Vael's stance didn't shift, but his expression did—just slightly. A twitch in the jaw. A flicker in his eyes.
"I don't know what it is," Mara admitted.
"Even when I reviewed the recordings, I couldn't see it properly. It was like my senses… skipped over it. Like they weren't made to comprehend it."
Lucian, watching from the edge of the arena, said nothing.
"So," Mara continued, "we're going to do something simple."
She gestured around them. "Show me. Let me see what I'm dealing with."
Vael didn't answer immediately. The Voice stirred—curious, but silent.
Then he closed his eyes, drew a slow breath, and opened the gate.
Not fully.
Just a sliver.
A thin thread of crimson flickered across his arm—silent, pulsing like a heartbeat slowed to near stillness. The air warped faintly, like heat haze on metal. The shadows around him pulled inward. Sound receded.
Mara stepped back—not out of fear, but instinct.
Even Lucian straightened.
It lasted only a second.
Then Vael shut it down. Cut it off like severing a thought.
Silence returned.
Mara exhaled slowly. "That wasn't magic. Not mana. Not divinity. Not even cursed flow."
She looked at him. "I don't know what that was. But I do know it's running through your body—and that means it can be guided."
Vael watched her, unmoved.
"So I'll teach you," she said.
"Not the what of your power. But the how to use it. There's a method—ancient, universal. One that predates the Orders and the Sigils."
She crouched, drawing a crude figure in the dirt: a silhouette of a body.
She marked seven key points—head, chest, belly, hands, feet, spine, heart—and connected them with looping arcs.
"This is circulation," she said.
"Every living thing moves energy—blood, breath, spirit. We train to make that movement conscious. Controlled."
Her finger tapped the center of the chest. "Here's where it begins. The heart-center. The core of will. You move the energy outward from here in patterns—loops, spirals, tides. It's not about power. It's about rhythm. About flow."
She stood, brushing her hands clean. "It's not perfect for your power—because we don't know what your power is. But if it's inside you, then it'll respond to your body's movement. That's where we start."
Then came the Voice—low, quiet, amused.
"Primitive. Inefficient."
"This is not how this power was meant to use."
"But for now… it will suffice."
Vael didn't respond to the Voice. Not aloud.
Mara didn't notice. She stepped closer again. "Now I'll show you how to trace the pattern. Not just in your mind—but through your breath, your stance, your tension. You'll learn to feel the current before you try to command it."
She moved behind him. "Stand still."
Vael obeyed.
Her fingers brushed lightly against his back—mapping points along his spine, shoulders, arms.
"Each inhale pulls the current in. Each exhale moves it forward. Don't push it. Let it follow the breath."
She circled him slowly, voice steady. "You'll feel resistance—like dragging a blade through oil. That's normal. It means you're touching something real."
Vael closed his eyes. Breathed. Listened.
Something stirred beneath his skin. A slow ache. A warmth—not heat, but density. Like a river under stone.
"Now move it," Mara said. "From the heart to the limbs. Just a thread. No force. Just… guide it."
He did.
And the dirt beneath his feet cracked faintly.
Mara's eyes widened.
"That's it," she said. "That's the current."
But even she looked unsure.
Because the air shouldn't have gone that still.
Mara stepped back slowly, her brows drawn tight in thought.
"This isn't energy. It's pressure," she murmured. "Like the world itself flinches when you move it."
She studied the fading crimson burn in the air like a riddle that refused to be solved.
Vael opened his eyes. The crimson was gone. But its echo lingered in the stillness, in the hairline fractures webbing outward beneath his feet.
She met his gaze. "We'll refine it. Control it. Not suppress it."
"Tomorrow, we test stability. You'll circulate under stress. Controlled pain, controlled reaction. No outbursts."
She waited for a response. Vael gave none.
He simply turned away, leaving the lines in the dirt behind, already fading in the wind.
Lucian watched from the shade. "He's not like the others."
"No," Mara said. "He's not."
Vael didn't look back.
The crimson slept, but it would rise again soon. And when it did—he'd be ready.