Mira shot Soren a look—one that said, This just got worse.

They were escorted deeper into the Tribunal complex, climbing a spiral staircase carved from pale stone, the kind that echoed every step. At the top stood another chamber: circular, domed, lined with robed officials who watched with the blank intensity of hawks deciding whether the mouse was worth killing.

At the center, a single figure waited.

Kaelor.

He stood with his hands behind his back, expression carved from iron.

"Coren. Mira." His voice carried easily. "Step forward."

They obeyed.

Kaelor studied them both, slow, deliberate. He didn't acknowledge the room full of officials who were obviously expecting a performance. He focused only on the two people who mattered.

"Coren," he said, "you used Aura in the course of your duty."

Soren didn't blink. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because the Lady was being attacked."

Kaelor nodded once. "Correct."

The Tribunal murmured. The clerk from the earlier room looked like someone had kicked him down a staircase.

Kaelor continued, voice steady and controlled.

"Your Aura manifestation was clean. Contained. Disciplined. It did not destabilize the flow of the corridor. It did not breach any structural wards. It did not injure any unintended targets."

He paused.

"It was, in fact, a model example of controlled application."

The murmurs sharpened, turning sharper, confused.

The Council representative stepped forward. "Commander Kaelor, this is irregular—"

"No." Kaelor's tone cut the air cleanly. "This is Aetherion protocol. My protocol. The cadet acted correctly."

All eyes shifted to Soren.

"This," Kaelor said, turning to the room, "is the level of discipline Aetherion aims to produce. If you wish to accuse him of a breach, you are accusing me of training failure."

Silence slammed into the chamber.

Not a single Tribunal official dared to speak.

Kaelor turned away from them without waiting for permission and addressed the two who mattered again.

"You are dismissed," he said. "Both of you."

Mira let out a breath she'd been holding for minutes. Soren bowed his head—short, respectful.

As they followed the guard toward the exit, Mira leaned closer, whispering:

"Kaelor just saved your ass."

Soren kept walking. "He didn't have to."

"No," she agreed. "But he wanted to. Or someone told him to."

They stepped into the cool evening air at the hall's edge. Bells chimed across the city, signaling the end of Tribunal hours.

Valenna's voice brushed Soren's mind again—quiet, steady.

"Discipline," she said. "Remember it."

He did.

At the foot of the steps, a carriage waited to return them to their quarters.

The moment Soren reached the door, Mira spoke again.

"You know what comes next, right?"

Soren held her gaze. "The verdict?"

She shook her head.

"No. The retaliation."

Soren said nothing.

He didn't have to.

He could already feel it coming.

—

The carriage ride back to Aetherion felt longer than it should have.

The Tribunal spires fell behind them, swallowed by the evening haze, and with every turn of the wheels the tension in the air seemed to twist tighter. Mira sat opposite him, arms crossed, boots planted wide like she intended to fight the carriage itself if it even jolted the wrong way.

Coren Vale—Soren, beneath the skin—kept his eyes on the window.

Aetherion Academy rose in the near distance: terraces of white stone, silver roofs catching the dying light, long stairs descending like ribs down the hillside. Students crossed the courtyards in disciplined flows, unaware or uncaring of what had happened in the Tribunal's chamber.

"You're quiet," Mira said.

He didn't move his gaze. "Just thinking."

"About Kaelor?"

"A little."

She snorted. "He walked into that room like he owned the building."

"He usually does."

"Yeah, but this time it was about you."

Coren didn't answer. He still didn't know how he felt about that—Kaelor standing up for him, without hesitation, without even asking. It wasn't loyalty. It wasn't affection. It was something colder, more precise.

Calculated.

Valenna stirred at that thought, a faint brush at the inside of his wrist.

"He sees your potential," she murmured. "And potential invites interest. Interest invites pressure."

"I know," he whispered under his breath.

Mira glanced at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

The carriage rattled to a stop at the academy gates. The guards stepped aside the instant they saw Mira's crest, and the driver didn't wait for permission before jerking the reins and pulling forward into the courtyard.

Students watched as they passed.

Not with curiosity—Aetherion cadets didn't waste time on gossip—but with calculation, cataloguing what mattered. Mira, the Academy's blunt instrument. And Coren Vale, the first-year who had just escorted a noble-born official through hostile territory and lived.

The carriage halted at the main hall. Mira stood, stretching her shoulders.

"Report to your dorm. Kaelor will probably call you in the morning."

"Probably," Coren echoed.

"And Coren?"

He paused at the step.

"You did good out there." Mira's voice was soft enough to be almost hidden beneath the courtyard wind. "Doesn't matter what the Tribunal thinks. You kept her alive. That's the job."

He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak.

She smirked suddenly. "Also, you scared the piss out of that clerk. So that's a bonus."

He allowed himself a breath of amusement. "That's the part you liked."

"Oh, absolutely."

Mira turned away, heading toward the tactical wing. Coren made his way through the archway leading toward the residential towers.

It wasn't until he walked past the training yard that he realized someone was waiting for him.

Kaelor.

He stood alone near the center of the sparring ring—tunic still crisp despite the long day, hair tied back, posture unmoving. Coren halted instinctively.

"Coren," Kaelor called. "Join me."

There was no option to refuse. Coren stepped onto the packed sand.

Kaelor studied him for several long seconds, gaze sharp as a blade's edge.

"Your Aura manifestation today," he said at last, "was stronger than what you displayed during your entrance evaluation."

Coren kept his voice even. "Circumstances were different."

"Circumstances don't create Aura," Kaelor said. "Discipline does. Intent does."

Coren locked his jaw.

Kaelor continued. "You have progressed faster than I projected. Faster than most first-years in the last decade."

He stepped forward, the sand barely shifting beneath his boots.

"Show me."

Coren blinked. "Now?"

"Yes," Kaelor said. "Here. Now."

The training yard had emptied for the evening; there were no spectators, no distractions. Just the two of them, the cold air, and the weight of expectation.

Valenna whispered, "Do not overreach. Show only what is enough."

Coren nodded subtly.

He drew the sword.

Kaelor's eyes sharpened.

"Stance," the instructor commanded.

Coren shifted into the form Valenna had drilled into him during the journey. Spine aligned, weight forward, shoulders low.

"Initiate."

He pushed the breath out, drawing the line Valenna had carved into him: the invisible path of force, focus, and will.

The Aura flickered—ghostlike at first, then steadier, a faint blue-white shimmer licking along the blade's edge.

Not as bright as in the forest.

Not as forceful.

Controlled.

Kaelor circled him in slow, measured steps.

"Hold."

Coren held. The Aura trembled but stayed.

Kaelor's lip twitched—approval, though he didn't show more than that.

"Enough."

Coren let the breath go, the light fading.

Kaelor stood still for a moment.

Then: "You're hiding something."

Coren's spine stiffened.

Kaelor raised a hand before Coren could speak. "Not something dangerous," he said. "Something… formative. Something you carried before Aetherion."

Coren kept his face blank. "My past doesn't matter."

"Everything matters," Kaelor said quietly. "Especially what a student fears to reveal."

Coren said nothing.

Kaelor stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"I don't need to know your secrets. I only need to know whether they will compromise you."

Coren met his eyes.

"They won't."

Kaelor studied him a moment longer, then nodded once.

"Good. You're dismissed."

Coren sheathed the blade and turned to leave. But before he stepped off the sand, Kaelor spoke again.

"Coren."

He paused.

"If you continue developing at this rate," Kaelor said softly, "Aetherion will not be able to ignore you. Nor will the factions watching from outside."

Coren felt the weight of those words settle like another blade across his shoulders.

Kaelor finished:

"Be ready. Talent draws attention—and attention draws enemies."

Coren left the yard in silence, the sky dimming into indigo above him.

Inside his wrist, Valenna murmured:

"He's right. The world is beginning to notice."

Coren swallowed hard.

Because the truth was simple:

He wasn't ready.

Not yet.

But he would be.

He had to be.

For the first time since arriving at Aetherion, Coren Vale felt the path ahead of him tilt sharply upward—toward danger, toward power, toward the future he'd sworn to carve out alone.

He stepped into the tower shadows, the door closing behind him.

Tomorrow, everything would accelerate.

The dawn bells of Aetherion rang in three descending notes—clean, crystalline, precise. Coren Vale woke on the second, already halfway alert before the sound fully unraveled through the stone halls.

He sat upright, boots hitting the floorboards before memory even caught up: Tribunal, Kaelor, the ambush on the Narrows… the way the Aura had felt—too eager, too easy, like it wanted something from him.

Valenna pulsed faintly beneath his wrist.

"The line is stabilizing. You didn't lose control last night."

Barely, he thought back.

He splashed cold water over his face, tied back his hair, and stepped into the corridor just as students from the other wings were flooding out. The chatter around him was clipped, professional—no gossip, no unnecessary noise—but he felt eyes follow him anyway.

Not because they knew anything about him.

But because prestige clung to him now like a coat he hadn't asked for.

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