The Beastbinder's Ascension

Chapter 117: Believable Lies


The walk back from the registrar was shorter than it should've been.

Not physically—he followed the same path through the east corridor, past the terraced garden wall, through the copper-etched arch that led toward the academic spires—but something inside him had shortened the distance.

The crystal had pulsed.

And he had passed.

Aston didn't feel relief. Not quite. Relief implied something had been out of his hands.

But it hadn't been. Every thread of spirit he released, every fraction of potential he allowed to be seen, was deliberate.

They saw red.

Not gold. Not clear.

Not truth.

Just enough.

Enough to match the record created by the Crimson Genesis Elixir. Enough to align with the narrative they'd all convinced themselves was real.

It was the version of him they wanted to believe in.

Aston Rhyner: gifted but explainable.

He reached the dorm by midday.

The building buzzed with movement—students returning from midday sessions, shouts from the courtyard sparring field below. A second-year group lingered by the stairs, talking in low tones.

One of them glanced at Aston.

And the moment they did, the murmur began to ripple.

"…he's back from the verification…"

"…it's true, then? Red confirmed?"

"…guess the elixir really worked…"

Aston didn't meet their eyes. He walked past them like mist sliding around stone.

Inside his room, Gray lifted his head from the sun-warmed windowsill, blinked once, then flicked his tail in greeting.

Aston set down his satchel. Mirage, nearly invisible in her perch above the doorframe, gave a single beat of her wings.

He sat on the bed and leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands laced.

It was done.

They had confirmed the lie.

And because they had, the truth now hid in plain sight.

His device buzzed in his pockets.

[Registrar Notice Logged: Reawakening Verified – Red Core Confirmed. Internal documentation synced with central academy records. Empire access registered.]

[Public Access: Updated.]

Aston watched as the notification faded.

So that was it.

There would be no more speculation. No more guesses.

Only belief.

And belief, Aston knew, was harder to challenge than truth.

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By the time the bell rang for first class, he was already on the move.

It was a Thursday—meaning his Scouting Arts track classes would fill the day. Less theory, more movement. Less watching, more being watched.

08:00 – Scouting Tactics & Terrain Adaptation, with Instructor Oscar Valen.

The moment Aston stepped through the training dome entrance, the change in atmosphere was obvious.

The rustle of uniforms. The subtle halt in chatter. The pivot of several heads, not all at once, but close.

Rowan was already stretching near the climbing wall. He raised a hand in greeting.

"Morning, ghostwalker," he said under his breath.

Aston offered only a nod, moving to the equipment rack.

Instructor Oscar began the briefing without preamble, cane tapping once against the terrain platform.

"Today's map is a ridgeline simulation. Variable elevation, low visibility, scent suppression active. You will coordinate recon without direct spirit communication. I don't care how fancy your beasts are. If you can't read a ridge's shadow, you're a liability in the field."

His gaze swept the room. For a moment, it rested on Aston.

A flicker of thought. No words.

Then he looked away.

As teams were called up, Aston was paired with two unfamiliar students—both upper-rank first-years from different divisions. Neither said much, though one of them whispered quietly while they waited for their turn.

"…that's the one from the crystal room, right?"

"Red confirmed. Came from clear."

"No one does that without a freak elixir."

Aston kept his breathing steady as they entered the simulation.

The terrain shifted—jagged ledges, shifting mist, rolling hills outlined in false dusk. He moved like a shadow between the fog lines, each step controlled. Gray padded silently beside him. Mirage drifted in soft recon arcs above.

When they finished, Instructor Oscar tapped the side of his board.

"Efficient. Quiet. Under par time."

No praise. But no correction.

Which, from him, meant more than most applause.

09:15 – Spirit Beast Integration for Recon.

Instructor Ilyen Vey, as always, was concise.

"No visual feedback today," she announced. "You'll be receiving your partner beast's impressions through limited sensory relay. All vocalizations will be muted. Interpretation is key."

Aston's name was drawn in the second set.

He placed his hand on the relay sigil, eyes closing, letting Mirage's echoes fill his thoughts—vibrations of pressure, flicks of shifting air, the silent alert of energy ahead.

He identified the false decoy, bypassed the emotional bait illusion, and mapped the creature nest three seconds before the system log caught up.

Instructor Ilyen nodded once.

"Correct. Minimal noise. Maximum value."

Another student muttered under her breath, "Of course it's him…"

And the class moved on.

10:30 – Long Range Observation & Risk Profile.

Instructor Elric Dane was already sketching threat vectors when they arrived. He said nothing about Aston's return, didn't blink at the updated core tag on his file.

But when Aston submitted his second scenario—a ruined tower zone riddled with heat signatures and shifting cover—the instructor spoke, quiet but clear.

"You revised your tolerance bands."

Aston nodded. "Based on new projections. Higher tier threats escalate faster than expected under masked resonance."

Dane looked at him, then simply said, "Noted."

No one needed it spelled out.

Aston Rhyner had returned.

And he wasn't just clearer than before.

He was sharper.

At lunch, Aston sat at the stone bench in the lower courtyard, tray balanced neatly beside him. Mirage perched on the tree branch above, tail feathers folded. Gray slept under the bench, paws twitching faintly.

Kai approached first, offering a meat bun before plopping down beside him.

"You'd think clearing your core would lower the gossip," Kai muttered.

Rowan dropped next to him with a dramatic groan. "Nope. Just made it more delicious."

Seria arrived last, her tone quiet.

"They think red is rare," she said. "They don't realize… sometimes the color people see is just the one they're told to believe in."

Aston didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

Because now, they believed.

And that was enough.

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