The return to the Elder's Pavilion was a quiet, anticlimactic affair. Ren, running on the last fumes of his willpower, reported his success. Elder Tian listened to the debrief with his usual stoic impassivity, his only reaction a slow, deliberate nod when Ren described the self-destruction of the Aegis prototype. There were no congratulations, no praise. Success was simply the expected outcome.
The Elder's final command was simple: "Rest. Recover. Await my instructions."
And so, Ren slept. For three days this time, his body and mind sank into a deep, healing torpor. The mission had pushed him past his limits, and the price was a profound, soul-deep exhaustion that no amount of simple rest could fully erase. He had stared into the heart of the Pagoda's ambition and thrown a wrench into the machine, but the echoes of its furious, dying roar still resonated within him.
When he finally emerged from his chamber, feeling human once more, he found the Pavilion unchanged. The garden was serene, the archive silent. It was as if his desperate, life-or-death struggle had been a dream. He was given a simple meal and then summoned to the garden where Elder Tian was, once again, pruning his crystalline tree.
"The official report from the Pagoda has been circulated at the highest levels of GAMA," the Elder said, not looking up from his task. "It speaks of a tragic accident at their Northern Range Geological Survey Outpost. A cascading power failure initiated by a faulty Kylin-class regulator led to the catastrophic destruction of their primary research project and the regrettable loss of several promising researchers. They have formally requested GAMA's assistance in the investigation, citing potential regional Aetheric instability."
Ren listened, his face a mask of stone. He had not just destroyed a machine; he had ended lives. The knowledge settled in his gut like a cold, heavy stone. It was a necessary act, a preemptive strike in a secret war, but it was a grim first step on a dark path.
"They suspect nothing," the Elder continued, snipping a leaf with a crisp, final sound. "They are blaming their own flawed engineering. Their arrogance is, as always, our greatest ally. However, the ripples of your actions are spreading. Security at all major GAMA facilities, including this academy, has been quietly elevated. The Pagoda's request for assistance will be granted, and we can expect to see their 'investigators'—and their new detection equipment—in the coming weeks."
He finally turned to Ren, his eyes holding a familiar, calculating light. "Your time as a ghost is over, for now. Your confinement is lifted. You will resume the public life of an ordinary student. You will attend your classes. You will eat in the refectory. You will sleep in your dormitory. You will be Ren, the Aether-Deaf Initiate, the academy's most spectacular failure."
The command was clear. After a month of solitary, intensive training and two impossible missions, he was to return to the bottom of the ladder. He was to hide his new-found mastery behind a cloak of utter mediocrity.
"The best place to hide a weapon," the Elder finished, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "is in plain sight, where no one would ever think to look for one."
Returning to his spartan cell in the Western Barracks felt like putting on a suit of clothes that no longer fit. The room was just as he had left it, but he had changed. The dusty air, the hard cot, the single grimy window—it all seemed like a stage set for a play he was no longer a part of.
He sat on his cot, the silence of the room a stark contrast to the thrumming power of the Pavilion. He was Ren, the academy dud. He repeated the thought to himself, reinforcing the persona, the illusion he now had to live. He reached out with his senses, weaving the familiar, convincing signature of a powerless commoner around himself. He was a rock. He was a ghost. He was nothing.
He was so focused on rebuilding his mental fortress that he almost missed it. A quiet knock on his door. It was not the silent servant from the Pavilion. It was hesitant, uncertain.
Ren rose and opened the door. Standing in the corridor, her expression a complex mixture of intense curiosity, academic frustration, and reluctant respect, was Anya Volkov. In her hands, she held a small, exquisitely crafted wooden box.
"Ren," she said, her voice clear and direct, with none of the usual scorn of his peers. "I have spent the last month analyzing the event at the training grounds. My calculations are inconclusive. Your methods are… an anomaly."
She held out the box. "This is a Grade-4 Spirit Core from a Tempest Wolf. Its Aether is pure, stable, and will aid significantly in cultivation. Consider it a research grant. I wish to study you."