Ranks and Roles
The sun cracked pale over the capital's outer plaza, where banners snapped against the wind and glyph-bound flags shimmered with heatless flame.
Ashen stood in the middle of a courtyard shaped like a six-pointed star. Around him, squads from all over the kingdom gathered — formations tight, uniforms polished, laughter contained behind ranks of pride.
The Halloween Banner did not match. Kael leaned against a broken pillar. Tess hummed off-key, her doll upside down in her arms. Brill's cloak dragged a trail of ink where it had been dipped in his own spellwork. Lina and Fen remained alert, unimpressed by the grandeur.
Ashen felt every stare. Not at the squad — at him.
"First time outside the Banner's cliff," Kael said to no one in particular. "I forgot how judgmental the sky looks when it's clean."
Lina grunted. "Focus."
An officiant in a polished white robe stepped forward. "Today, we recognize the induction of over fifty apprentices from across the kingdom, newly granted status under the Knight Orders. Present your names and ranks when called."
The ceremony began — name after name, rank after rank. Most passed in a blur: confident voices, polished gear, magical pride.
Then —
"Ashen. Unattuned Apprentice. Halloween Banner."
Murmurs swelled.
"Unattuned?" someone whispered. "What does that mean?"
"He's the one with no magic," another voice said. "The one with the pendant."
The officiant blinked. "Unattuned... is not a standard designation."
Drael spoke from behind Ashen. "It is now. He wields anti-magic. Classification pending."
More murmurs. Shock. Some laughter.
The officiant cleared his throat and nodded stiffly. "So recorded."
Ashen stepped back.
Then came the name that stole the air from his lungs.
"Ren. Attuned Apprentice. Tempest Fang Squad."
Ashen turned slightly.
Ren walked tall, clean-cut, his uniform perfectly fitted. A storm sigil shimmered on the chest — the unmistakable mark of Tempest Fang, the elite lightning-affinity squad known for aggression and honor.
Their eyes met.
Ren offered the slightest nod. Not mockery. Not friendship. Just a silent claim: I'm here too. And I'm watching.
Another name followed — and this time, Ashen's breath caught.
"Alric. Attuned Apprentice. Radiant Dawn Squad."
Alric — the boy from the Hall of Selection. The one who had received the Celestial Shard, chosen by light itself while Ashen had stood unclaimed. He looked just as radiant as before: polished, precise, powerful.
Ashen remembered the glow that surrounded him then, the effortless way the artifact had leapt to his call.
Alric did not look at Ashen. But his presence said everything.
Dozens more names were called. Most faded into background noise — but Ashen would remember the two who didn't.
Later, Ashen stood with the others as banners were raised, formal ranks recorded, and positions announced. He was assigned the lowest level — apprentice observer — but with captain override. Only Drael could issue him orders.
"You're not just new," Lina said, walking beside him as the squads dispersed. "You're rewriting the page."
Ashen didn't know if that was praise or warning.
"Don't get comfortable," she added. "We're up next in sparring rotation."
He blinked. "Wait. Sparring?"
Kael clapped him on the back. "Oh, this is going to be deliciously awkward."
Combat Exercises
The training fields behind the assembly hall stretched like a tiled arena — square, gridded, enchanted for impact absorption. Tall glyph-posts glowed at each corner, their magic syncing with the central command staff.
Each squad had a section of the viewing platform, marked by colors and emblems sewn into fluttering banners.
Squad Auric Lance stood in neat formation — golden-armored, light-drenched, masters of radiant offense.
Tempest Fang took the field with Ren at the front, lightning flickering from his fingertips.
They faced Iron Root, whose thick-armed apprentices bore earth-engraved gauntlets and grounded stances.
Their duel lit up the ground with electrical arcs and cracking stone — fast, brutal, efficient. Ren won clean.
Next came Radiant Dawn vs. Vesper Shade.
Alric gleamed like a miniature sun as he clashed with shadows from Vesper Shade — a stealth-based squad known for illusions and assassination. The crowd was spellbound. Alric won without raising his voice.
Obsidian Vale followed, demolishing Iron Root's reserves with seismic force. Their cloaks smoked with the residue of collapsed barriers.
Then came the final match.
"Final match. Demonstration bout. Halloween Banner — volunteer pairing."
Silence.
Drael spoke. "Ashen. In."
Ashen blinked. "What?"
"You observe by doing. Get in the ring."
Kael: "Go haunt them."
Ashen stepped in.
From Vortex Bloom, a girl in wind-threaded silks stepped forward — a plant-and-air hybrid squad, famed for disruption.
"Begin."
The match was strange. Her vines wrapped. His cloak consumed. Her petals sliced. His gauntlet nullified.
Eventually, the arena's sensors failed to track damage.
The duel was ended. "Match inconclusive. Anti-magic mechanics pending review."
Ashen left the ring in silence — not of rejection, but of growing curiosity.
Political Undercurrents
Back on the viewing balcony, captains watched quietly. One — Varros of Crimson Pike, infamous for strict protocols — stared hard at Drael.
Brill muttered, "They're not just watching. They're archiving."
Ashen was dismissed like everyone else — but when the Banner returned to their quarters, the tension had changed.
"You're not invisible anymore," Lina said. "They're either going to silence you — or study you."
Ashen didn't answer.
That night, the pendant pulsed once in the dark.
A Shadow of Concern
Rain tapped softly on the manor's windows.
Ashen sat alone in the map room, a dozen old tomes and Brill's floating orb open before him. Lina brought a sealed ledger.
It showed squad records — and missing decades.
"They erase what doesn't fit," she said.
Brill offered a cracked crystal shard — a pre-Founding Era seal. Ashen touched it.
The pendant pulsed. The shard cracked in half.
"That was rejection," Brill whispered. "Not defense."
Tess wandered in. Umbra blinked slowly.
"She says the air feels thinner tonight."
Ashen nodded, staring at the pages.
"Then we better be ready."
Private Training Begins
In the south wing's sealed chamber, Ashen faced Drael.
"Anti-magic is disruption," Drael explained. "Not power. Precision."
They trained — shadow spikes, illusions, misdirection. Ashen absorbed and deflected, cloak flickering with absorbed threads.
"You're not using force," Drael said. "You're unmaking intent."
They clashed for hours. Ashen learned not to fight against magic, but around it.
"You're not there yet," Drael said finally.
Ashen nodded, exhausted.
"I will be."
Whispered Threats
That night, Kael searched through obscure scrolls and found mention of The Silencing Year — a moment in history where magic failed. Erased from records.
Downstairs, a shadow slipped through the wards.
It reached Ashen's room.
The pendant pulsed once — then again.
The spell unravelled on contact.
Brill woke. Rushed to Ashen's door.
"You felt it too?" Ashen asked.
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"I don't know. But it was afraid of you."
Ashen didn't smile. "I don't want them afraid. I want them to stop."
The pendant glowed softly in the dark.