The Ignis Marshal's office had seen more guests than usual of late. Yesterday morning it was the infamous Ignisant lady, who never cared to make an appointment whenever she came. Today, it was her Captain. A different breed entirely. He didn't storm up the stairs like his platinum-haired subordinate. He informed, and waited, like the well-mannered officer he was. Every time.
The receptionist glanced up from his desk now and then, catching glimpses of the blue-eyed Vellien sitting in the waiting lounge, a folder laid neatly on his lap. From that angle the Captain looked like a statue, his dour expression never shifting. At last the Marshal's aide descended the stairs and gave the word. Only then did the statue return to flesh, rising to follow the aide upstairs.
The Marshal seemed to be in higher spirits than most mornings, though the Captain brought no light with him. As the aide closed the door behind him, Vellien gave a crisp salute. When he spoke, his voice was deep and resonant, every syllable grave.
"Marshal Denelle, I believe your aide informed you. I have concerns regarding one of my squad members."
That opening had become far too familiar to Killian Denelle. He sank into his chair, his features softening with a knowing half-smile. "Is it Clemens again?"
"Indeed." Vellien nodded. "Though this time it was not about her conduct, sir. I learned yesterday, from Clemens herself, that she had access to the Workshop." He did not need to finish. Only the Marshal could grant such permission. His intent was clear—he had come to ask why.
Killian caught on quickly. It surprised him, though, how Vellien had found out. Likely one of Sina's little games, a tease meant to keep the Captain at bay. Regardless, the Marshal once more found himself dealing with the fallout of his problem child's impulses.
"Clemens is involved in the development of a new model of ignisers," he said carefully. "Given her record in the field and her expertise, I deemed it suitable that she lead the project alongside our master smiths."
Vellien absorbed this in silence. He knew there was more, but it was not his place to pry. At last he inclined his head. "Then perhaps my concern was over the line, sir."
"Not at all," Killian said, folding his arms on the desk and leaning forward. "I encourage any concern brought before me, Captain—large or small. Now, I believe you also have the list of proposed instructors for our Trainee Ignisants?"
"Of course, sir." Vellien stepped forward, withdrew a sheet from his folder, and laid it squarely upon the desk before returning to his place.
Killian skimmed the names. Ten Ignisants for ten trainees. His eyes lifted. "No Clemens?"
"Clemens' unpredictability and unwillingness to cooperate make her ill-suited as an instructor," Vellien said. "Besides, it seems she is already occupied with duties at the Workshop."
Killian set the paper down, his brow drawing together. "Perhaps we differ in view, Captain Tressine. To me, Clemens' volatility is exactly why she should instruct. Her disregard for protocol has long been one of your greatest concerns. Placing her as an instructor may rouse her sense of discipline—and perhaps spark an interest in partnership, which would address another of your standing concerns. Would it not?"
Vellien's gaze lowered. The Marshal's insistence caught him off guard. At first he thought the question about Sina had been no more than habit, but the weight in the Marshal's tone told him otherwise. It was not a suggestion. It was an order.
"Ignisant Rho reported that Clemens has shown no interest in taking part in training," he said, watching the Marshal closely.
Killian dropped the words lightly. "Then make her."
Vellien's doubt was confirmed. The Marshal had wanted it done. Reluctant though he was, he inclined his head once more, dutiful as ever. "Understood, sir. I will see to it that Clemens be included."
"Good." Killian set the list aside, pleased. "Let her choose whichever trainee she prefers. That way she will be more open to it."
Vellien had expected as much. Sina Clemens had always been given leeway others were denied. He had never understood why. Still, if it made persuading her easier, he would not object. "And my assignment once the training concludes, sir?" he asked instead.
"Hard to say." Killian sighed, considering. "Matters in the west are shifting."
"Shifting?" Vellien pressed, his tone careful. "Can you be more specific?"
"I met His Majesty this morning." Killian's brows furrowed slightly, as though replaying the conversation word for word. "He gave me a list of names. Six Dravinian clan chiefs. He made it clear our Corps would see to them in the coming months, while the others hold defense. Once that list is clear, he believes the war can be brought to its end."
The words fell heavy. Vellien's mouth parted, only for a breath, before he mastered himself again. The Dravinians had grown more wary of Nivara's ignisers, the weapons that could strike a man from impossible distances. Their scouts now roamed wider, making it harder than ever for Ignisants to reach quartermasters at depots, let alone clan chiefs. The task was steep, and he knew it.
"I can return to the front once my duty with the trainees is complete, sir," Vellien said without pause.
"Your dedication is noted, Captain." Killian gave a nod. "For now, keep your focus on the training. I'll delegate the names first to those already stationed there. I expect it will take more than ten weeks, so there's a chance your wish will be granted. But nothing is certain."
Vellien understood. If he failed to anchor Sina in her new role, she might grow restless and move on the list herself—before anyone knew it.
"I will await your order, sir," he said, mindful of the time. "I will excuse myself now."
"Of course, Captain."
With a formal salute, Vellien left the Marshal's office. His steps carried him swiftly down the Command Tower and out toward the Training Center.
The Training Center stood plain among the clustered office blocks, a grey stone structure with little to mark it out. Most days, it lay sealed and silent, its glass windows shut tight. Only when Ignisants returned for their annual requalification—or when trainees were brought into the Compound, which was rare—did its halls stir to life. Today, the shutters stood open. The trainees were already inside.
Dalen Rho sat at the desk on the dais. Beneath him, the ten familiar faces. In his presence the lecture room held its tongue. Voices sank to muffled tones, eyes speaking more than lips. The lecture room was broad enough to scatter sound, and with so few gathered, every word threatened to echo.
Soren and his brother Seppo, quiet by nature, chose silence. Beside them, Aren could not. His words pressed out, and Enari, as always, was willing to meet him halfway, even if his replies carried no enthusiasm.
At the sound of the wooden door sliding open, every murmur died. Dalen, along with all ten, jolted to their feet. They stood in salute for the man clad in indigo who entered the room.
"Captain Tressine," Dalen greeted, his tone respectful.
Vellien did not return the salute at once. His gaze sweep the room instead, taking in the ten figures frozen before him. Faces blank, lips pressed tight, arms held rigid. This was their first time standing before their head instructor. All of them—except Soren.
Vellien noticed him right away. He remembered the encounter from the day before. He had been startled at the sight of Sina's platinum hair across the court, only to find her hands cupping the young trainee's face before he could reach her. She had her reasons, and they had been sound enough. But the way it had looked lingered still, ill-fitting in his eyes.
"Ignisant Rho," Vellien said at last, offering the salute.
Only then did the trainees lower their arms.
Vellien mounted the dais at a measured pace, the sound of his boots carrying across the lecture room, heavy and echoing. When he reached the center, the silence deepened. His gaze had not once left Soren.
And Soren, for his part, did not waver. He met the Captain's glare without a flicker—no fear, no deference.
Gold against steel, the clash wordless yet sharp. The weight of it pressed on every chest, until even the room seemed to draw in breath and keep it.