The map hovered between Arion and Theal, held in place by controlled Resonance.
It was not symbolic.
Lines of blue light traced the planet's surface—cities, conduits, transit corridors. The capital region around Aurelin glowed brightest, dense with monitoring nodes and stabilized flow regulators. Beyond it, the light thinned—not broken, not chaotic, simply less reinforced.
"This is the current array," Theal said, adjusting one of the projection rings. "Capital-focused. High-density coverage. Stable."
Arion studied the outer regions. "And everywhere else?"
Theal rotated the projection. Border provinces came into view—settled, organized, and functioning largely on local oversight.
"Operational," Theal said. "But dependent on delayed reporting and regional authorities. We respond after an incident, not before."
Arion nodded once. "Which means by the time we act, damage is already done."
Theal didn't disagree.
Ten years earlier, the choice had been necessary. The capital had to be secured first. Aurelin had to survive before anything else could.
But the world had moved on.
"These regions recognize the Crown," Arion said. "They follow imperial law when it aligns with their needs. Beyond that, they govern themselves because we lack the reach to intervene consistently."
"And because we allowed it," Theal added.
"Yes," Arion replied. "As a temporary measure."
Theal glanced at him. "You don't believe it should stay temporary."
"No," Arion said. "Protection shouldn't depend on how close someone lives to the Spire."
Theal expanded the projection. Additional markers appeared—trade hubs, industrial centers, military depots, major conduit intersections.
Arion gestured toward them. "These are the anchor points. Not cities alone—flow junctions. If we reinforce them, we create overlap. Redundancy."
Theal's expression sharpened. "A distributed array."
"Planetary," Arion confirmed. "Interlinked, not centralized. No single failure point."
Theal exhaled slowly. "The strain would be significant."
"Manageable," Arion said. "With Codex-assisted regulation. Yours to model the flow. Mine to stabilize execution."
That gave Theal pause.
"A predictive network," he said. "Not just detection."
"Yes," Arion replied. "We see destabilization before it becomes a crisis."
"And if someone is deliberately interfering," Theal added, "we see where they're pushing."
"Exactly."
Theal began marking sites. "Military deployment will be required. Transport access. Fabrication."
"House Corven handles production and security," Arion said. "House Vayne moves materials discreetly. Toren and Mirai manage logistics."
Theal glanced at him. "You already coordinated this."
"I've planned it," Arion corrected. "Execution starts now."
Theal nodded. "Then we proceed quietly. No public declarations."
"Agreed," Arion said. "This is infrastructure, not theater."
The Academy had changed in ten years.
It was no longer just a place of instruction—it was a pipeline.
Graduates served across the Realm as wardens, advisors, researchers, and field operatives. Some never saw combat. Others spent most of their time beyond city walls.
Inside one of the combat halls, a third-year class stood in formation.
"No blades yet," Mark Renver said calmly. "Resonance first."
The students closed their eyes.
Resonance flowed—not as raw energy, but as reinforcement. Muscles hardened. Bone density increased. Reflexes sharpened.
"Strength comes from communication," Mark continued. "If you force it, you burn out. If you listen, your body adapts."
One student overextended. His stance wavered.
Mark stepped in immediately, steadying him. "You don't dominate Resonance. You cooperate with it."
Across the hall, weapons rested on racks—metal blades, reinforced staves, composite frames.
When students took them up, Resonance coated the surface, not as decoration, but as reinforcement—sharpening edges, strengthening structure, increasing impact tolerance.
Compatibility mattered.
Those who understood that progressed.
In a nearby workshop, Liria King knelt beside a partially assembled device.
"This isn't about creativity alone," she said to the students gathered around her. "Constructs exist to solve problems."
She activated the frame. Resonance flowed through etched channels, powering motion, stabilization, and output.
"Materials matter," Liria continued. "Design matters. Flow efficiency matters. Anyone can build something. Few can make it last."
One student raised a hand. "What about Codex constructs?"
Liria's mouth twitched. "That's not a standard you should compare yourselves to."
Across the room, Maren Sol studied a stream of Resonance data.
"These fluctuations repeat," he said to his instructor. "Low-level. Structured."
"Dangerous?" she asked.
"Not yet," Maren replied. "But intentional."
From above, Keal observed the Academy grounds.
"They're learning faster than we did," he said.
Arion stood beside him. "They don't have the luxury of ignorance."
Keal glanced at him. "You're stretching the Empire outward."
"Yes."
"And trusting others to hold the center."
"I have to," Arion said. "Power concentrated too tightly becomes brittle."
Keal nodded. "Then we build wider."
Below them, students trained, studied, argued, and adapted—unaware of how close the world already was to being tested.
And for now, that was enough.