Alex's steps were silent on the academy's stone corridors. The sun had long dipped below the megacity towers, leaving only emergency lights and dim luminescent panels to break the dark.
His chest ached. His arms and torso throbbed beneath hastily treated bandages. The potions had closed what they could—but not enough. Infection was still a risk.
The infirmary lay several halls ahead.
He knew the route.
Guard rotations. Empty intervals. Surveillance glyph blind spots.
"Don't get caught," he muttered. "Not yet."
A patrol passed. Laughter echoed. Glow-staffs cast long shadows that stretched across the floor.
Alex flattened against the wall.
Tenebris stirred.
Not fully. Just enough.
His outline softened, edges blurring into shadow. When the patrol moved on, he slipped free and continued.
— — —
The infirmary door loomed.
Alex knelt and traced the lock glyph with two fingers. A restrained pulse of Chaos slipped into the mechanism—precise, quiet, just enough to misalign the sequence.
The door hissed open.
Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and herbs. Cold metal. Dried blood.
He shut the door behind him and stripped off his torn tunic.
Scratches crossed his ribs. Deeper gashes cut along his shoulder and side.
He cleaned them in silence.
Every press of the cloth burned. Every movement reminded him how close he'd come to not walking back at all.
"No one can know," he said quietly. "Not the academy. Not Milo. Not Sera."
Tenebris flickered faintly around his hands, shadows pooling to catch stray drops of blood before they hit the floor.
Control.
When the last bandage was secured, Alex leaned back against the wall and breathed.
Tempus. Chaos. Lux. Tenebris.
All present. All quiet.
For a moment, the thought surfaced—open sky, wings spread, Orionis Sagitta carving light through the air.
He pushed it down.
Tomorrow would come regardless.
— — —
Morning light cut through the training hall windows.
Alex entered with his head lowered.
Kaelthar was already there.
The instructor's gaze found him instantly.
"Well," Kaelthar said, voice dry. "You look like you lost a disagreement."
Alex said nothing.
Kaelthar stepped closer, eyes tracing the faint stiffness in his posture, the careful way he moved his shoulder.
"Extracurricular training?" Kaelthar asked. "Or a lapse in judgment?"
Alex shrugged once.
Kaelthar studied him for a long moment.
"I won't report it," he said finally. "But understand this—injuries heal. Secrets don't."
He tapped the rim of Alex's kite shield twice.
"Out there, you don't win by looking skilled. You win by removing the enemy's ability to act."
Then he stepped away.
— — —
Training resumed.
Alex underperformed.
Every feint came late. Every parry lacked follow-through. Pain helped sell it.
Milo noticed—but didn't comment.
Then Sera stepped into the center of the hall.
Three advanced students moved to surround her.
Alex watched closely.
She controlled distance without force. Redirected momentum instead of meeting it. Forced errors before they formed.
The fight ended quickly.
Clean.
Kaelthar clapped once.
"Remember this," he said. "Ambushes punish hesitation."
— — —
Later, Sera passed Alex.
"You favor your left," she said.
He stiffened.
"You adjusted fast," she added. "Too fast."
She didn't wait for an answer.
"Patterns get noticed," she said quietly. "Before power does."
— — —
That night, the practice yard was empty.
Alex stood alone and activated Tenebris.
Shadows folded inward.
He practiced without spectacle. Orionis Sagitta fired low and controlled. Movements clipped, restrained, deliberately imperfect.
Tempus slowed perception just enough to study recovery windows.
Lux held him steady.
Chaos nudged instinct.
Hours passed.
By the time he stopped, sweat soaked his clothes and his muscles burned—but his mind was clear.
Control wasn't about hiding forever.
It was about choosing when not to.
The field mission loomed.
And this time, he wouldn't be alone.