The boys Titus had sent to investigate the smoke did not return.
That alone unsettled the castle.
But the smoke did not fade.
Each evening it rose again beyond the eastern mountains, twenty kilometers away, dark and deliberate against the bleeding sky. Not a signal meant to vanish.
A challenge.
By the third night, the tension inside the castle snapped.
All cadets of House Celerion were summoned to gather.
Aerys stood among them and felt as though he were trapped in a mine shaft with frightened children and no foreman. Voices overlapped. Accusations flared. No one commanded The cadets all had different thoughts about this issue.
Callius, Rosis, Jinn, and Léa argued for sending a strike team — their strongest fighters — to investigate, rescue the missing cadets, and gather intelligence.
Aerys could not tell whether Callius truly believed in the plan, or whether he simply understood that appearing decisive gathered loyalty.
The others would remain. Guard the standard. Chop wood. Maintain appearances.
But none of it answered the real question.
Aerys did not know whether their enemies were advancing.
He did not know whether alliances were forming against Celerion.
He did not know how to play this cursed contest.
He suspected — with growing unease — that they were the only House fracturing like this. Other Houses would negotiate. Consolidate. Adapt.
Celerion did not bend toward camaraderie.
Aerys turned to Callius.
"What do you think?"
Callius' eyes were sharp.
"We strike where we are not expected," he said. "The Proctors impose rules to force ingenuity. We exploit every opening. That is the path."
"Oh?" Lysandra cut in coldly. "And naturally, you believe you're the strongest among us?"
Her gaze swept the gathering.
"You think you're better?"
Titus shrugged lazily.
"And you believe you're the cleverest?"
Lysandra's face hardened.
From the corner, Servius burst into laughter.
The debate dragged until finally the mission became voluntary.
Aerys stepped forward.
So did Callius.
Servius followed, grinning.
Jinn. Lysandra.
Titus and several of his clique joined last.
From the castle summit, no enemy movement was visible.
The plains were empty. No riders. No banners of enmie House. To the south, goats wandered near the lakes and lower mountains. To the southeast, beyond a higher ridge, stretched the vast forest of Granwood — thick enough to swallow an army of giants without a trace.
They descended through a valley of tall grass and scattered trees.
Insects bit at their calves.
The smoke still rose.
Then—
"What is that?" Lysandra whispered.
A freight shuttle descended from the clouds.
It settled at the foot of the mountain, between their position and the enemy stronghold. Two arbiters disembarked with a detachment of legionnaires. They erected a long table.
Upon it they placed roasted hams, fresh meat, bread, wine, milk, honey, cheeses.
Eight kilometers from the Tower of ios.
Servius snorted.
"A trap."
"Thank you," Callius muttered dryly. "Still… we haven't eaten."
He glanced at Aerys and smiled.
"A race?"
Aerys startled — then returned the grin.
"On your mark?"
Callius launched downhill like an arrow.
Ighoras had told him not to draw attention.
But strength demanded witnesses.
And Callius deserved company.
Behind them, their companions shouted.
"Bring back roasted ham!" Servius yelled.
Lysandra called them idiots.
The shuttle lifted and vanished.
They ran.
Reinforcing their bodies with Essence, eight kilometers was nothing. The final slope gave way beneath their feet. They crashed into the plain where grass reached mid-calf.
Callius touched the table a fraction before Aerys.
They seized water.
Callius laughed.
"Look at their banner. Solenar."
The fortress was visible across open land. A few scattered trees. Six kilometers of exposed ground.
"We should scout before we feast," Callius said.
"There's something wrong," Aerys murmured.
Callius barked a laugh.
"If they were coming, we'd see them. I doubt they outrun us."
Aerys scanned the horizon.
River to the right.
Forest distant left.
Mountains beyond.
Wind whispered through tall grass.
A swallow drifted low — then veered sharply.
"Something feels weird"
Aerys smiled lazily, leaning against the table.
"They're in the grass," he whispered. "Ambush."
Callius' eyes flashed.
"Steal supplies and run?"
They counted to three.
Then shattered the table legs.
Each seized a broken length of wood.
They charged, roaring.
The grass moved.
Five silhouettes rose almost in unison.
They'd been waiting.
Aerys didn't roar. He didn't sprint blindly.
He inhaled.
Essence slid through his channels and settled in his limbs.
One of the Solenar cadets thrust his palm forward.
A compressed wave of wind detonated across the ground.
Callius twisted mid-step, letting the gust skim past him. His staff flicked out—crack—against the caster's wrist, breaking his focus. The wind spell dissolved.
Aerys pivoted left f his heart pounding as he followed with Kael's battle art.
A blade emerged from the grass—low, precise.
He felt the flare before he saw it.
Essence surged unevenly through the attacker's arm.
Too much.
Too fast.
He stepped inside the arc instead of retreating.
The sword grazed his sleeve.
His hand shot up, clamping around the attacker's wrist.
The Nexus behind the boy's strike pulsed violently.
Reckless output.
Aerys twisted.
The wrist snapped.
The blade fell.
A knee drove into the cadet's ribs, stealing his breath.
He didn't wait for the body to fall.
Another presence moved behind him.
He dropped.
A spear of condensed water sliced through where his neck had been.
So. Dual element.
Interesting.
He rolled, letting Essence reinforce his shoulder as he came up swinging the broken table leg. It collided with the water conjurer's barrier.
Not brute strength.
He fed a thin stream of Essence into the wood—
The barrier destabilized.
Water rippled.
The structure was weak at the lower seam.
He struck again at the exact same point.
The bubble ruptured.
The cadet staggered.
Callius appeared at Aerys's flank like a shadow.
"Left."
Aerys didn't look.
He trusted him.
He ducked as Callius vaulted over him, staff spinning. A clean strike caught a Solenar cadet at the temple. The body collapsed without ceremony.
Two remained.
The grass swayed unnaturally.
Aerys narrowed his eyes.
No wind.
No sound.
He felt it instead.
Essence pooling beneath the soil.
"Underground," he muttered.
The earth erupted.
Stone spikes burst upward.
Callius leapt back—but Aerys moved forward.
He slammed his palm into the ground, forcing his Essence downward.
Not to overpower.
To disrupt.
The spike formation fractured.
The caster surfaced, breath ragged.
Aerys saw it clearly now.
The Nexus.
The rhythm of release.
There—
A half-second lag before compression.
"I can see it," he thought.
The next spike never formed.
Aerys closed the distance before the boy could gather enough Essence again.
One strike to the diaphragm.
A controlled pulse of Essence through his fist.
Not lethal.
Just enough to collapse the Nexus flow.
The cadet crumpled.
Silence.
Only one Solenar remained.
He hesitated.
That was his mistake.
Callius didn't hesitate.
He accelerated with Essence flooding his legs—not explosively, but efficiently. He slipped inside the final cadet's guard and placed the broken staff at his throat.
"Yield."
The boy swallowed.
Grass bent in the wind.
No one else emerged.
Callius stepped back, grinning.
"Well. That was educational."
Aerys scanned the field.
No hidden signatures.
No secondary ambush.
His heart was still pounding—but steady.
He looked at the fallen cadets.
He had felt their Nexus outputs.
Their inefficiencies.
Their waste.
I'm not that good yet.
Kael's battle art echoed in Aerys muscles.
This is nothing compared to what he can do.
Callius grinned at him.
"Aerys, you nearly gave me a heart attack. The way you mouve — I've never seen anyone that fast. Superb."
Aerys said nothing.
"So, you bunch of good-for-nothings, how does it feel to have lost?"
A shadow swallowed the field.
Laughter followed.
"Hahahahaha! You really are impressive!"
Kael descended lazily from the sky, boots touching the grass without a sound. He applauded as if he had just watched street performers.
Callius exhaled.
"The cavalry arrives."
Behind them, Titus and his fastest followers burst from the slope, faces flushed with exertion.
Opposite—
Light gathered above the Solenar fortress.
A golden figure rose.
She did not fly with brute propulsion.
She glided.
Controlled. Efficient.
The Solenar Proctor.
Short-cropped hair. Sunlit armor. A presence that pressed against the skin.
She landed before Kael and extended a bottle and two glasses as if greeting an old friend.
"You're still drinking Celerion?"
Kael accepted the wine.
"And who arranged this charming little spectacle, Solenar?"
She poured slowly.
"Fulgaris grows bored."
Their glasses touched.
Crystal against crystal.
Below them, five cadets bled into the grass.
Aerys felt something cold settle in his chest.
The smoke.
The ambush.
The missing boys.
This had never been about reconnaissance.
"Two of mine are worth five of yours this year," Kael said lightly.
The Solenar Proctor laughed.
"Those ones? Hardly my best."
Hoofbeats erupted from the fortress.
War-painted horses thundered across the plain. Solenar riders leaned low, weighted nets coiled in their hands.
Callius swore.
"That," Kael sighed, sipping his wine, "is unfair."
The riders spread in formation.
Not chaotic.
Trained.
Aerys grabbed Callius' sleeve.
"Forest. Now."
They ran.
Essence flooded their legs.
Nets hissed through the air behind them.
One wrapped around a cadet from Titus' group — the weights snapping tight, disrupting his Nexus flow instantly.
Another followed.
Two captured.
Titus roared and lunged at a rider, dragging her from the saddle through sheer brutality. He raised his boot to crush her skull—
The Solenar Proctor moved.
No wasted motion.
One step.
One flick of her wrist.
Titus crumpled mid-strike.
Unconscious.
The rider beneath him gasped for air.
Silence fell as suddenly as it had shattered.
"Truce," the golden woman declared.
The riders pulled back.
Kael raised his glass again.
"You're still drinking?" she asked. "How do you plan to survive the hangover?"
Kael tapped his temple thoughtfully.
"You can't get a hangover if you're always drunk."
She opened her mouth—
Stopped.
His stare dared her to refute the logic.
A long beat passed.
Then she smiled despite herself.
They toasted again.
Above.
Unbothered.
Below, Titus stirred weakly.
And the smell reached them.
Servius burst into open laughter.
Callius covered his mouth, shaking with barely suppressed amusement.
Aerys watched Titus lying in the grass — defeated, humiliated, soiled like a frightened child.
Then he looked up.
At Kael.
At the Solenar Proctor.
Laughing.
Trading wine.
Discussing them like livestock.
Something inside Aerys aligned.
Not rage.
Not humiliation.
Clarity.
This was not training.
It was cultivation.
They were being measured.
Broken.
Refined.
And the Proctors would cheer no matter who bled.
Aerys began to laugh.
Softly at first.
Then harder.
Callius glanced at him.
"You all right?"
Aerys wiped blood from his lip.
"Yes."
His eyes never left the two Proctors.
"I understand now."
The game was larger than Houses.
Larger than rivalries.
Even larger than survival.
And he intended to learn the rules faster than anyone else.