The second bell of the day rang like a blade dragged across stone.
Support Division students trickled onto the broad walkway connecting Ashthorne's wings, their legs shaky from Mistress Halien's brutal lesson. Some clutched their notes. Some clutched their chests. A few looked like they were reconsidering life choices.
Caelum walked calmly among them.
No rush.
No anxiety.
No wasted motion.
The fog had thinned, replaced by harsh sunlight that cast long shadows from the academy towers—shadows that fell across students like dark fingers.
A Combat Division group stomped past, laughing loudly, reeking of sweat and arrogance.
One of them—broad-shouldered, shaved head, Kaldros insignia burned into his uniform collar—shouldered past Caelum on purpose.
Caelum didn't budge.
The boy frowned.
"You bump into me again, Reject," the Kaldros brute growled, "and I'll snap your—"
He froze.
Caelum had turned to look at him.
Not glaring.
Not challenging.
Just… looking.
Calm.
Blank.
Dangerously polite.
The brute's mouth snapped shut.
A tremor passed down his arm.
He stepped back without realizing it.
His friends noticed.
"Darin, you good?"
"You look like you saw a ghost."
"What's with your hand shaking?"
Darin swallowed hard.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Let's go."
They left quickly.
Lira watched, wide-eyed.
"You didn't even say anything," she whispered.
Caelum simply resumed walking.
"I didn't need to."
Ashthorne's Lecture Hall 3 — Strategy Division Shared Class
Support Division shared this next class with Strategy Division. The hall was enormous—rows of benches rising high along stone walls carved with battle maps and sigil formations. The ceiling was domed, painted with scenes of ancient wars: floating armies, beasts stitched from threads of reality, Transcendents towering over burning plains.
Caelum's eyes traced every mural, storing each detail.
He entered the hall last.
The moment he stepped inside, the room buzzed faintly.
It wasn't volume.
It wasn't attention.
It was awareness.
Someone here had been expecting him.
He saw her before she spoke.
Seraphine Pyrell sat alone near the center row, posture perfect, crimson sigil-fire faintly trailing from her fingertips like drifting embers. Other students gave her a respectful perimeter—none dared sit too close.
Her eyes—the color of dying coals—shifted toward Caelum.
Not hostile.
Not curious.
Studying.
She watched him walk up the steps until he took a seat three rows behind her.
Only then did she return her gaze to the front.
The Pyrell girl is too perceptive. She will become… interesting.
Lira sat beside Caelum. Marenne sat a row ahead, already preparing quills and notes with frightening energy.
Jalen slumped into a seat far in the back.
The lights dimmed.
The air thickened.
A smell of hot metal filled the room.
And then—
BOOM.
A figure appeared at the front in a burst of yellow light.
Short, wiry, wearing a patchwork coat full of ink-stains and burned holes, hair sticking out like an explosion. A sigil-ink quill was lodged behind one ear. His eyes were frantic and bright.
Everyone stiffened.
Caelum immediately understood:
This man is brilliant… and unhinged.
The instructor slapped a stack of papers onto the desk hard enough to make the front row jump.
"Good morning, fledglings!" he announced cheerfully. "Welcome to Applied Sigil Theory and Tactical Resonance!"
Half the room groaned.
He grinned.
"I am Instructor Rennik. I will be your favorite instructor."
A beat.
"Or your most hated. It varies by student."
Lira whimpered softly.
Ren¬nik clapped his hands sharply.
"Today! We will begin with something simple."
He waved a hand, and floating sigils appeared in the air—interlocking geometric shapes glowing with golden light.
"Resonance webs. The foundation of multi-sigil combat and tactical synergy. Which most of you will fail to understand!"
He beamed.
Whispers rippled through the hall.
Marenne leaned forward, fascinated.
Caelum leaned back slightly, listening.
"The web!" Ren¬nik said dramatically, "reflects the flow of intention across casters. Three casters? Small web. Ten casters? Fragmented web. A thousand casters? Glorious war catastrophe!"
He sighed, dreamy.
"I miss the old days."
The class did not.
Ren¬nik snapped his fingers.
A new sigil web appeared—more complex, vibrating with layered chords of power.
"This," he said, "is the standard Imperial Field Web Formation. Anyone who cannot memorize this in the next ten minutes will be effectively useless in large-scale battles."
Several students panicked.
Caelum studied the sigil.
He saw immediately what was wrong with it.
Not a flaw—an intentional inefficiency.
A weakness hidden inside the pattern so it could be remotely collapsed by command if a squad rebelled or failed to obey.
A leash built from geometry.
Syldros never trusts its soldiers. Understandable.
Ren¬nik continued rambling happily.
"It is simple! It is elegant! It only causes soul paralysis if misaligned by more than eight degrees."
Another whimper from Lira.
"Now!" Ren¬nik suddenly shouted. "Who here can identify the anchor of the entire structure? Raise your hand!"
Silence.
Even the nobles looked lost.
Ren¬nik sighed dramatically.
"Very well. I shall pick someone at random."
Every student froze.
Then he spun.
Pointed directly at Caelum.
"You! Slate-boy! The Veylor reject!"
The room went dead silent.
Seraphine Pyrell's head turned slightly, watching.
Marenne stiffened but didn't look surprised.
Lira whispered, trembling, "Caelum…?"
He stood quietly.
Ren¬nik grinned, teeth sharp.
"Come come come! Explain the anchor of the Imperial Field Web Formation."
Caelum descended the steps, expression calm, breathing steady.
He reached the glowing diagram.
Ren¬nik leaned in eagerly.
"So, boy? What do you see?"
Caelum studied the structure for a single heartbeat.
Then pointed at the top-left resonance node.
"This anchor," he said softly, "is not a true stabilizer. It's a decoy. The real anchor is the pivot here—"
He touched a point so subtle it didn't even glow brightly.
The room held its breath.
"—which controls the fallback synchronization. Remove it, and the entire formation collapses inward, strangling the web."
Ren¬nik froze.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Thrilled.
"YES!" he shouted, leaping three feet into the air. "Correct! Exactly correct! A perfect explanation! Do you see, class? A Support weakling has more brain than the rest of you combined!"
Gasps.
Snickers.
Glares.
Ren¬nik clapped Caelum on the shoulder with manic affection.
"Excellent, excellent, Veylor trash-child! You have a better eye for sigil anatomy than most third-years!"
He leaned in, eyes wide with excitement.
"Tell me—who was your mentor?"
Caelum blinked once.
"No one."
Ren¬nik stared.
Then grinned widely, whispering:
"Liar."
And walked away.
Caelum returned to his seat.
Lira whispered, "How did you know that?"
Marenne turned halfway in her seat, eyes gleaming.
"You solved it instantly."
Caelum didn't answer either of them directly.
He simply said, "It was obvious."
Seraphine Pyrell watched him from three rows ahead, her finger tapping slowly on the edge of her desk.
She wasn't smiling.
She wasn't frowning.
She was thinking.
And that was far more dangerous.
As class ended…
Ren¬nik shouted after Caelum as students filed out,
"Veylor! You're on my list now!"
Lira paled.
Marenne looked intrigued.
Jalen groaned, "That's never good."
Caelum simply adjusted his uniform sleeve and walked into the hall, Sigil threads humming pleasantly at the stimulation.
Two instructors in one day.
Both saw enough to be curious.
That is acceptable.
His shadow stretched unusually long beneath the hallway lights.
Something unseen whispered from beneath the stone floors.
"…thread… awakens…"
Caelum exhaled softly.
He was calm.
He was prepared.
He was only getting started.