Chapter 26 — Before the Rift Opens
The academy bells rang three times.
Low.
Measured.
Final.
Every first-year knew what that meant.
White Rift briefing.
The lecture hall reserved for rift operations dwarfed the standard classrooms. Tiered stone seating curved around a circular floor inscribed with containment arrays, old and reinforced so many times the original carvings were barely visible beneath layers of newer sigils.
Alex entered with the lowest-ranked cluster.
No one spoke to him. Not openly.
Higher tiers filled the lower rows—closer to the instructor's platform. Nobles took seats without hesitation. Military aristocrats followed, disciplined, commanding attention even in stillness. Commoners drifted upward until the back rows were filled with quiet bodies and lowered gazes.
Leon sat beside Alex without comment. Marek and the others hesitated—then joined them.
Galen Mor entered last. Not because he was late. Because he could. The murmurs died instantly. He took a seat near the center, folding his hands calmly, posture relaxed as though the entire room had adjusted itself around him.
Instructor Rhelan stepped onto the platform.
"Settle," he commanded.
The arrays beneath his feet flared, projecting distorted landscapes, ruptured skies, frozen creatures.
"White Rifts," Rhelan began, "are unstable. Low-yield. Minimal entity intelligence."
He paused. "Which makes them dangerous."
A cadet raised her hand. "Instructor, if they're low-yield, why not deploy upper years?"
Rhelan nodded. "Because White Rifts are unpredictable in behavior, not output. Upper-tier cadets learn nothing from them. You will."
Another projection appeared—team formations. "Assignments will be issued tomorrow. Merit ranking will determine squad structure."
A murmur rippled. Someone muttered, "Of course."
Rhelan's eyes sharpened. "Do not mistake merit ranking for combat ranking. Merit reflects contribution. Leadership. Adaptability."
Alex felt the weight of the words settle—not comfortingly.
Galen smiled faintly. His calm didn't change the tension in the room; if anything, it pressed down harder.
After the briefing, the corridors erupted with noise. Students whispered strategies, guesses, and fears.
Alex kept walking—but then a shoulder collided with him hard enough to stagger him forward.
"Watch it."
Three cadets blocked the hall. One stepped closer. "Low tiers walk after command groups."
Leon appeared instantly, hand twitching. they froze . The air throbbed with anticipation, but the confrontation ended before power was displayed.
A sharp voice cut in. "Enough."
Galen approached, hands clasped behind his back. "You're drawing attention," he said mildly—to them, not Alex. They stepped back immediately.
Galen looked at Alex. Not threatening. Not mocking. "White Rifts are stressful. Tensions rise. Accidents happen."
Alex met his gaze. "So I've noticed."
"Stay behind during deployment," Galen advised. "You'll live longer."
Leon bristled. "You don't get to—"
"I do," Galen interrupted calmly. "Merit ranking determines command chain."
He looked at Leon now. "And you are dangerously close to suspension."
Silence fell.
Galen walked away. The weight of his presence lingered.
Galen — Interlude
Weak blessings flickered everywhere—but none of it mattered yet. He catalogued each first-year by their latent control, potential, and instability. Power handed to children who couldn't yet wield it. And Alex—no visible blessing, no projection. A void.
Dangerous.
Rear support. Isolation through protocol. Pressure without confrontation. If Alex broke, the academy would applaud. If he didn't—then Galen would adjust.
That night, the dorm felt heavier. Marek paced. "They took six points today. Six."
Leon sat on his bunk, blessing dormant, staring at the wall.
Alex focused inward. The system responded instantly.
[Hidden Quest: Will of the Weak]
Condition Update: Oppressive Hierarchy Detected
Recommended Catalyst: Rift Exposure
Warning: Probability of Hostile Interference — High
Alex whispered, "You're preparing."
The system did not answer—but it did not deny it either.
The next morning, squad assignments were posted. Crowds formed instantly. Alex waited, watching reactions.
Gasps. Relief. Fear.
Alex found his name at the bottom.
Squad 12 — Rear Support
Leon was Squad 5.
Galen Mor — Squad 1, Command Lead.
Predictable.
Kara spoke to the rear squads. Her blessing flared faintly as a subtle warning in her stance, but she did not attack. "Rear squads see everything. They just don't get credit. Be careful."
Later, in the armory queue, Alex felt the pressure again. Galen stood across the room, hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't using his blessing—yet. He controlled the room with reputation, merit, and intimidation alone.
Alex smiled softly. "They're thorough."
Leon clenched his jaw. "I can request a transfer—"
"No," Alex said immediately. "If you interfere now, they'll remove you entirely. I need you here."
Leon stared. "…For what?"
"To watch."
That evening, instructors gathered squads for preliminary briefings.
Galen stood at the center of his. Confident. Commanding. The slightest movement of his hands suggested mastery, even without activating any blessing. Alex watched. Not the words. The spacing. Who Galen placed closest. Who he ignored. Who he isolated.
This wasn't arrogance. This was rehearsal.
Alex leaned against the stone wall, memorizing everything.
Positions. Timing. Behavior.
Because when the White Rift opened—structure would matter more than strength. And Galen Mor had built his structure on stolen ground.
Alex intended to see how it collapsed
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