CHAPTER 21 — SIX DAYS LEFT
Six days before Wister, Brenn stopped correcting their mistakes.
That alone told them everything.
The training hall on Korain was quiet—no pressure glyphs, no artificial gravity shifts, no environmental manipulation. Just stone, air, and the distant sound of waves breaking far below the cliffs.
Nark Osith stood at the center of the arena, cloak discarded, sleeves rolled back. She looked bored.
Lucy swallowed.
Abbie cracked her neck. "She's not even pretending to take this seriously."
Adam adjusted his stance, eyes narrowed. "That's what worries me."
Brenn stepped forward.
"You've learned endurance," he said. "You've learned restraint. You've learned how not to die when everything wants you dead."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"That will get you through the first three days of Wister. Maybe."
Abbie scoffed. "Comforting."
Brenn ignored her.
"If you survive," he continued, "there is a place for you. Not as independents. Not as expendable Vell."
Lucy's breath caught.
"With us," Brenn said. "My crew. Gren. Nark."
Nark didn't react.
"Crewmates survive longer," Brenn added. "They also die for each other."
Silence settled.
"To see where you stand," Brenn said, "you will fight."
Adam blinked. "All of us?"
Brenn nodded once. "Against Nark."
Abbie laughed. "You're joking."
"I am not," Brenn replied. He turned to Nark. "Hold back. No fracture abilities. No lethal intent."
Nark sighed. "That's insulting."
"It's a test," Brenn said. "For all of you."
Lucy's heart pounded.
"Begin," Brenn said.
They moved instantly.
Adam flanked left, low and fast. Abbie charged straight in, ether flaring around her fists. Lucy stayed back a half-step, scanning for openings, the Crown already tightening in anticipation.
Nark didn't move.
Abbie's punch came first.
Nark shifted her weight by an inch.
Abbie missed entirely—her momentum carrying her past as Nark's elbow tapped her ribs lightly. Just enough.
Abbie hit the ground hard, air knocked clean out of her lungs.
Adam's ether construct snapped into place—chains of compressed force aimed for Nark's legs.
She stepped through them.
Lucy cast instinctively—a short-range push meant to stagger.
Nark raised one hand.
The force dispersed like mist.
"You're telegraphing," Nark said calmly, already behind Lucy.
Lucy barely ducked in time.
They regrouped fast, desperation creeping in.
Abbie came again, smarter this time—feints, angled strikes, ether restrained but sharp. Adam layered suppression fields, trying to narrow Nark's movement.
It didn't matter.
Nark moved like she had already lived through their choices a hundred times.
Every strike missed. Every trap failed. Every opening closed before it fully formed.
Lucy felt frustration boil.
Her chest tightened. The Crown pulsed warning after warning.
She's not even trying.
Anger flared.
Lucy stepped forward, ignoring the ache in her skull.
Ether surged—not refined, not elegant, but vast.
The air bent.
Nark's eyes widened—just a fraction—as Lucy's pressure wave slammed into her, forcing her back a step.
Just one.
But it counted.
The arena cracked beneath them.
"Lucy—!" Brenn snapped.
Lucy gasped, pain lancing through her head as the Crown clamped down—but she held it, teeth clenched, refusing to let the surge explode.
Abbie saw it.
Opportunity.
She lunged, ether roaring, aiming not to overpower—but to end.
Nark twisted sharply, intercepting Abbie mid-strike and slamming her into the stone with controlled force.
But in doing so—
She stopped moving.
Adam's construct snapped shut.
Ether chains wrapped tight around Nark's limbs, anchoring her to the floor, locking joints, suppressing output.
Silence.
Nark stared at the bindings.
Then she laughed softly.
"Well," she said. "That was… almost impressive."
Brenn stepped forward, raising a hand.
"Enough."
The chains dissolved.
Nark stood, brushing dust from her sleeves.
"You landed nothing," Brenn said bluntly. "But you adapted."
He looked at Lucy. "Raw power is not control."
Lucy nodded shakily.
At Abbie. "Restraint is not weakness."
Abbie scowled but didn't argue.
At Adam. "Timing matters more than intelligence."
Adam exhaled. "Figures."
Brenn folded his arms.
"You're not ready for Wister," he said.
The words hit hard.
"But," he continued, "you are no longer helpless."
That mattered.
They began to disperse—but Abbie didn't move.
She turned sharply to Brenn.
"Fight me," she said.
The arena went still.
Brenn raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Abbie snapped. "If we're joining your crew, I want to know exactly what I'm up against."
Lucy's eyes widened. "Abbie—"
"Not now," Abbie said.
Brenn studied her for a long moment.
Then—slowly—he smiled.
"After Wister," he said. "If you're still alive."
Abbie clenched her fists.
"Six days," Brenn added. "Rest while you can."
"No! Right here right now!" Abbie yelled back.
Above them, the countdown continued to tick down.
And the Wister War drew closer.