Dust settled over the ruined timber dummy.
Kaelen tightened his grip on the iron-hilted dagger. Keeping his breathing silent took absolute focus. His ribs throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache.
External Anchoring lacked the biological buffer of an internal node. He had essentially detonated a kinetic bomb ten yards away. The concussive shockwave had hit him just as hard as the target, bruising bone and rattling his teeth.
He currently possessed zero magical capability.
The obsidian sphere was nothing but fine glass powder coating the crater behind him. Attempting to pull an ambient Thread now, without a physical conduit to house the frequency, would boil his internal organs alive.
Lyra Thorne ignored the drawn blade completely.
Stepping away from the stone pillar, she closed the distance between them. Silver embroidery gleamed across the dark wool of her academy jacket. She belonged to the highest tier of students, the high-born heirs who never lacked for pure, unblemished resonance.
"Put the iron away, Vane," Lyra said. She kept her voice at a harsh whisper. "Unless you want the watchtower guards to find us both standing over unauthorized property damage."
Lowering the dagger a fraction, Kaelen calculated the distance to the treeline.
Running offered no tactical advantage. She could draw an Ignis Thread and melt his boots to the cobblestones before he took three strides.
"You are out of bounds, Thorne." Kaelen forced his posture to remain rigid. "Elite quarters are on the west wing."
"I enjoy the night air." She gestured toward the smoking trench carved into the training yard. "Clearly, you prefer making it explode."
Lyra stepped past his blade. She walked directly to the edge of the blast zone.
Kaelen swept his bleeding hands behind his back. "I don't know what you are talking about."
Her boots crunched against the scorched earth. Kneeling by the ruined dummy, she pressed her bare fingers into the dirt. When she stood, a pinch of pulverized black glass coated her fingertips.
"Beggars do not vaporize solid timber," she said. Her thumb worked the grit, analyzing the texture. "A localized displacement. Massive kinetic output. But it lacked any standard casting signature."
Kaelen locked his jaw.
Reporting this to Instructor Malakor guaranteed immediate expulsion. Practicing First Era deviations carried a death sentence under the current laws. Even worse, banishment meant the Apothecary Guild would immediately cut off his sister's shipments.
He needed leverage.
"Are you going to run to the proctors?" Kaelen asked.
Lyra brushed the glass dust from her uniform. Her expression remained entirely cold. Elite students rarely smiled when they found an advantage.
"Reporting a crippled outcast gains me zero political capital," Lyra said. "However, a student wielding unregistered, untraceable firepower is a highly unique asset."
Lowering the dagger entirely, Kaelen studied her face. "You want an assassin."
"I want a ghost." Lyra stepped closer. "The Crucible tournament begins in three weeks. Julian Sterling is favored to win the vanguard bracket. I require him disqualified before the semifinals."
House Sterling stood as a titan in the capital. Touching their heir meant invoking a blood feud.
"Julian employs private guards," Kaelen said. "He sleeps behind layered wards."
"Wards track mana signatures," Lyra countered. "They monitor the internal resonance of a Weaver. You do not have one. Your core is a biological dead zone. You could walk right through his perimeter alarms and they would register nothing but empty air."
She wanted him to commit high treason. She wanted him to bypass the academy's premier security measures using his greatest physical defect as a skeleton key.
"And if I refuse?" Kaelen asked.
"Then I drop this glass dust on Malakor's desk tomorrow morning. They will dissect your methods, Vane. They will execute you."
Kaelen sheathed his dagger. He had run out of choices, but he refused to accept a deal without extracting a toll.
"If I do this, House Thorne covers my tracks," Kaelen demanded. "And I require a deposit."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "You are in no position to negotiate coin."
"Not coin." Kaelen held her gaze, refusing to blink. "The Apothecary Guild. My sister requires the lung-rot tincture every month. You will use your family seal to prepay her shipments through the entire winter. Tonight."
Silence stretched across the cold courtyard. Lyra examined him. She was clearly calculating the financial cost of a peasant's medicine against the value of winning the Crucible.
"Acceptable," she finally said. "But I do not purchase weapons sight unseen. I require a demonstration of your method against a live target."
"You just watched me level a training dummy."
"Timber does not cast fire back at you," Lyra said. She adjusted her jacket collar against the wind. "Show me this trick in combat. Tomorrow night. I will send the coordinates."
A sharp pain radiated from Kaelen's sternum. Running complex density division in his head while actively dodging lethal magic was suicidal. A single rounding error in the math would cause the conduit to detonate in his own palm.
"Send the coordinates," Kaelen said.
Lyra turned and walked back toward the elite dormitories.
Kaelen held his ground until her silver embroidery faded completely into the shadows. Fatigue hit him like a physical blow. He leaned against the nearest intact stone pillar, resting his forehead against the cold masonry.
He opened his satchel. Digging his fingers into the canvas corners, he searched the bottom.
Nothing but lint.
He possessed zero glass marbles. Zero obsidian chunks. Zero quartz crystals.
Casting required an external vessel. Without a stone to house the Thread's violent frequency, he was just a boy with raw knuckles and a dull knife. Trading his winter coat for that single obsidian sphere had left him entirely broke.
Looking toward the eastern skyline, Kaelen noted the gray light of approaching dawn.
He had twenty-four hours to prepare for a live combat test. He had to navigate the lower city black market, secure cheap glass conduits, and memorize their atomic densities before sunset.
He needed ammunition.