The receding whistle that marked the end of the Phase Assessment faded into the twilight, leaving the Vigil Training Grounds coated in a thicker layer of frost. Ice granules on the cast-iron railings reflected the last sliver of sunset. The ozone-laced steam from the Steam Conduits veiled the departing students like a hazy shroud. Elara Thorne had just pocketed her assessment sheet when she heard hurried footsteps behind her. Gideon Valerius, clutching his polished Fine Steel Practice Sword, had fine frost clinging to his dark brown hair. His face held a clear smile mixed with nervous anticipation.
"Thorne! You passed!" His voice was slightly louder than usual, drawing the eyes of a few nearby Vigil trainees. He quickly lowered his tone, scratching his head. "I was in the equipment room and heard Lionel Evans say you just barely managed a passing grade on the practical—it scared me. I thought your third node was going to fail." He paused, then looked at her with sincerity. "I passed my assessment, too. Just 'Acceptable,' but the Instructor said my Rage Control was much better this time. I owe it to you."
Elara Thorne noticed the calluses on his palm—the mark of years of training. She smiled, recalling his near-loss of control during their first joint drill. "Lucky timing; it stabilized just in time. How was your Vigil assessment?"
At the mention of his own assessment, Gideon Valerius's eyes clouded, and his grip tightened on the sword hilt. "My Rage Control was still lacking. I almost cleaved the Abomination's joint during the final simulated combat. The Examiner gave me 'Acceptable,' but warned me that if it happens again, I might not make the advanced group." He met her gaze again, his sincerity deepening. "But it was much better than before. The 'adjust your breathing to the Aetheric Filaments' rhythm' technique you taught me during the last drill really worked. Oh, and Cecilia Frostborne passed by earlier. When she saw your score, her face went dark. She muttered to her retainer, 'Luck can only get you so far.'"
Elara Thorne's internal tension spiked, but she maintained an indifferent facade. "She scored high; it's normal for her to look down on me. Don't worry about her. Just keep practicing your breathing before the next assessment, and you'll pass for sure." She purposefully used the tone of a 'cautiously mediocre' student, withholding the fact that she had used the temporary Aetheric Aid Paste during the practical—a mixture of common Star-Glow Moss and flour, gentler than a true witch-brew, but enough to fool a low-tier Aetheric Detection—and concealing her intentional mistakes during the node repair. Gideon Valerius was a trustworthy ally, but some secrets were too dangerous for him to know.
Gideon Valerius nodded, reminding her, "We should practice together before the next test," before he was called away by the Vigil assembly whistle. Minutes after he left, a familiar figure emerged from the corner equipment shed—Lionel Evans. He wore a faded coarse cloth jacket stained with machine oil and hurried to Elara Thorne, pulling her behind a derelict Steam Conduit.
"Thorne! Your Aetheric Fluctuation almost spiked the Aetheric Monitor during your practical!" Lionel Evans' voice was a low whisper. He pulled an oil-cloth packet from his coat. Inside was a half-ounce of Shadow Lichen. "I wrapped the lichen in coal slag three times and mixed it with the serfdom's refuse to bring it out. Cecilia Frostborne sent her retainer to ask the Examiner about your detailed scores. I pretended to check the control panel wiring and redirected them to a faulty Aether-Light on the east side. They didn't get the answers." His eyes were tense but held a new resolve—he now used coal slag to mask contraband from Aetheric Detection.
Elara Thorne took the oil-cloth, the rough texture of the slag warming her palm. "Thank you. And remember, don't go near 'that place' [his term for the secret workshop] yet. The Initiation Elixir is coming soon, and the Academy is scrutinizing everything. There's only common Star-Glow Moss and sulfur powder inside, nothing else." She emphasized the 'common materials,' completely concealing The Rotting Earth Codex and other witch-related items.
Lionel Evans nodded, his expression firm. "I understand! I'll keep an eye on the serfdom's movements. If anyone asks about your assessment, I'll tell them you were so nervous that you almost failed the third node and only passed because the Examiner took pity—the old artisans say sometimes 'mediocrity' is safer than 'excellence'."
Elara Thorne squeezed his shoulder. "You're right; the more mediocre, the safer. By the way, how are you coming along with repairing the Aetheric Monitor?"
"The old artisan taught me how to identify basic parts. Next time, I can help you check the Aetheric Monitor on the assessment field and adjust the sensitivity ahead of time. That way, you'll be much safer for your next test." Lionel Evans's eyes lit up with anticipation—he was no longer just an assistant on 'watch duty,' but a partner with a valuable skill set.
The dusk deepened, and the Aether-Lights of the Vigil Training Grounds flickered on. Elara Thorne looked at Lionel Evans's earnest profile and recalled Gideon Valerius's sincere caution, a wave of warmth washing over her—she was not alone in the cold prison of Silver Star City. But the warmth was quickly suppressed by reality. She touched the Aetheric Stabilization Tincture in her pocket; the Tracking Powder inside still emitted a faint Aetheric Fluctuation—Kaelan Blackwood's control grid was tighter than she thought.
"Come on, let's not stay too long, or the patrols will spot us." Elara Thorne guided Lionel Evans away. They separated into the night, heading in different directions—one back to the Seventh Spire to continue playing the 'mediocre Soother'; the other back to the Serfdom, guarding the 'small place' known only to them, protecting a sincere trust whose true foundation neither of them fully knew.
The night wind swept through the Weaver's Gallery. Elara Thorne tightened her grip on the Aetheric Stabilization Tincture in her pocket, the star-shaped scar on her palm faintly burning—she knew the trouble of the Initiation Elixir lay ahead, and Cecilia Frostborne's hostility had not receded. Her days of dancing on a knife's edge were only just beginning.