12 hours remaining.
The cavern breathed in muted rhythms: distant shouts turned to low murmurs, then fell away into pockets of sleep.
Lanterns guttered like tired stars. Beneath the suspended island where Arcane's makeshift camp clustered around the resting forms of exhausted students, a handful kept watch with slow, careful blinks.
The banner above them, blue sigils stitched with every score, hung unwavering. Arcane still led.
Aurelia sat on the edge of the rock with her sword across her knees, blade catching what little light there was.
The metal looked quieter than any conversation, as if it slept better than they ever could. She hadn't lain down. Her fingers kept a restless count against the hilt.
Every so often, she flexed the wrist, testing the small perfection of balance, ready to move before the world asked her to.
Kael watched her for a long moment, slate forgotten at his side. "You said rest," he murmured, half a smile tugging something polite at his mouth. "I can take the watch. You should actually sleep for once."
Aurelia's eyes didn't leave the banner. "It's too quiet," she said softly. The words sounded small in the cavern, but they carried like a bell. "We've held our four nodes for six hours. No probes. No skirmishers. No one is even testing the lines. That… feels wrong."
Kael considered that, shoulders loosening. He traced a finger along the seam of his sleeve as if following an old rune. "Either they're playing the waiting game, letting time count while they bide their point, or they're fighting elsewhere so hard they can't spare scouts. Both are possible." He straightened. "Or—" he added, and for a beat the practical part of him gave way to the part that measured risk—"they're planning something bigger."
They were caught between two comfortable lies, the illusion of security and the habit of readiness.
Outside, the cavern's shifting face muttered and rearranged itself, an indifferent, patient geography.
Kael's voice is low, practical. "Do you want me to scout? I can move quietly, see if anyone's crawling toward our nodes."
Aurelia's hand tightens on the hilt, but she shakes her head once, small and definite. "No. You don't have to. I—" she breathes out, the confession thin, "I'm just uneasy. I want to be the one to check."
Victoria's rune-slate, set to pulse if anchors detect disruption flashes first a slow heartbeat, then spasms into frantic, staccato light.
The pulse races across the surface until the entire plate seems to tremble.
Kael's eyes snap to it. "That's not a test spike."
Aurelia exhales, the sound sharpened by certainty. She stands, boots whispering against stone. "I knew it," she says, blade sliding free with a whisper. "My gut—"
"Which node?" Kael asks before she can finish. His tone is all calculations and options.
"If they want the high-value prize, if it's worth the risk, they'll go for the relic node with Lucien, Cassian, and Mirielle," Kael answers without hesitation. "They'll throw everything at that one. If they want a quick snatch-and-run, it's one of Victoria's terrain nodes, those anchors make them tempting and, if you destabilize one, fast gains."
Aurelia's jaw sets. "I'm going to check it myself." Her voice is flat, there's no bravado in it, only the calm of someone who has decided.
"You can't go alone," Kael says immediately. "Not with whatever—"
She looks past him. Lysandra sleeps on a rolled cloak, lashes flicking in a dream, undisturbed.
Arthur is propped against the cavern wall, sword across his knees, breathing steady as a bell.
The camp is a scatter of quiet, exhausted bodies, too precious to risk blindly.
Aurelia's eyes travel back to Kael, for a second, the sword in her hands was heavier than metal.
The rune slate's frantic pulse keeps time with the hollow click of her heartbeat.
Aurelia cut through a dozen hurried words with a single, clipped sentence. "We can't talk—I'll bring a squad. The anchors that are slowing them will collapse soon."
She turned, shouting for every student still standing. "Up! With me—ambush, now!"
Kael stepped forward; she gave him a quick look. "Take care of the relic team," she said. "Hold the node at all costs." He nodded without argument as she pulled her squad away.
They ran hard across churned earth. By the time they skidded into the clearing around the terrain node, the defenders were disorganized but breathing, with messy lines, dropped weapons, but together.
Aurelia's eyes scanned fast and landed on a small, stunned circle where Victoria crouched, hand pressed to a scraped knee.
Aurelia held her up gently by the hand. "What happened?"
Victoria's explanation came in gasps, a probing strike at dawn, quick teams of Erevalen cutters, an attempt to knock the outer anchors offline.
They'd rallied, thrown emergency loops, held — then the attackers melted back as if called away. The node stood, but the sleeping rhythm of the anchors had been bruised.
Aurelia's head sorted the pieces too fast for comfort, something about the timing made her concerned.
Bootsteps announced Lucien before his voice did, clean and steady, the way of someone used to being answered. He took in the edge of the scene, then looked at Aurelia. "We moved reinforcements—"
She cut him off with a hand up and a look that meant there was no time for speeches.
Her eyes found the smear of tread in the mud, a faint drift of heat that led across a low ridge toward the relic islands.
She had seen that signature before, not a retreat, but an invitation, a bait meant to pull defenders into this ring while something else was taken.
"They didn't probe to steal this," she said, voice flat as blade-steel. "They probed to make us look here. The real strike is at the second relic, Kael's node."
The rune-slate in Victoria's hand answered with a frantic, skittering pulse that confirmed the cold certainty forming in her bones.
"Lucien—" she started, then stopped.
He opened his mouth to organize counterorders, but before he could finish his sentence, Aurelia vaulted onto a low ledge and ran, blade at her hip, Aether humming like a second breath, racing the thread of danger straight toward the relic island and the people she'd left to hold it.
As she had feared, the relic island was a storm.
Erevalen fighters had poured in like tidewater, sable cloaks, quick blades, and a coordinated press that ate through Arcane's perimeter.
Kael and a scatter of students were locked in a desperate ring, shields failing, Aether strikes snapping around them.
Aurelia slid in on that first wind-blow, her blade a bright arc that split the gust away from Kael's blindside.
The blow thundered past her shoulder and buried itself in rock.
For a second, the world narrowed to the scrape of metal and the ragged breath of the people nearest her.
"Situation isn't good," Kael said, his voice low, cataloging losses as if inventorying a library. "They've thrown everything at the node. If we stay, we lose everyone."
Lucien arrived then, light like a sunburst folding from his palms, not for show but to cut through smoke and confusion.
The glare lit the combatants' faces and froze them in a terrible tableau.
He called out, voice loud, "Arcane, fall back. Now. Withdraw to Victoria's station. Carry the wounded. Fall back in pairs."
Arthur's hand tightened on his sword as he looked at the relic node, the prize so close. "We can still defend it—"
"And lose the rest of you," Lucien snapped, sharper than Aurelia had ever heard him. "I will not throw away forces for a node." His eyes met hers for a breath, the counsel of a commander, not the smile of a courtier.
The order had weight, the academy's safety outweighed any one point.
Reluctant, furious, pragmatic, the students moved. Aurelia became a hinge in that retreat, not the last to leave the field in a theatrical stand, but the one who covered the line, sliding between collapsing shields and charging blades to buy inches for stretchers to pass.
Scholar's Wing medics, Victoria among them, slate in one trembling hand, threw up emergency loops and dripped healing draughts into bleeding palms.
Runes flared beneath running feet, simple, stabilizing wards that steadied a spine, sealed a wound enough for a carry.
Hands clutched shoulders, friends lifted friends, the wounded were hoisted and ferried through the smoke.
Kael pulled back beside her, wind at his heels, face set. Lysandra dragged three students clear with flames, dampening their burns. Arthur swept a path with crimson Aura.
The rear-guard collapsed in order, not chaos, and when the last of them cleared the ridge, Aurelia allowed herself one sharp breath, the taste of metal and rain and regret.
They reached Victoria's camp in a tangle of panting bodies and hissing herbs.
Students clustered around the wounded while others bolstered anchors, rethreaded runes, and reset shields.
Potions were uncorked in a practiced frenzy, and hands pressed salves to torn skin.
Amid the frantic industry, Aurelia's jaw worked. She had helped save forces, but the relic was lost. Her shoulders ached with the weight of it.
Lucien did not gloat over the retreat, he only counted heads and then looked at her with a hard, steady expression. "We live to fight another node," he said plainly. "Gather strength. We take it back when the chance comes."
Aurelia grit her teeth, one hand pressed against her temple as if she could push the guilt back down. "It's my fault," she muttered. "I should've stayed. I left them when they needed me most—"
Kael shook his head immediately, voice low but firm. "No. It was the right call. The terrain node was the logical priority, if the Erelaven had taken it, we would've lost our anchor network entirely. Even if you'd stayed, we still would've been overrun here." He glanced at the flickering rune-slate beside them, its dim pulses like a heartbeat trying to steady itself. "You being there was what brought Lucien and the others in time. You saved us, Aurelia. That's what matters."
She didn't answer. Her sword arm hung at her side, trembling faintly, not from injury, but from the aftershock of restraint.
A small, weak laugh broke the silence. "Heh— that tickles…" Lysandra winced and squirmed as Victoria leaned over her, glowing hands weaving lines of Aether over burned skin.
The medic's tone was patient but edged. "Stop moving, Lysandra. You'll reopen the graft."
Aurelia blinked, her focus drawn to them. "Is it bad?" she asked quietly.
Lysandra gave her a lopsided smile despite the pain. "Just a little scratch," she said, trying to sound nonchalant, then flinched as the healing light deepened. "And… maybe a few burn marks."
Victoria sighed. "A few? You're lucky you didn't lose your arm." She steadied her hand, sealing another wound shut. "Hold still before I start using stitching runes instead."
Lysandra hissed through her teeth, still smiling faintly. "See? Perfectly fine."
Aurelia's eyes never left Lysandra's bandaged forearm.
The sight, pink skin puckered where flame had licked, was a slow coal in her chest.
She tightened her fingers around the hilt until the leather creaked.
"Nodes aren't just trophies," she said, voice low and hard. "Remember what Veyron said—'You'll earn three points for non-lethal incapacitation of rival combatants.' Three points a head. There were… what, three hundred of them? Nine hundred points if we put them down."
For a second, the world narrowed to that arithmetic, numbers, grids, red-hot reckoning.
Bloodlust hummed under her ribs, bright and stupid and very, very tempting. Revenge tasted like copper on her tongue.
Kael's hand settled on her shoulder, steady and calm. "You can't," he said quietly. "Not like that. It's not possible, and even if it were, we'd get wiped trying. We need plans, not bravado. Rest. Breathe. Think straight." He wasn't scolding, he sounded exhausted, honest.
Aurelia bristled. The blade in her hand trembled. Then, as if some small internal gear gave way, she loosened her grip. "You're right," she admitted, and the single sentence felt like a surrender and a promise at once.
Lysandra, cheeks still flushed from pain and adrenaline, offered a crooked, stubborn grin. "Don't get mad at little old me," she teased, waggling her uninjured fingers. The attempt at silliness was ridiculous and perfect.
Aurelia couldn't help it. The corner of her mouth twitched.
Lucien dropped down beside her, landing in a crouch that scattered dust around the campfire's dim glow.
His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something quieter, the weight of a leader who'd just watched half a plan unravel.
"Maybe we call it," he said, voice low but even. "We stop throwing people at walls and wait this phase out. Focus on the third, that's where it'll count. We win the last phase, we win the tournament."
Aurelia glanced over the camp, students half-awake, others patching wounds with shaking hands and flickering Aura. Her grip tightened around her sword hilt.
"If our leader sounds like he's ready to give up," she said, eyes narrowing, "the troops will start believing it too."
Lucien's laugh was soft, almost fond, "You never let me sound pragmatic, do you? If we throw ourselves at every scrap, we burn out, Aurelia. We won Phase I with style. That buys us room to be smart now. Come second or third here, then take the final, that's a path to victory without overextending."
Arthur shook his head, leaning against the camp wall with his arms crossed. "That's defeatist logic. We're not here to 'place second.' We're going to reclaim what's ours. The Erevalen won't hold that relic for long."
Cassian, ever the tactician, spoke next, his voice calm but deliberate, "Lucien has a point," he said finally. "We're exhausted. There's merit in a controlled withdrawal. But—" his glance swept the ragged line of Arcane students—"we risk losing the lift of morale. If the relic is retaken, the academy breathes again. If we wait, we gamble the lead and possible cohesion."
Mirielle knelt by a spell-lit map, her quill scratching symbols into the dirt. "A few hours of rest will help. But… if the Erevalen fortify their position, even a small team might struggle to take it back."
Cassian gave a small, weary laugh. "Then that means resting won't help enough, will it?"
Kael folded his arms, watching the massive hourglass rune hovering above. The sand shimmered gold as it trickled downward. "We have ten hours left," he said quietly. "A few minutes or hours of recovery is a lot when time's running like that. But we're no longer in the lead, the Erevalen's capture shifted the balance."
Aurelia's glare sharpened. "Surgical," she echoed, "If we're taking it back, it has to be fast and precise. No grand assault. Just a strike, a handful of people who can cut through before they even realize we're there."
Lucien studied her a moment, eyes narrowing as he measured risk against the glint of resolve on her face.
Aurelia felt something like surprise catch her, he'd been the one moments ago arguing for waiting it out, not charging headlong. Yet now, after a slow breath, he nodded.
"Fine. A strike team," he said. "Short, fast, and clean. We retrieve the relic before their logistics take effect. If it fails, we fall back, regroup, and fight the third phase on our terms. No glory runs. No martyrdom."
Aurelia raised an eyebrow at the sudden change. Lucien gave a half-smile, half-shrug. "What's life without a little gamble?" he added, then his expression sharpened. "But I'm not reckless, we rest for a few hours first. Patch up, sleep, and move with a clear head. We get tired and we die for nothing. We go rested and we carve a path."
He looked to Aurelia. "You'll lead it. Arthur and Kael, you're her vanguard. Lysandra, overwatch, and disruption. Cassian, Mirielle, hold this line with Victoria and coordinate medics. I'll keep reserves ready to move the moment we get a signal."
He straightened, the faint edge of confidence creeping back into his voice. "We hit them once. Clean and hard. Take the relic back, or force them to abandon it."
Lucien turned toward the dim light of the cavern mouth. "Then get your rest, Arcane. Next time we wake, we make them regret taking what's ours."
And as the camp fell quiet again, the last embers flickered low.
Aurelia closed her eyes, her hand resting on the sword's hilt, the hum of it syncing with the steady rhythm of her breath. The stillness before the storm.