Ashthorne didn't breathe normally anymore.
It pulsed.
Like something alive.
Like something waiting.
Overnight, the academy had absorbed the news:
A first-year from Dorm Nine had been officially labeled a Category Red Contained Anomaly.
A girl from the "useless" dorm had survived a direct bond with that anomaly and walked out of a Dominion assessment alive.
A minor tear had formed in the training yard… and they'd helped stabilize it.
Not rumors.
Facts.
Which made them worse.
By morning, the academy's atmosphere felt like stretched glass.
One more wrong pressure point, and the entire structure might splinter.
Caelum Veylor walked through it like he was taking a stroll.
Lira Ainsworth walked beside him like she fully understood she was too close to the epicenter and still refused to move away.
Marenne trailed behind, already taking notes for a book no sane publisher would dare print.
Jalen followed as well, motivated mostly by inertia and a lack of better options.
"Today will be quieter," Caelum said as they crossed the north courtyard.
Lira eyed the nervous clusters of students and the Dominion agents discreetly tracking Caelum's movements from the sidelines.
"Quieter," she repeated flatly, "how?"
"The academy won't risk another overt test immediately," he said. "They'll want to observe us under 'normal' conditions."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
"It shouldn't."
"Then why did you say it?"
"Accuracy."
She sighed. "One day, you're going to say something comforting by accident. I know it."
"I avoid accidents," he said.
"Of course you do."
The Summons
They didn't make it far before a messenger found them.
Not a student messenger.
A Dominion one.
Short cloak. Neutral crest. Blank expression.
He bowed.
"Caelum Veylor," he said. "Lira Ainsworth. You are requested in Strategy Division Hall C."
Marenne's brows rose.
"Requested by who?" she asked.
"The Strategy Division head," the messenger said. "Arch-Magus Sereth Valen."
Marenne let out a low whistle.
"Big league," she muttered.
Jalen paled. "Is that the guy who—"
"Yes," Marenne said. "The one who designed the Shattered Plains siege formations. And the Aether Net around Caelumis. And the triple-layered sigil bands over the Blackspire rupture."
"Oh good," Jalen whispered. "We're meeting a legend right before we die. That's classy."
Lira swallowed.
"Why us?" she asked.
The messenger didn't answer.
Dominion training.
Caelum didn't seem surprised.
"Now?" he asked.
"Now," the messenger confirmed.
Caelum nodded.
"We're coming."
Marenne stepped in front of him.
"Wait," she said. "Do I get to come too?"
"No," the messenger said.
"Yes," Caelum said.
The man blinked.
"This summons is for—"
"Lira is my anchor," Caelum said. "Marenne is my analyst. Jalen is… unfortunate."
"Hey," Jalen muttered.
Caelum looked at the messenger.
"If you wish to observe 'normal' conditions," he said, "you take all variables."
The messenger hesitated.
Then inclined his head.
"Very well," he said. "All four, then. Follow me."
Marenne grinned.
"I like being a problem," she said.
"You were born to be one," Jalen said darkly.
Strategy Division Hall C
Most of Ashthorne looked brutal from the outside.
Strategy Hall looked quiet.
Deceptive.
It was built like a library—tall shelves, soft lighting, long tables. But the shelves held maps instead of books. Crystals instead of ink. Floating illusions of battlefields, formations, sigil arrays.
Every inch radiated controlled power.
The air inside tasted like ink, chalk, and old blood.
As they entered Hall C, Lira's steps slowed.
Every seat was filled.
Not by first-years.
Upperclassmen.
Second, third, fourth years. Strategy Division uniforms in neat lines. Nobles, mostly.
Silence fell when Caelum walked in.
Dozens of intelligent eyes fixed on him.
On Lira.
On the bond humming so faintly between them that only a few could sense it.
At the far end of the room, standing before a massive battlefield projection, was Sereth Valen.
Arch-Magus. Battle strategist. Head of Strategy Division.
He looked… ordinary.
No imposing tattoos. No heavy armor. No sweeping robes.
Just a tall man in a simple dark coat, hair shot through with silver, eyes tired and sharp. The kind of tired you only earned by spending years looking at carnage and calling it data.
His gaze slid from Caelum to Lira, then to Marenne and Jalen.
He did not ask permission for them to be there.
He simply turned toward the projection with a faint clearing of his throat.
"Group Fourteen," he said. "Your scenario is over. Clear the board."
A cluster of upper-year students flinched, clearly having forgotten they were still in the middle of an exercise. They scrambled to reset the projection.
The battlefield illusion faded.
Sereth Valen turned fully to Caelum.
"Step forward," he said.
It wasn't a request.
Caelum did.
Lira stayed beside him.
Valen's eyes flicked to her hand, close to Caelum's sleeve but not touching.
"Your anchor," Valen said mildly.
"Yes," Caelum replied.
"We'll be testing your mind here," Valen said. "And the influence of the bond on your decision-making."
Lira's stomach twisted.
"I thought the Dominion finished testing us," she whispered to Caelum.
"No," he said. "They finished measuring. This is different."
Valen gestured to the projection crystal.
"Place your hand here," he said.
Caelum did.
Thread-light flickered faintly around his fingers.
The hall lights dimmed.
A new battlefield sprang into existence in the air—vast, detailed, chillingly vivid.
Lira's breath caught.
It was a valley.
On one side: an army of sigil-bearers under Syldros banners.
On the other: a coalition force, heavily fortified, with multiple sigil-formations already laid.
Between them: a ruined village. Civilians marked in gray. Neutral. In the crossfire.
At the back of the Syldros side, a glowing red marker blinked.
Caelum's position.
Valen's voice cut through the hush.
"Scenario A-71," he said. "Based loosely on the Ninth Weeping Forest campaign. You command an army half the size of your enemy's. They hold the terrain advantage. You hold the initiative."
He paused.
"Your orders?"
Caelum didn't speak for a moment.
He watched.
Not the armies.
The threads.
To his perception, the battlefield was more than models and markers. Invisible lines connected positions—tension between units, momentum, the subtle weight of likely decisions.
He could see it.
Possibility.
He was good at this.
He had always been good at this.
Even before the reincarnation.
Lira felt something through the bond—a sharpening, like a blade being honed, a silence inside him that wasn't empty, but focused.
It scared her more than the anomalies.
"First," Caelum said quietly, "I confirm conditions."
Valen's mouth twitched—the faintest hint of approval.
"Ask."
"Civilian cluster density?" Caelum asked.
"Seven hundred," Valen said. "Unarmed. Mixed ages."
Lira's stomach knotted.
"Enemy commander type?" Caelum asked.
"Standard high-tier war strategist," Valen said. "Conservative. Values secure lines over aggression."
"Sigil distribution?"
Valen's eyes glinted.
"Fifty percent Standard. Twenty Hybrid. Twenty Arcane. Ten Forbidden, leashed."
"Mine?"
"Forty percent Standard. Forty Hybrid. Fifteen Arcane. Five Forbidden."
"Reinforcement probability?"
"Low," Valen said.
"Retreat option?"
"Unacceptable," Valen replied.
Lira's heart hammered.
They were talking about this like a puzzle.
To the academy, it was.
To Caelum, once, it had been life.
His eyes traced the projection.
"The village is not defensible," he said. "The valley favors the coalition formations. Direct engagement is inefficient."
"Civilians complicate flanking," Valen said.
"Yes," Caelum said.
He fell silent.
Lira didn't breathe.
He could spare them.
This was a test.
A simulation.
He could take a safe route, a moral one.
He'd probably still pass—
"He is not 'evil for no reason.'
He is logical to the point of horror."
Her own thoughts returned to her. The character sheet they'd made for him.
She swallowed.
"What do you do, Veylor?" Valen asked softly.
Caelum exhaled.
"I evacuate the village," he said.
Lira almost sagged in relief.
"But not away from the front," Caelum added. "Through it."
She blinked.
"…What?"
Valen's eyes narrowed.
"Explain."
Caelum's voice turned clinical.
"The enemy commander will seek to keep the civilians out of direct fire. Their formations will adjust to preserve line-of-sight without saturating the village cluster. We weaponize that hesitation."
He raised a finger.
The projection shifted as he spoke, following his orders.
"We divide our force," he said. "Two-thirds into forward assault positions. One-third into embedded escort units."
"Escort…?" Lira whispered.
"We send units into the village," he said. "Labelled as evacuation squads. And they do evacuate—partially."
"Partially?" she echoed, horrified.
"We move civilian clusters in patterns that distort the enemy's firing lanes," he explained. "We create chaos in their formations as they struggle to protect noncombatants without breaking their lines."
Valen watched him intently.
"The civilians are not shields," Caelum said. "They are… weights. Applied where we need them. We avoid direct harm as much as possible. But we accept incidental losses."
Lira stared at him.
"'Incidental…'" she whispered.
He didn't flinch.
"If the alternative is the annihilation of all seven hundred plus our army," he said quietly, "then yes. We accept it."
Valen's gaze sharpened.
"How many do you expect to lose?" he asked.
"In this simulation?" Caelum said. "Between eighty and one twenty."
Lira felt sick.
She wanted to speak.
Wanted to argue.
The words stuck in her throat.
"But we break their central formation in the chaos," Caelum went on. "We force their Forbidden leashes to reposition defensively. We push our Arcane and Hybrid Sigils through the gaps."
He made another small gesture.
The projection shifted.
Enemy lines buckled.
Civilians ran in chaotic streams, not randomly, but along invisible paths Caelum traced through the blind spots of enemy formations.
"We don't win clean," Caelum said.
The simulated battlefield shifted into its end-phase.
The coalition banner collapsed.
The Syldros side held.
The village…
…still existed.
Mostly.
"Six hundred alive," the crystal announced in a flat voice.
Valen was quiet for a long moment.
Finally:
"Alternative," the instructor said. "Same scenario. But you refuse to allow civilian casualties."
Lira held her breath.
Caelum did not pause.
"Then we lose," he said.
The hall went cold.
Valen's gaze sharpened.
"Immediately?"
"No," Caelum said. "We fight well. We die well. We preserve our morals and our guilt."
He turned his head slightly.
His eyes were dark. Not glowing. Not inhuman.
Just… heavy.
"But the other side wins," he said. "They take the valley. They take the roads. They take the village anyway. And they don't care about civilian casualties."
He looked back at the projection.
"So in two months," he said, "the same seven hundred people are dead. Along with thousands more."
Silence.
Thick.
Uncomfortable.
Some of the strategy students looked impressed.
Some looked horrified.
Some looked both.
Lira felt like she was going to be sick.
Valen's voice broke the silence.
"Lira Ainsworth," he said.
She jumped.
"Y-Yes?"
"What do you think?" he asked.
Her heart lurched.
She stared at the projection.
The villagers.
The units.
The battlefield.
"You want… my opinion?" she asked weakly.
"Yes," Valen said. "You are his anchor. I want to know what you see when he does this."
Her throat worked.
The bond hummed.
Caelum did not intervene.
He watched her instead.
She swallowed.
"I think…" Her voice shook. She forced it steady. "I think he's right about the outcome."
A few students looked at her sharply.
"But…?" Valen prompted.
"But I hate it," she whispered.
Her eyes burned.
"I hate that he can stand there and say 'we accept incidental losses' like it's just… like it's just a number on a board. I hate that he can say it so calmly. I hate that he's right and I still hate him for being right. I hate that this place—" She gestured at the Hall. "—treats that kind of decision like a test question."
Her voice cracked.
She pushed on.
"And I hate that if I was down there"—her hand jabbed at the illusory village—"if it was me, or Jalen, or Marenne… I'd want the strategist on the hill to care whether I lived."
Silence fell like a blade.
Valen watched her.
Students watched Caelum.
Lira swallowed.
"I know we need people like him," she whispered. "But I don't want him to forget there are people inside the numbers."
The bond trembled between them.
Caelum listened.
He didn't argue.
He didn't defend.
He let her words sink in.
Valen finally nodded once.
"Assessment," he said quietly. "Subject Caelum Veylor: strategic responsiveness and scenario mastery, excellent. Moral flexibility, high. Risk tolerance, high."
He turned his gaze to Lira.
"Subject Lira Ainsworth: ethical awareness, high. Emotional processing under logic pressure, intact. Anchor effect… stabilizing."
He looked between them.
"You're both necessary," he said simply.
Lira blinked.
Caelum tilted his head.
Valen stepped closer.
"To win wars," he said, "we need monsters who can see the board clearly. And we need anchors who remind them the board is made of people."
He studied Caelum.
"You've done this before," Valen said softly.
It wasn't a question.
Caelum didn't lie.
"Yes," he said.
"Not here," Valen added.
"No," Caelum confirmed.
A ripple went through the hall.
Reincarnator.
The word moved in whispers.
Valen's expression did not change.
"What I want to know," the strategist said, "is whether, in this life, you plan to be better or just more efficient."
The question hung.
Lira's breath caught.
Caelum's eyes were calm.
"I don't derive comfort from intent," he said.
Valen's lips thinned.
"Then what do you derive comfort from, Veylor?" he asked.
"Results," Caelum said.
The strategist exhaled.
"You would have done well under my command," Valen said.
"I'm not interested in being a weapon someone else points," Caelum replied.
Valen's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Good," he murmured. "I'm far more interested in seeing what you become when no one holds your leash."
Lira felt a chill race down her spine.
That sounded less like an endorsement and more like a warning.
To the world.
A Private Offer
After the simulation ended, Valen dismissed the other students.
They left reluctantly, casting backwards glances at Caelum and Lira.
When the hall had emptied, only five remained.
Valen.
Caelum.
Lira.
Marenne.
A very pale Jalen.
Valen leaned back against the edge of the projection table, crossing his arms.
"You're not going to fit in Dorm Nine for long," he said.
Caelum tilted his head. "I fit fine."
"That's not what I meant," Valen said dryly. "You're operating on a level your year isn't prepared to match."
"I'm aware."
"So are the nobles," Valen said. "They'll try to recruit you. Or neutralize you. Or both."
"Let them try," Caelum said.
Valen almost smiled.
"Yes," he said. "I suppose you would say that."
He shifted his attention to Lira.
"And you," he said. "You stabilized under intrusion, adaptive pressure, and fear stimulus. You learned to push back against a tear within a day."
Lira flushed.
"I nearly made it worse," she said.
"You did make it worse," Valen said. "Then you made it slightly less worse. That's how learning works."
She stared at him.
"That's… a horrible teaching philosophy."
"It's accurate," he said.
Caelum hummed.
"I like him," he remarked.
"Of course you do," Lira muttered.
Valen's gaze sharpened again.
"There will be a proposal," he said. "Soon. Possibly today. They'll want to move you—both of you—to a controlled environment. A different dorm. Possibly a private ward. Or into a specialized division early."
"Dominion?" Caelum asked.
"Or something adjacent," Valen said.
Lira's heart stuttered.
"They want to separate us?" she asked, voice too small for her own liking.
Valen studied her.
"No," he said. "Not yet. They're not fools. But they will want more direct oversight. Tighter schedules. More structured exposure."
He paused.
"Before that happens," he said, "I want you to understand something."
He looked at Caelum.
"Strategy Division isn't neutral," Valen said. "We're not a charity. We exist to make better weapons."
Lira flinched.
Valen didn't look away.
"But not all weapons were meant to be forged for others," he continued. "Some were meant to decide their own targets."
He inclined his head to Caelum.
"If you want it," Valen said quietly, "I'll back your elevation into advanced Strategy circles. With conditions."
Marenne perked up. "What conditions?"
Valen ignored her.
"First," he said to Caelum, "you don't use this Division to wage your private wars inside the academy. No petty retaliation. No political games through my resources."
"Agreed," Caelum said.
"Second," Valen continued, "you don't forget you have an anchor."
Lira blinked.
"Wait, what?" she said.
Valen's gaze met hers.
"You," he said, "will be given the choice to follow him into advanced strategy work—or stay with the standard curriculum."
Her heart stuttered.
"What happens if I stay?" she asked.
"You fall behind," Valen said. "He doesn't. The bond stretches. Strains. You will remain 'useful'. For a while. Then something breaks."
Her chest hurt.
"And if I go?" she whispered.
Valen's mouth twisted.
"Then you walk into rooms where your mind was never meant to go," he said. "You learn things you shouldn't. You make decisions you will hate yourself for."
He paused.
"Either way," he said softly, "you bleed."
That landed like a stone in her gut.
Caelum watched her.
"This is inefficient," he said. "You're giving her a false choice."
"It's not false," Valen said.
"She'll follow," Caelum said calmly. "Even if it hurts."
Lira flushed.
"I—"
Valen raised a hand.
"Maybe she will. Maybe she won't," he said. "That's the point. It has to be her decision."
His eyes sharpened.
"Because if it isn't—if she only walks into deeper waters because you tug the bond harder—then when she drowns, that will be on you."
Silence.
It cut deeper than any threat.
Caelum's expression didn't change.
But Lira felt the bond tighten.
Not uncomfortably.
Not possessively.
Reflexively.
As if the thought of losing her had pressed against some part of him he hadn't fully examined yet.
Valen straightened.
"You have until the end of the day," he said to Lira. "To decide which path you want."
Her throat closed.
"Do I… tell you?" she asked.
"No," he said.
He nodded toward Caelum.
"You tell him."
He turned away before she could respond.
Marenne let out a low whistle.
"Well," she said. "That wasn't ominous at all."
Jalen groaned.
"I want a job where no one offers me choices that sound like different flavors of doom."
Marenne patted his shoulder.
"We picked the wrong school for that."
Outside — A Question That Won't Go Away
They left Strategy Hall in tense silence.
The courtyard felt even more suffocating.
Whispers followed them.
They ignored them.
Mostly.
It wasn't until they were back in a quieter corridor that Lira finally spoke.
"Caelum," she said.
"Yes."
"If… if I say no," she whispered, "if I choose not to follow you into whatever Valen is offering… what happens?"
He didn't answer immediately.
She almost wished he'd lie.
Finally, he spoke.
"The bond stretches," he said. "I move faster. You don't. The gap becomes a wound."
Her chest tightened.
"So I have to say yes."
"No," he said.
Her breath hitched.
"You don't."
"It will hurt," he said. "For both of us. But pain is not the same as failure."
She stared at him.
"You'd let me stay behind," she whispered.
"Yes."
"Even if it weakens you?"
"Yes."
Her voice came out too small.
"Why?"
His answer was simple.
"Because I don't own you."
Her eyes burned.
The bond hummed.
"You are not a resource," he said. "You are… an axis. Losing you would be inefficient. But turning you into something you didn't choose to be is worse."
She laughed—sharp, wet, broken.
"The world doesn't usually give choices like that," she whispered.
"We're not the world," he said.
Quiet.
Firm.
She wiped at her eyes quickly.
"I… I need to think," she said.
"Good," he replied.
"You're not going to tell me what to do?"
"No."
"You're not going to… push?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because if you follow me," he said softly, "I want it to be your decision. Not my gravitational pull."
Her lungs squeezed.
She looked away.
Marenne cleared her throat.
"Well," she said brightly, voice too loud in the quiet hall. "On that emotionally devastating note, I'll go… write down everything that just happened before my brain refuses to acknowledge it."
She grabbed Jalen by the sleeve.
"Come on," she said.
"Where are we going?" he asked weakly.
"To get caffeine," she said. "You look like you're about to faint into a sigil circle and explode."
"That does sound like something I'd do," he admitted.
They left.
Lira and Caelum were alone.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The bond buzzed faint and low, like a question.
Lira swallowed.
"Caelum," she said.
"Yes."
"If I go with you," she whispered.
He didn't move.
"Then what?"
He met her gaze.
"Then we walk into places this academy was never meant to let us see," he said. "We make enemies we can't yet name. We touch things the Dominion pretends to have sealed."
Her hands felt cold.
"And we survive?" she asked.
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
His answer was simple.
"I refuse not to."
She let out a shaky breath.
It wasn't hope, exactly.
But it was a shape she could stand beside.
"I'll… tell you tonight," she said. "My choice."
He nodded once.
"Acceptable."
She managed a small, strained smile.
"Of course it is."
Far Below — The Entity Listens
Deep beneath the academy, the entity watched.
Not through eyes.
Through pressure.
Through threads.
Through the subtle shift in the pattern of two souls.
"…choice…" it murmured.
"…forked path…
…anchor shifted…
…bearer constrained…"
It considered.
It did not care about the Strategy Division.
It did not care about ranks, banners, or noble houses.
It cared about tension.
About patterns stretched near breaking.
About the moment when survival demanded transformation.
"…pick… little anchor…" it whispered to the dark.
"…choose…
…because when you do…
…the Stitching will scream…"
Chains creaked.
Seals held.
For now.
But as the day moved on and the sun traced its slow arc across Ashthorne's twisted sky, one truth settled over the academy like another layer of pressure:
The next decision wouldn't come from the Dominion.
Or the nobles.
Or even Caelum.
It would come from the girl the system had labeled "stability-anchor"—
and who was slowly, painfully learning
that anchors
could choose
when
and where
they held.