Ilias had expected many things when he arrived at Professor Ehis Odiase's training facility.
Combat drills. Meditation techniques. Lectures on controlling his power. Maybe some kind of brutal physical training that would leave him even more broken than he already felt.
What he got instead was books.
A *lot* of books.
"Read these," Ehis said, dropping a stack of thick volumes onto the table with a heavy *thump*. "I'll be back later."
Ilias stared at the pile. "You're serious?"
"Very." Ehis was already heading toward the door.
"Wait—I thought you were going to teach me how to fight. How to control my power."
Ehis paused at the doorway, glancing back with that infuriatingly casual smile. "I am teaching you. This is step one."
"Reading?"
"Understanding." Ehis tapped his temple. "You can't control what you don't understand. And you can't understand your power if you don't understand yourself. So read."
"But—"
"Oh, and don't mind Ayo. He'll keep you company."
The massive Resonance bat chirped from the ceiling, its crystalline eyes fixed on Ilias.
Then Ehis left.
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Ilias alone with a mountain of books and a gigantic bat staring at him like he was dinner.
"Great," Ilias muttered. "Just great."
He picked up the first book. *A History of Human Diaspora Across the Stars.* Heavy. Dense. The kind of academic text that put people to sleep in three pages.
Ilias sighed and opened it.
---
Two hours later, Ilias was deep into the third chapter when he felt something warm and wet hit the top of his head.
He froze.
Slowly, he reached up and touched his hair.
His fingers came away slick with something distinctly... organic.
"Are you *kidding* me?!"
Ayo chirped innocently from above, wings folded, hanging upside down like nothing had happened.
"You just—" Ilias stood up, glaring at the bat. "You just shit on my head!"
Another chirp. This one sounded almost... amused.
"Get down here!"
Ayo spread his wings and launched himself across the room, landing on a different perch, still upside down, still staring.
Ilias grabbed a cloth from the table and wiped his hair furiously. "Unbelievable. I'm being terrorized by a bat."
Inside his mind, Ade's voice came through with what could only be described as suppressed laughter. *"This is an effective teaching method, actually."*
*"How is getting shit on a teaching method?!"*
*"Patience. Endurance. Learning to focus despite distractions."* A pause. *"Also, it's objectively funny."*
*"I hate you."*
*"You don't."*
Ilias returned to his seat, eyeing Ayo warily. The bat had settled onto a new perch but kept watching him with those gleaming crystalline eyes.
"You do that again," Ilias warned, "and I'm throwing this book at you."
Ayo tilted his head.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then—
*Splat.*
"THAT'S IT!"
Ilias shot to his feet, grabbed the nearest book, and hurled it at the bat.
Ayo launched off the perch, wings spreading wide as he swooped through the air with surprising grace. The book sailed harmlessly past, crashing into the wall.
The bat landed on yet another perch, chirped once—clearly pleased with himself—and went back to hanging upside down.
Ilias stood there, breathing hard, hair now decorated with bat droppings for the second time.
"I'm going to turn you into a coat," he muttered.
Ayo chirped again. It definitely sounded like laughter this time.
---
Four hours. Four hours of reading interspersed with dodging bat excrement and occasionally throwing books at a creature that seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.
But despite the chaos, Ilias had learned things.
The books weren't just dry history. They told the story of humanity's expansion across the stars—how Earth, the original human homeworld, had been abandoned centuries ago after environmental collapse and resource depletion. How humans had scattered to hundreds of worlds, adapting, evolving, mixing with other species.
How Earth itself now sat as little more than a historical monument, protected but empty.
One passage stuck with him:
*"Though Earth no longer sustains human life, its cultural legacy persists across the diaspora. Descendants of African, Asian, European, and Indigenous peoples carry forward traditions spanning millennia, adapting them to new worlds while honoring their origins. To understand oneself as human is to understand the thread connecting you to that distant, abandoned cradle."*
Ilias set the book down, staring at nothing in particular.
He'd never thought about where humans came from. Elyria was just... home. He was human because that's what he was born as. Simple.
But there was more to it than that, apparently.
The door hissed open.
Ehis walked in, looking far too relaxed for someone who'd left his student to be terrorized by a bat for hours. He glanced at Ilias, then at the various book-shaped dents in the walls, then at Ayo, who chirped innocently.
"Productive afternoon?" Ehis asked.
Ilias grabbed the book he'd been reading and hurled it at Ehis.
The professor caught it without looking, one hand snapping up to snatch it from the air. He glanced at the cover and nodded approvingly. "Ah, this one's good. Did you get to the part about cultural preservation?"
"Your bat," Ilias said through gritted teeth, "has been shitting on my head for four hours."
"Has he?" Ehis looked up at Ayo. "Good boy."
Ayo chirped proudly.
"Good boy?! You told him to do that?!"
"I told him to keep you company." Ehis set the book back on the table. "What he chose to do with that instruction is between you and him."
"I'm going to kill that bat."
"No you're not. You're going to sit down, and we're going to talk about what you learned."
Ilias glared at him for a long moment, then slumped back into his chair. His whole body still ached from yesterday's fight, and now his head itched from bat droppings. This was not how he'd imagined his training going.
Ehis pulled up a chair across from him, leaning back casually. "So. What did you learn?"
"That Earth is abandoned. That humans spread out across the galaxy. That I'm apparently connected to some ancient culture I've never heard of."
"Which culture?"
Ilias grabbed one of the books and flipped to a page he'd marked. "Says here I'm probably descended from West African populations based on Elyria's settlement records. Specifically..." He squinted at the text. "Yoruba people. From a place called Nigeria."
"There it is." Ehis's smile widened. "Now we're getting somewhere."
"Why does it matter? I'm from Elyria. That's my home."
"It matters," Ehis said, leaning forward, "because your power isn't just your own. You're Blessed by a Harmonic Deity—Orun-Fela, specifically. And Harmonic Deities don't choose randomly. They choose people connected to them culturally, spiritually, through the music that flows in their blood. Orun-Fela's sound, his rhythm, his whole essence is rooted in that Yoruba tradition. Which means you carry that lineage whether you knew it or not."
Ilias frowned. "Harmonic Deity?"
"Musicians who ascended to godhood," Ehis explained. "They created music so powerful, so resonant with the Source itself, that they transcended mortality and became divine. Orun-Fela is one of them—a musician who embodied freedom so completely that he became the god of it. His songs, his rhythms, his entire being is tied to that cultural foundation."
"But I don't know anything about Yoruba culture. I don't speak the language. I don't practice the traditions. How can I be connected to something I've never even heard of?"
"Blood remembers what the mind forgets." Ehis tapped the table. "Your ancestors carried those traditions across the stars. Even if they faded, even if they got mixed with other cultures on Elyria, the core of it remains. It's in how you move, how you think, how you fight. You just don't realize it yet."
"That sounds like mystical nonsense."
"Does it?" Ehis stood and gestured to the books. "You read about the festivals, right? The music? The emphasis on community, on family, on resistance against oppression?"
Ilias thought about it. About Kojo's gang. About the way their whole neighborhood came together when someone needed help. About the food, the laughter, the way people looked out for each other.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I read about it."
"Sound familiar?"
It did. Uncomfortably so.
Ehis walked to a shelf and pulled down another book, smaller than the others. He tossed it to Ilias, who caught it reflexively.
"My people," Ehis said. "Edo. Benin Kingdom. We're one of the oldest kingdoms in human history, and we influenced each other with the Yoruba for centuries. Our cultures share roots, trade, music, art. We're different, but connected." He smiled. "So when I look at you, I see a brother. Different branch of the same tree."
Ilias opened the book. The first page showed an image of intricate bronze sculptures, warriors in elaborate armor, a kingdom that had stood for centuries.
"This is where you're from?" Ilias asked.
"In spirit, yes. In practice, I'm from a colony world three systems away. But I learned the history. I connected to my roots." Ehis sat back down. "And that connection made me stronger. Because when you know who you are—really know it—your power has something to anchor to. It's not just raw energy anymore. It's purpose."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Ilias asked, "So what do I do with this?"
"Keep reading. Keep learning. And when you're ready, we'll start the real training." Ehis's grin returned. "But first, we need to talk about your Harmonic Deity."
"Orun-Fela."
"Yeah. Him." Ehis laughed—a genuine, delighted laugh that filled the room. "Oh man. You got blessed by that guy."
Ilias blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Orun-Fela. Harmonic Deity of Freedom. Revolutionary spirit, all about breaking chains and fighting oppression. Love that energy." Ehis wiped his eyes. "But his *music*..."
"What about it?"
"His songs have intros that last a week."
Ilias stared. "What?"
"Not literally a week, but close enough. I'm talking fifteen, twenty-minute intros before the main song even starts. The man does not believe in getting to the point quickly." Ehis shook his head. "Which, you know, is very on-brand for him. Freedom means taking your time, doing things your way, not rushing for anyone."
"So... my Harmonic Deity makes really long songs."
"Legendary long songs. Beautiful, powerful, important songs. But *long*." Ehis leaned back. "Which brings us to the actual problem."
"There's a problem?"
"Oh yeah." Ehis's expression grew serious. "We know your Harmonic Deity now. We know your cultural background. But we don't know your *rhythm*."
"My rhythm?"
"How you fight. How you channel Resonance. How you express your power." Ehis pulled up a holographic display from his wrist device. Footage of Ilias's fight with Caspian played in the air between them.
Ilias watched himself tear through Caspian's defenses, brutal and efficient.
"You were winning," Ehis said. "Clearly. But your technique?" He paused the footage. "Terrible."
"I won."
"You won on raw power and instinct. But look at this." Ehis zoomed in on a moment where Ilias's Resonance flared. "See that? Your energy pattern is all over the place. It spikes, it drops, it shifts wildly. You're not *conducting* your power—you're barely hanging on to it."
Ilias frowned. "It worked."
"It worked because Caspian is a spoiled prince who's never had to fight someone truly dangerous. But against someone with real skill? Someone who can exploit those gaps?" Ehis shook his head. "You'd be in trouble."
The footage continued. Ilias could see it now—the way his movements lacked cohesion, the way his power flared unpredictably.
"When two Blessed fight," Ehis explained, "it's not just physical combat. It's musical. Their Resonances clash, harmonize, compete. Think of it like two songs playing at the same time. If those songs are compatible—if they're in similar keys, similar rhythms—the fight flows naturally. But if they're discordant..."
He pulled up different footage—two other students sparring. Their Resonances created a strange, jarring sensation even through the recording.
"That's what happens when you go off-tune," Ehis said quietly. "The Resonance turns chaotic. It damages both fighters, tears at their connection to the Source. Keep fighting like that, and eventually..." He closed the footage. "Let's just say you don't want to know what happens when someone goes fully discordant."
Ilias felt a chill run down his spine. "So I need to find my rhythm."
"Exactly. You need to understand how your power wants to flow. What tempo it moves at. What patterns it naturally falls into." Ehis stood. "And that means more research."
"More?"
Ehis walked to another shelf and pulled down three more thick books, dropping them onto the table with the others.
"*What?!*"
"Music theory. Yoruba rhythmic patterns. Historical analysis of Orun-Fela's manifestations across different Blessed throughout history." Ehis patted the stack. "Read these. Internalize them. Once you understand the theory, we can start practical training."
"You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Ilias looked at the pile of books, then at Ehis, then at Ayo, who chose that exact moment to chirp and adjust his wings in a way that suggested he was preparing for another aerial bombardment.
"This is insane."
"This is teaching." Ehis headed for the door again. "Oh, and Ilias?"
"What?"
"Try not to throw too many more books at Ayo. They're expensive, and he's faster than you think."
The door closed behind him.
Ilias sat there, surrounded by books, underneath a bat that had already proven its commitment to making his life difficult.
Inside his mind, Ade spoke up. *"He's right, you know. Understanding your rhythm is crucial."*
*"I know."* Ilias picked up the first new book—*Rhythmic Structures in West African Musical Traditions.* *"Doesn't mean I have to like it."*
*"Growth rarely comes from things we like."*
*"You're starting to sound like Kojo."*
*"I'll take that as a compliment."*
Ilias opened the book and started reading.
Above him, Ayo shifted on his perch.
Ilias didn't look up. "Don't even think about it."
The bat chirped innocently.
Thirty seconds later, Ilias was wiping his head again and seriously reconsidering his life choices.
---
Across campus, in the residential wing reserved for noble students, three young men stood outside an ornate door, exchanging nervous glances.
"Should we...?" one of them started.
"Knock?" another finished.
"He said not to disturb him."
"That was three hours ago."
They could hear muffled shouting from inside—a one-sided conversation that had been going on for far too long.
Finally, the first student reached out and knocked gently.
The shouting stopped.
A moment of silence.
Then: "WHAT?!"
All three flinched.
"Your Highness, we—we just wanted to make sure you were—"
"I'm *fine*. Leave me alone."
More silence. The three students looked at each other again.
Then the shouting resumed.
Inside the room, Caspian Thel'Voran stood before a holographic display, his parents' faces projected in the air before him.
His father—Emperor Valdris Thel'Voran, ruler of the Thel'Voran Empire spanning three systems—looked uncomfortable. His mother, Empress Seralina, looked concerned.
"You're telling me," Caspian said, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage, "that you can't do *anything*?"
"Son—" his father began.
"Don't 'son' me! That *barbarian* humiliated me in front of the entire Academy! He dragged me through the dirt like I was nothing! And you're saying you can't—"
"The Dean contacted us directly," Emperor Valdris said, his voice firm. "Before we even heard about the fight. He made it very clear: any action we take against Elyria—direct or indirect—will result in immediate blacklisting."
"Blacklisting? From what?"
"From everything." The Emperor's expression hardened. "Trade agreements with Academy-aligned worlds. Access to Resonance research. Diplomatic recognition among the Blessed communities. Caspian, if Aeon's Cradle blacklists us, half the galaxy will follow suit. Our empire would be crippled."
"So we just... accept this?"
"We accept," his mother said gently, "that the Academy has rules, and those rules exist for a reason. The Dean protects his students. All of them. Including the one who beat you."
"He didn't just beat me—"
"He defeated you," Emperor Valdris interrupted. "Soundly. I watched the footage. And while I understand your pride is wounded, the reality is simple: you underestimated your opponent and paid the price."
Caspian's hands clenched into fists. "So that's it? I'm just supposed to let it go?"
"You're supposed to learn from it," his father said. "Grow stronger. Adapt. You're a prince of the Thel'Voran Empire, Caspian. Act like it."
His mother leaned forward slightly, her voice softening. "Sweetheart, please. Exercise patience. Your father and I want nothing more than to protect you, but there are forces at play here that even we cannot challenge. The Academy is neutral ground. Sacred ground. We have to respect that."
"Respect," Caspian muttered. "Right."
"Caspian—"
He reached out and terminated the call.
The holographic display flickered and died, leaving him alone in the dim room.
His quarters were luxurious—far more so than most student accommodations. Imported furniture, custom decorations, every comfort money and status could buy.
None of it mattered right now.
He walked to the window and stared out at the Academy grounds. Somewhere out there, Ilias Venn was going about his day, probably not even thinking about their fight anymore.
While Caspian couldn't think about anything else.
The worst part wasn't the beating itself. Wasn't even the humiliation of being dragged around like a toy.
It was that *she* had been watching.
Caspian closed his eyes, his jaw clenching.
He'd lost in front of her.
And that was something he couldn't forgive.
---
In another part of campus, in an open training field surrounded by Academy greenery, two figures moved in synchronized combat.
Vyra Thane, all six-foot-seven and four-armed glory of her, exchanged blows with a smaller woman who somehow managed to keep pace despite the size difference.
The woman—Tessa Varn, president of Vyra's unofficial fanclub—moved with practiced precision, ducking under one of Vyra's high strikes and countering with a kick that Vyra blocked with her lower left arm.
"Good," Vyra said, her voice calm even mid-fight. "Your timing's improving."
"Thanks. You're still going easy on me."
"Obviously. If I wasn't, you'd be unconscious."
Tessa grinned. "Fair point."
They continued sparring, neither one using their full power—this was practice, not actual combat. Around them, a few other students watched, some taking notes, others just enjoying the show.
Being Vyra's training partner was considered an honor. Being the president of her fanclub was considered a privilege. Tessa took both roles seriously.
The fight continued for another minute before—
"VYRA!"
Both women stopped, turning to see two students running toward them at full sprint.
Tessa frowned. "What's going on?"
The students—both members of the fanclub—skidded to a stop, breathing hard.
"We have a problem," one of them gasped.
"Big problem," the other added.
Vyra crossed her upper arms, her lower arms resting on her hips. "Explain."
"It's about Ilias Venn."
Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Several of the watching students tensed. Tessa's expression hardened.
"What about him?" Vyra asked, her voice carefully neutral.
"He joined the Anthracite Collective."
Silence.
Then Tessa: "What?"
"We saw him," the first student said. "He went into one of their meeting spots with a recruiter. Came out later with blood on his face."
"We saw him," the first student said. "He went into one of their meeting spots with a recruiter. Came out later with blood on his face."
"We think—" the second student hesitated. "We think they recruited him."
Vyra's upper right arm moved so fast it was barely visible.
One moment, she and Tessa were standing a few feet apart.
The next, Vyra's fist connected with Tessa's jaw, sending the president of her fanclub flying backward to crash into the ground fifteen feet away.
The watching students gasped.
Tessa groaned, pushing herself up on shaky arms, eyes wide with shock. "What—"
"What do you mean by that?" Vyra asked, her voice quiet but carrying an edge that made everyone take a step back. "Explain. Clearly."
The two students who'd brought the news exchanged glances, then the first one spoke quickly: "We saw him go into Building 23, lower level. That's where the Anthracite Collective operates. He was with one of their known recruiters. He was in there for maybe twenty minutes. When he came out, he had blood on his face and his uniform was messed up."
"Did you see the blood before he went in?" Vyra asked.
"No. That's why we think—"
"You think he joined them, they initiated him with some kind of ritual, and now he's part of their ranks."
"Yes."
Vyra stood perfectly still for a moment.
The Anthracite Collective.
Just hearing the name brought back memories she'd rather forget. Memories of her first year at the Academy, when that gang had run rampant across campus, terrorizing students, stealing points, destroying property with impunity.
They'd been untouchable.
When teachers tried to intervene, the Collective would retaliate by having members sabotage entire sections of the Academy. And because the Academy couldn't expel students without extreme cause—and because the Collective was careful to keep their individual offenses just below that threshold—they'd operated with near-immunity.
Point deductions meant nothing when you could just steal points from other students to cover the loss.
It had been a system designed for cruelty.
And Vyra had broken it.
She'd challenged their leader to a fight. One-on-one. If she won, they disbanded. If she lost, she'd join them.
The fight had lasted four minutes.
Since then, the Anthracite Collective had been scattered, broken, reduced to whispers and shadows. Their members still existed, still operated in the margins, but without their structure, without their leader, they'd been toothless.
Until now.
If Ilias Venn—the student who'd beaten her in the placement test—had joined them...
"They're trying to rebuild," Vyra said quietly.
Tessa had made it back to her feet, rubbing her jaw. "We don't know that for sure. Maybe—"
"He beat me," Vyra interrupted. "In front of everyone. Now he's with them. That's not coincidence."
"What do we do?" one of the students asked.
Vyra thought for a moment.
Then: "I investigate first. If it's true..." Her Spectral Dominance flared slightly, a visible aura that made the air feel heavier. "Then we'll do something about it."
"Should we tell the others?" Tessa asked.
"No. Not yet." Vyra started walking toward the main campus.
"I handle this myself. If word spreads and it turns out to be false, we'll have caused panic for nothing."
"And if it's true?"
Vyra didn't answer.
But the students watching her walk away all had the same thought:
Someone was about to have a very bad day.
END OF CHAPTER 12