The training grounds outside the Grand Citadel had been cleared completely and reinforced with the kind of structural preparation usually reserved for natural disasters or siege warfare.
The wide dirt arena stretched perhaps two hundred meters across, surface packed hard from decades of use but recently swept clean of debris and loose stones. The perimeter was ringed by layered mana barriers—translucent shimmering walls that would contain explosive techniques, absorb kinetic energy from wayward attacks, prevent collateral damage to the Citadel proper.
The barriers hummed at frequencies just below audible, their presence felt more than heard, the kind of background pressure that made your teeth ache if you stood too close for too long.
Every member of the White Lions and Daybreak stood in loose formation near the arena's center—thirty-two fighters total when you counted both squads completely, their combined presence creating ambient tan pressure that would have been overwhelming in enclosed space but felt merely intense here in the open air.
Armor polished to regulation standards caught morning sunlight. Weapons were positioned properly—swords sheathed, bows unstrung, staves held at rest, everyone following the protocols for formal training assemblies. Eyes sharp with mixture of excitement and dread, the specific anticipation that came from knowing you were about to be tested by people who'd forgotten more about combat than you'd ever learn.
Kairo Brant—the First and highest-ranked Heavenly Star General—stood at the arena's exact center, positioned with the kind of casual precision that suggested he'd measured distances without appearing to do so.
He wore a simple black training robe rather than his legendary gilded armor, the fabric practical and worn soft from regular use, red accents running along the sleeves in patterns that might have been decorative or might have been subtle enchantment work.
Beside him stood Stratton Power—Vice General, second-in-command to the kingdom's strongest warrior, possessing defensive capabilities that had never been successfully breached and offensive techniques that somehow matched despite that seeming physically impossible.
Tall, easily six and a half feet, built like someone who'd spent their entire life carrying weight and had developed accordingly. Arms crossed over a chest broad enough to serve as cover for multiple people. Eyes hidden behind tinted glasses that suggested either light sensitivity or tactical advantage from opponents not knowing where he was looking.
Kairo's voice carried effortlessly across the grounds despite not shouting, the kind of projection that came from decades of command experience and probably some subtle gift enhancement.
"Welcome. You've been assigned to us for one year of intensive training that will either make you significantly more capable or kill you in the attempt. We don't have time for gentle introduction or gradual difficulty escalation, so we're starting with practical assessment."
He gestured toward Stratton.
"First test: mock battle against my Vice General. Rules are simple—no killing blows, obviously, since corpses make poor students. Beyond that, no holding back. Use everything you've developed. Show us what you're currently capable of so we know where to begin improvement."
Stratton stepped forward with movement that was economical rather than graceful, nothing wasted, every motion serving specific purpose.
He raised one hand—palm forward, fingers slightly spread.
"Gift: Time Loop."
The world froze.
Not metaphorically. Not partially.
Completely froze for everyone except Stratton, time itself stopping in localized area, thirty-two fighters becoming living statues caught mid-breath, mid-step, mid-blink, their consciousness continuing but their bodies locked in temporal stasis.
The White Lions and Daybreak members experienced the freeze as instant paralysis—able to think and perceive but unable to move or speak or activate gifts, trapped in their own bodies while still aware of surroundings.
Stratton moved freely through the frozen crowd like a ghost navigating a museum of still-living exhibits.
He walked between them, examining stances and positioning with critical eye. Tapped shoulders to test muscle tension. Adjusted feet that were poorly planted. Leaned close to whisper tactical observations that frozen ears could hear but frozen mouths couldn't respond to.
"Your weight distribution is wrong—too far forward, easy to unbalance."
"You're telegraphing that attack. I can see it coming before you finish the setup."
"Good positioning, but your breathing is irregular. Fear response undermining technique."
Then he snapped his fingers—single sharp sound that echoed wrong in the frozen space.
Time resumed.
Everyone stumbled simultaneously—disorientation from temporal manipulation hitting them like vertigo, inner ears insisting they'd been moving while memory said they'd been stationary, the disconnect creating instant nausea and balance problems.
Jax recovered first through pure instinct, lightning crackling around his fists on reflex.
"What the—how did you—"
Stratton was already behind him.
The Vice General's movement was too fast to track—not quite teleportation but close enough that the distinction barely mattered.
A light tap to the back of Jax's neck—specific pressure point that didn't damage tissue but interrupted neural signals beautifully.
Jax dropped like a puppet with cut strings, unconscious before he hit the ground but breathing normally, no lasting harm beyond bruised pride.
One by one, with methodical efficiency that suggested this was routine exercise rather than impressive demonstration, Stratton dismantled both squads.
Kael attempted to bind him with copper chains that shot from multiple angles—solid tactics, good coordination with his gift.
The chains froze mid-air the moment they entered Stratton's immediate space, Time Loop activating in pulses too brief to notice, stopping the metal's momentum without appearing to move. Stratton walked through the suspended restraints like walking through hanging curtains, emerged behind Kael, tapped his temple gently.
Kael joined Jax on the ground.
Steel transformed to full metal form, body becoming reinforced alloy that had tanked hits from Level 9 Shadow Beasts, confident in his durability.
Stratton slipped behind him anyway—Time Loop making the movement invisible, allowing him to bypass Steel's awareness completely—and delivered a precise pressure point strike to the gap where neck met shoulder, the one vulnerable spot in Steel's otherwise complete coverage.
Steel's metal form collapsed with a sound like a building settling.
Frost raised an ice wall between herself and the Vice General—solid tactics, buying time to prepare better techniques.
Stratton shattered it with a single palm strike, the impact not particularly forceful but perfectly placed to exploit stress fractures in the crystalline structure. Then he was through the fragments before they hit ground, tapping Frost's shoulder as she tried to backpedal.
She went down looking annoyed at herself.
Lena launched a sound wave—her Crushing Crescendo technique that had worked so well against the Shadow Lion, acoustic pressure that should have been impossible to dodge in enclosed space.
Stratton sidestepped it anyway, temporal manipulation letting him move during the split-second between when she committed to the attack and when the sound actually propagated, putting him outside the technique's cone before it arrived. He tapped her wrist in passing—gentle, almost apologetic.
Her guitar fell. She followed it down.
Huna tried to hang back and heal injured squadmates, green light spreading toward fallen fighters.
Stratton appeared beside her—Time Loop making interception trivial—and gently pressed her shoulder, the touch triggering the same pressure point technique he'd used on the others.
She collapsed mid-healing pulse, the green light dispersing harmlessly.
Mira opened a void gate beneath Stratton's feet, trying to drop him into dimensional space where time manipulation wouldn't help.
Stratton stepped through the portal, used its spatial properties to emerge behind her instead of wherever she'd intended to send him, tapped the back of her head softly.
She slumped into her own shadows.
Tor tried dropping gravity around the Vice General, creating crushing pressure that should have driven him to his knees.
Stratton simply floated through the effect—Time Loop letting him exist in the moment before the gravity change took effect, moving through the altered space like it was still normal—emerged within arm's reach, tapped Tor's forehead.
Down.
Aria's summoned animals charged from multiple directions—wolves, her hawk diving from above, the strategy relying on overwhelming through numbers and angles.
Stratton moved between them like wind through grass, each step placing him exactly where no attack could reach, each movement minimal and precise. He knocked Aria unconscious last, the gentle tap to her shoulder almost courteous in its restraint.
The entire combined force of White Lions and Daybreak—thirty-two trained fighters, several with techniques that had killed Level 8 Shadow Beasts—lay unconscious across the training ground.
Elapsed time: one minute forty-three seconds.
Only Max remained standing.
He'd hung back deliberately, watching, learning, trying to understand the Time Loop's mechanics before committing to action.
Stratton turned toward him, tinted glasses reflecting silver light from where Max's mark had begun glowing unconsciously.
"Your turn, Maxwell Thorne. Show me what makes you different from the others."
Max exhaled slowly, feeling the cold place where Vista's gift lived, reaching for power that had been dormant but was starting to wake.
The silver mark on his forehead ignited properly—not flickering, not hesitant, but blazing with the cold radiance that meant the transformation was responding to genuine need.
"Silver Transformation: Full Despair."
The change swept through him faster than it had against Joi Cei, his control improved through meditation and Elara's training, the process feeling less like being overtaken and more like stepping into armor that fit perfectly.
Horns curved back from his temples—elegant rather than brutal, silver-black and sharp.
Tail manifested, lashing behind him with independent intelligence, the barbed tip dripping something that sizzled against dirt.
Eyes shifted to black sclera with crimson irises burning in the darkness, the heterochromia marking him as something other than human.
Silver light bled from his skin like liquid metal evaporating, creating an aura that pushed against Stratton's temporal manipulation, Vista's gift insisting that endings couldn't be delayed indefinitely.
Stratton's smile became visible despite the glasses hiding his eyes—small expression, genuinely impressed rather than merely polite.
"Come. Let's see if you're as special as Kairo suspects."
Max moved.
Not running—flowing, the Full Despair state granting speed that transcended normal acceleration, his body crossing distance through implications rather than steps.
Stratton activated Time Loop again, the world freezing, temporal stasis spreading outward to capture this troublesome fighter who'd somehow survived when everyone else fell.
But Max didn't freeze.
The silver energy coating him shattered the temporal effect like glass meeting hammer, Vista's gift over despair and endings fundamentally incompatible with being delayed or stopped, the concept of freezing someone who embodied finality creating logical paradox that reality resolved in Max's favor.
He broke through, movement uninterrupted, fist already cocked back and driving forward.
Stratton's eyes widened visibly behind the tinted glasses—first sign of genuine surprise, first indication that something had occurred outside his predictions.
Max's fist connected with the Vice General's stomach—not holding back, Full Despair providing strength that exceeded his normal capabilities by orders of magnitude, silver energy adding conceptual weight to the physical impact.
Stratton flew backward like he'd been hit by siege weapon, body tumbling uncontrolled through air, crashing into the mana barrier wall at the arena's edge with impact that cracked the multi-layered defensive structure, the barriers designed to contain elite-grade techniques buckling under the force.
The frozen squad members—Time Loop's effect shattering when Stratton lost concentration—blinked back to consciousness, gasping as temporal stasis released and regular time resumed.
They found themselves on the ground, disoriented and defeated, looking up to see Max standing in Full Despair form, breathing hard but victorious, while Stratton pushed himself up from the cracked barrier wall.
Max's transformation flickered—the power state proving difficult to maintain, his control still imperfect—but held long enough for him to stand over the Vice General.
Stratton coughed once, black training robe torn, the first visible damage Max had seen anyone inflict on him.
Then he laughed—genuine amusement rather than mocking, the sound carrying respect.
"Impressive, Maxwell Thorne. You broke my Time Loop. That's... that hasn't happened in eight years. Well done."
He accepted Max's offered hand, standing with dignity despite the defeat.
From the sidelines, Kairo Brant had been watching with the kind of focused attention that missed nothing.
His eyes narrowed, analytical mind processing what he'd just witnessed, cataloguing details that most observers would miss.
Max's body showed no tan circulation. No mana flow. No wus, oi, or sui energy signatures. None of the five kingdom power sources that every gift-user drew from.
Just silver.
Pure, undiluted, operating on principles that Kairo's centuries of combat experience couldn't immediately classify.
*A person using a gift without any conventional power source? That shouldn't be possible. Gifts require energy from somewhere—that's fundamental law. But his silver operates independently, draws from... what? Where does that power originate?*
He kept his thoughts private, expression remaining neutral, making mental notes for later investigation.
Lunch came after the morning's brutal assessment, bodies and egos needing time to recover.
Surprisingly, the two captains—Elara and Gabriel—had volunteered to cook, both possessing unexpected culinary skills that their squads rarely saw demonstrated.
The meal was actually good rather than merely functional.
Grilled fish from the river that ran past the Citadel, seasoned with herbs someone had cultivated specifically for this purpose. Spiced rice with vegetables that provided actual nutrition rather than just filling stomachs. Fresh bread from the Citadel kitchens, still warm, butter melting into the crust.
They ate in the open air beneath the Citadel's outer walls, long tables set up in the shade, the atmosphere shifting from formal training to something more relaxed, people being allowed to simply exist as individuals rather than soldiers for an hour.
Jax was the first to complain, as usual, waving a piece of bread for emphasis.
"I lasted three seconds. Three! I've fought Level 8 Shadow Beasts! I helped take down a Level 9! And this guy just taps my neck like I'm a misbehaving pet and I'm done!" He bit into the bread aggressively, chewing his frustration.
Frost leaned across the table, ice patterns playing across her fingertips in amusement.
"At least you got three seconds. I built my best wall and he went through it like it was made of paper. Didn't even slow him down. That was embarrassing."
"Your wall lasted longer than my lightning," Jax muttered. "Which is mathematically impossible since light moves faster than ice forms, but apparently Vice Generals don't care about physics."
Steel sat methodically working through his third plate of food, eating like a machine, his enhanced metabolism requiring massive caloric intake after extended metal transformation.
Between bites: "Time manipulation is fundamentally unfair. How do you train against someone who can just... stop you from moving? We need a counter-strategy."
Lena strummed her guitar softly, providing ambient music.
"Counter-strategy is 'be Max, apparently.' Since he's the only one who didn't get instantly demolished."
All eyes turned toward Max, who'd been eating quietly, the Full Despair transformation having drained him more than he'd admit.
He shrugged. "Vista's gift apparently doesn't like being frozen in time. I didn't plan that—it just happened. Not sure I could replicate it deliberately."
Stratton Power sat across from Max, the bruise on his stomach already fading thanks to enhanced healing that came with Vice General rank.
He spoke quietly while others continued their louder conversations, creating private moment within public space.
"Your squad's tactical flaws became very clear during that assessment. Jax relies too heavily on raw power output—he needs control and precision development. Kael hesitates at critical moments, second-guesses himself when commitment is required. Frost fears overextending, holds back when full commitment would win the exchange. Lena's sound techniques are strong but follow predictable patterns that experienced fighters can read. Steel is genuinely unbreakable but sacrifices speed for that durability. The others have similar issues—solid foundations, but gaps in application."
He paused, taking a drink of water.
"But you, Maxwell Thorne..."
Max met his eyes—or where his eyes probably were behind the tinted glasses.
Stratton smiled faintly.
"I have nothing to critique about your performance. You identified the optimal strategy—observe before committing, learn the technique's mechanics, strike when you understood the opening. You adapted your gift's properties to counter mine. You executed with commitment and precision. That was textbook elite-level combat decision-making."
The smile shifted slightly.
"Which means you're hiding something. Something significant. Your power operates on principles I don't recognize, draws from sources I can't identify, and you fought with the kind of control that suggests extensive prior experience despite your youth."
He leaned forward slightly.
"What are you really, Maxwell Thorne? And how much of it are you hiding?"
Max held his gaze for a long moment, considering how much to reveal, how much to keep private.
Finally: "I'm someone who died once and came back different. The rest... I'm still figuring out myself."
Stratton nodded slowly, apparently accepting that non-answer as sufficient for now.
"Fair enough. We all have secrets. Just know that Kairo is already curious about you. And when the First Heavenly Star General becomes curious, he tends to investigate thoroughly."
At the head table, Kairo Brant sat watching Max eat, his expression warm and polite—the face of someone enjoying a pleasant meal with colleagues.
But his thoughts were sharp, calculating, processing everything he'd observed.
*No conventional power source. Gift that counters temporal manipulation. Combat instincts that exceed his apparent training. Either he's the most naturally talented fighter I've encountered in a century, or something else is operating through him. Either way...*
His smile remained gentle.
*What are you hiding, Maxwell Thorne? And will it be enough to change what the Star Vision showed?*
The meal continued—laughter and stories and the small moments of human connection that made military service bearable.
But underneath the casual atmosphere, the clock kept ticking.
One year until the Vision's prophecy manifested.
Three hundred sixty-five days to become strong enough to change destiny.
And somewhere above, the stars watched with their usual indifference, maintaining their patterns, marking time until the sky would turn red and the man would appear and everything would end.
Unless these people—these soldiers eating lunch and laughing at terrible jokes—could somehow become strong enough to rewrite prophecy.
The training had barely begun.
The real work started tomorrow.
End of Chapter 33