Red and I collapsed onto the couches just as fifteen soft chimes rang through the tower. I stared at the vaulted ceiling, letting out a breath that felt heavier than it should.

  The time with Jason had been productive enough—learning rune fundamentals, and a bit about how mana could be carved into physical material. Discovering I had zero aptitude for it? That stung. Still, the real frustration came from everything after.

  When Jason dismissed us, everyone scattered. No one answered when I asked where they were going—just polite nods and hurried exits. After the camaraderie I'd found with the Monster Hunters, this "every person for themselves" atmosphere hit different. Colder.

  I'd wandered for half an hour before remembering the bracelet on my wrist could actually help. The main library seemed safe—I'd seen it during the tournament's first round. What I didn't expect was finding Estelle Graves teaching an intermediate Alchemy class.

  Intermediate. I should have paid attention to that word.

  My decade-plus of advanced cooking experience meant nothing. Alchemy took everything I knew about heat, timing, and ingredient preparation, then added mana as a variable and threw logic out the window. The basics made sense—heat liquids, muddle and mash ingredients in specific ways. But the moment concentrated mana became part of the equation, my brain turned to mush.

  I'd assumed a basic healing potion would use ginseng as its primary component. The ginseng part was straightforward. Everything else made me want to throw the mortar across the room. Dozens of steps just to create a "hospitable environment" for the concentrated extract, some kind of carrier oil for the active ingredient. By then I'd basically given up and started hoping for an introduction class that might actually exist. On top of it all, some recipes were entire books in lengths filled with jargon and terrible anecdotes.

  Which brought me to the tower's other major problem: its complete lack of organization. If an instructor taught, they'd let their apprentices know—maybe share it with a small group through word of mouth or manascript. That was it. A chime would sound, they'd begin teaching, and you either knew about it or you didn't.

  Then there was the social hierarchy. Some strange pecking order based on seniority, strength, and who was teaching whom. A few students recognized I could hold my own after the tournament, but everything else branded me as the new guy. It felt like staging at a high-end restaurant all over again—I had skills, but everyone around me seemed more skilled and happy to point it out.

  The suite door opened. I sensed Cass in the entryway, her laughter carrying the warmth of someone who'd had a much better day.

  "Gaia's tits! You'll each get your turn!" Her voice was animated, mid-conversation with what sounded like several people. "But I'm starving, and no Mana Sanctum means I eat in my room. We can get started again after dinner, okay?"

  A chorus of groans drifted in before Cass stepped inside and closed the door. Red immediately abandoned his spot, tail wagging so furiously his entire back end wiggled.

  "Ben! This place is amazing—I can't believe it. There's an entire hall of Strikers that just spend all day training!" She paused, taking in my expression. "Why do you look pissed off?"

  I stood and stretched, feeling my spine pop in several places. "Sounds like you and I had very different days."

  As I turned toward her, I noticed she was wearing one of those hanfu-style outfits most of the students and instructors favored—flowing fabric that somehow looked both elegant and practical.

  "Where'd you get the outfit?"

  She shrugged, already heading toward the kitchen area. "It's in your room, along with a schedule. Where did you go? Katie was worried this morning until Dara mentioned you spent some of the night in Diana's office."

  I yawned. "Yeah, Dara locked Red and me out of the suite, made us fight her security golems in the dark for... a while? Then dropped me on top of Diana and made me her problem instead."

  Cass laughed—a genuine, delighted sound—as she rummaged through the cupboards and pulled out what looked like an entire salami. Instead of slicing it properly, she took a massive bite directly from the side.

  "Guess I'm lucky Chas doesn't really teach classes here. I just asked Dara where I could go, and she suggested the Strikers' Hall."

  Oh, fuck. I hadn't thought of asking Dara for help. Though after our night of combat training, would she have even bothered? Tower spirits were strange. Dragons were strange. I was still getting used to the distinction.

  I was shaking my head at my stupidity when Malcolm burst through the door with enough enthusiasm to rattle the hinges.

  "I think I'm in love! Why the fuck didn't I come here sooner?!" His face was flushed with excitement, but the moment he realized we were both staring at him, he turned several shades redder.

  Cass and I exchanged a look and smirked in perfect unison. "Oh? Who's the lucky lady?"

  Malcolm held up his hands defensively. "The main library. You can find anything there if you know what questions to ask! Plus, look at this!"

  He pulled a small contraption from his Mana Sanctum—the same strange Bunsen burner from his sketches. Fresh craftsmanship, intricate runes etched along its base, the metal still shining with newness.

  "The facilities here are incredible! I provided some instruction to a group of students studying techno-magic, and we made this in a matter of hours." Malcolm's enthusiasm dimmed as he took in my expression. "Why does Ben look sick?"

  Cass and I laughed. "Dara had him up all night fighting golems," she explained around another bite of salami.

  "Oh, I was wondering where you were this morning." Malcolm's eyebrows shot up. "I heard those things can take on Adepts. That couldn't have been enjoyable."

  "Adepts?" The word hit me cold. "Red and I took out six or seven of them before Dara had to step in."

  "Just you and Red took on seven back-to-back golems?" Malcolm whistled low.

  "No, it was most of them all at once," I corrected, remembering the chaos of stone fists and spinning limbs. "I lost count of how many there were by the time I landed in Diana's office."

  . Red's voice drifted through our bond, matter-of-fact as always.

  "Never mind—Red says there were eleven by the time we both went down."

  "Fuck you." Cass nearly choked on her food. "There's no way you fought that many Adepts at the same time."

  I gestured to the dog now begging for food at her feet. "Red helped."

  "Did you mana burn?" Malcolm asked, his voice taking on clinical interest.

  "Obviously." I laughed, though there wasn't much humor in it. "They were kicking my ass without it. I'll bet you I could hold my own against Erik now, though."

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  Cass set down her salami with deliberate care. "Erik might not be here, but there are plenty of Adept strikers. I want to see what you can do. Want to see if there’s someone to spar with?"

  If the golems really were Adept level, then fighting someone around Erik's strength didn't seem so bad anymore. I nodded.

  "Why not? But what about Katie?" I asked. "Is she in the kitchens?"

  "She is." Dara's voice came from directly behind me. This time I barely got a warning tingle before I turned. She was actually trying to be stealthy, which was more unsettling than her usual sudden appearances. "And the golems were adjusted to low Adept level. But..." She sighed. "He did much better than I expected, and I have been made suitably aware that I may have set the bar a bit too high for your reward."

  "You think?" I scoffed.

  "So Ben actually held his own against Adepts, but he's still pushing through Seeker?" Malcolm grabbed some kind of wrapped snack from the counter, his movements sharp with excitement. "That's insane."

  Dara's shrug was elegant and dismissive. "Early Adepts. In the Empire, and other places in the Multiverse, building a foundation as early as possible instead of rapid progression is how the strongest factions train their Runebinders. Many people start their journey as an Initiate very early in life, and a child dabbling with a stray magical concept isn't the same as someone with over a decade of training before even taking the first step."

  The weight of her words settled over the room. I watched Cass's face as understanding dawned, her expression shifting from confusion to something almost relieved.

  "Well, shit." She set down her food entirely. "That means Ben's less of a freak than we thought? But are we fucked then? Is Ben just going to leave us in the dust?"

  Dara considered this for a long moment, her ancient eyes moving between my two friends with something that might have been fondness. "You are the daughter of The Eclipse, Cassandra, and the heir to an entire nation, no matter how beaten up it currently is. And you, Malcolm, are the son of The Phantom, Prince of Marigold, and a direct descendant of Gaius Valerian. When did I say either of you lacked a foundation? I think Ben is helping you both remember it."

  Silence followed. Heavy with implications. Cass took a deep breath and let it out in an exasperated sigh that seemed to deflate her entire body. Even Malcolm had gone still, lost in thought.

  I'd heard both of them tell stories about being taught to fight as young children, subjected to brutal Soulcries when they misbehaved particularly badly. Those hadn't been normal childhoods—they'd been preparation.

  "So... all three of us are freaks?" Malcolm asked, and I couldn't help but laugh at the plaintive note in his voice.

  Dara's smile was small but warm as she looked at me. For just a moment, I could swear I heard something—distant singing, joyous and faint. The sensation was gone almost before I could register it, leaving me wondering if I'd imagined it entirely.

  Red trotted over to Dara, who knelt down and scratched behind his ears with genuine affection. "Well then," she said, her voice carrying an odd note of satisfaction. "I hope you enjoy your second night in the Academy. My golems will always be available in the evenings if you ever feel like training against me. I rather enjoyed it."

  "So you are driving them." I grinned, pleased to have my suspicions confirmed. "I had a feeling. What about my reward?"

  Dara's smile widened, and there was something almost predatory in it. "I'd say the information I just provided was more than enough."

  I stared at her blankly. "I wouldn't say 'slow and steady wins the race' is a solid reward for letting you kick my ass all night, Dara."

  She sighed as if I'd caught her red-handed trying to shortchange me. "I'll have something brought to you after the dueling rounds."

  And then she was simply gone. Not fading or stepping away—just gone.

  Cass threw her hands up in exasperation. "She really is gree…"

  And suddenly, Cass was gone too.

  I winced as Dara's voice filled the room from everywhere and nowhere at once, carrying the patient tone of someone correcting misbehaving children. "Anyone else care to make a comment?"

  Malcolm and I exchanged a look of perfect understanding.

  "No, ma'am."

  After changing into the hanfu—which was surprisingly comfortable despite looking formal—I spent some time refining divine mana. It settled behind my left eye, familiar now. If I was going to get my ass kicked, I at least wanted some cost-free help to reverse the damage.

  The process took longer than I'd expected. Valor really didn't want to make it, and I had to practically force the mana into my Seal to get it to work.

  Topping up from the spirit well also felt sluggish, and when I finally opened my eyes, Malcolm confirmed what I'd suspected.

  "Your left eye is definitely glowing," he said, tilting his head to get a better look. "Subtle, but it's there. Creepy."

  We made our way to the Strikers' area using our translocator bracelets, figuring Cass would meet us there whenever she fished herself out of wherever Dara had sent her. Red had been adamant about staying in the room in case Katie came back with cheese buns, which I couldn't argue with.

  The Strikers' Hall wasn't what I'd expected. Instead of a barbaric training ground, it looked more like an upscale martial arts school. Several Vildar showed movement techniques with fluid precision, while others huddled around large unrolled scrolls that practically hummed with runic concepts—momentum, force, and dozens of others I couldn't quite grasp. After seeing Maris fight, I'd expected something darker.

  The thought of Maris brought back that familiar knot in my stomach. Maris Valerian, the Archon who'd decided a month ago that I didn't belong on Ark. She'd parallel-parked her massive boat in the middle of La-Roc and forced Chas to kick her into accepting a Grand Tournament to sort things out. People had died in her plotting. Lana—Thea's sister and the Monster Hunters' spirit realm specialist—had been working with her.

  It was awfully convenient that a spirit realm had somehow imploded over the Academy, creating a giant Kaiju that nearly leveled the place. I didn't think Maris was responsible—by all accounts, she'd fought too hard against it.

  But Lana? That was a different question entirely.

  As we made our way into the hall, two Strikers in black hanfus approached. One was Francis, with a familiar grin already in place. The other was someone I'd never met—clearly an Aldertree, but throwing the standard template out the window.

  Every Aldertree I'd met shared the same general look: bronze skin, slender builds with that slightly elven quality, grassy hair, and that pleasant botanical scent they all seemed to carry. This guy demolished that template entirely.

  He was shirtless, and I could see why. His bronze skin had a grayer tone than the others, with gentle floral patterns carved into his flesh. Living tattoos that moved when he breathed. The obvious reason for skipping the shirt was that he was absolutely shredded—lean muscle that spoke of years of serious training. He was completely hairless, lacking any trace of the grassy hair that seemed standard issue for Florans. He almost looked like a warrior monk.

  "Ben!" Francis called out with enthusiasm. "My cousin Zach here was wanting to spar again with Seeker Cassandra. Do you know where she is?"

  As if summoned by her name, Cass walked through a door that definitely hadn't been there a moment before. She was thoroughly drenched, water still dripping from her hair and clothes. Two larger Gaians started moving toward her, chuckling at her waterlogged state, but she thrust her finger at them with such venom that they stopped mid-step and backed away.

  She stomped over to us, and I winced at the murder in her eyes.

  "Where'd you end up?" I asked carefully.

  "A fucking lake. Somewhere in the tower since the bracelet worked." She shuddered, wringing water from her sleeves. "But the fish swimming all around me... bleh." She seemed to notice Francis and Zach for the first time, and her expression brightened considerably. "Oh, Zachary! Perfect!"

  She pointed directly at me. "That's the guy I was telling you about. He wants to fight you. Dara says he was fighting her security golems all night and he said he'd prove it."

  "Wait, Cass—" I started, but Zach was already grinning and extending his hand.

  "Zachary Aldertree. A momentous meeting."

  His formal tone threw me off, but I reached out and took his offered hand. The moment our palms touched, I knew I'd made a mistake.

  When I tried to pull back, I realized I couldn't. He was squeezing my hand, his half-smile never wavering. The pressure built slowly, deliberately, testing something.

  I squeezed back, shoving as much mana reinforcement as I could into my hand and forearm. It felt like I'd stuck my hand into a hydraulic press—the pressure increasing well past any point I'd experienced before. Without mana reinforcement, my hand would have been paste within seconds.

  The grip contest stretched on for what felt like an eternity, both of us pouring power into the connection. Then something in my hand gave way with a sickening pop, and I couldn't quite suppress my wince as my knuckles finally surrendered with a wet crunch.

  Zachary released my hand with obvious reluctance, and I pulled it back with a grimace. The divine mana was already going to work, a warm tingling sensation spreading through the damaged bones. I could have forced it to heal faster, but letting it work naturally seemed to cost almost nothing.

  Zachary flexed his own hand, examining his fingers with scientific interest. "Impressive. The Breaker is well-named—I believe my finger is broken. Perhaps we can spar when your hand is heal—"

  He was cut off as I yelped in surprise. The bones in my hand had just set and healed in a single, intensely uncomfortable moment, as if the divine mana had proved a point about efficiency.

  Whatever had just happened, the energy definitely felt diminished—like I'd spent some of it on the accelerated healing.

  Zachary's smile turned absolutely wicked as life-aspected mana roared through him, resonating with my aura. His broken finger underwent the same rapid healing process before the energy faded away. The difference being, I could sense life-aspected mana now, and he had just used a massive amount to heal a bone the same way I did.

  He gestured to the Strikers gathering around us, drawn by the spectacle. "Set up a sparring ring. I believe it's time for the Strikers to show a young Guardian how to fight."