The road back to Halcyon Reach was empty by design.

Aston had timed it that way—catching a transport route from the outer ridge under the cover of low morning fog, boarding with a group of coal runners and orchard workers. No one questioned the quiet man with a satchel and a worn traveling coat. He kept his head low, voice lower.

By the time they reached the district wall checkpoints, he'd already removed the Seraphis Shed and packed it deep in its woven silk pouch, face washed and identity wiped clean. Now, just Aston Rhyner again. Twelve, small-framed, sharp-eyed.

Nobody looked twice at a student with academy insignia pinned to his sleeve.

He crossed into the city proper with silent steps, the buzz of spirit glyphs returning to the edges of his senses. Everything felt louder now. The tech hum, the commerce, the patrols. After nearly five days in Westridge's deliberate hush, Halcyon felt like thunder with a smile.

Gray nestled quietly in his hood. Mirage trailed in high-glide mode, a drifting whisper above rooftop lines.

By the time Aston passed through the east gate of the academy, the guards gave only a standard nod. He'd been gone for less than a week. But judging from the glances, the whispers rising just after he passed, the rumors had moved faster.

He kept walking.

His first stop wasn't the dormitory.

It was the place where he first met Elder Erin—the dilapidated courtyard.

Aston waited for a minute before a figure emerged from one of the fallen pillars—Elder Erin.

"You're back early," she said simply. "How's the target."

Aston handed over the tube that the woman had given to him during his stay in the settlement.

"Relay tag activated," he said. "Crate was marked. Zero combat."

Elder Erin tapped the tube with a single finger.

Spirit light bloomed from the edge of the scroll tube. She scanned the contents quickly. Her brow lifted slightly, but she didn't comment.

"Report?" she asked.

He recited everything in order—arrival, identity imprint, routine establishment, contact timing, surveillance, anomaly, tagging, and exfil. No embellishment. No hesitations.

When he finished, she placed the scroll tube inside her robes.

"Your shadow record will reflect this trial," she said. "You won't be publicly credited."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"I understand."

She looked at him more closely now. She made a few more notes into a hovering spirit-pad, then nodded once.

"You're clear. No tail. No traces. No failures."

That last word sat in the air longer than it needed to.

Aston only inclined his head.

"You're still a bit young for this, but… " Elder Erin hanged. "...welcome to Shadow Operations, Operative Rhyner."

—

After exchanging niceties with Elder Erin, Aston returned to the dormitories.

During their exchange, Aston learned that the Shadow Operations Strand, although officially listed under the umbrella of the Scouting Arts Division, was not openly acknowledged as a selectable specialization.

On academy documents, the Scouting Division offered six public strands:

Expedition Reconnaissance, Sensorium and Environmental Tracking, Urban Reconnaissance, Cartography and Spatial Analysis, Tactical Communications and Relay, and Cognitive Reconnaissance.

But there was a seventh.

Shadow Operations.

It did not appear in academy selection forms. There were no classrooms labeled for it, no listed instructors, and no electives under its name. Only a handful of faculty even acknowledged it existed. And those who did—like Elder Erin—rarely left a paper trail when doing so.

Students did not apply to Shadow Operations. They were chosen.

Handpicked.

A referral from an elder was the only way in. Even then, acceptance was not guaranteed. Candidates were tested through field scenarios disguised as ordinary tasks, or fed misinformation to see what they revealed and to whom.

Aston now understood that his assignment to Westridge Hollow had not been an opportunity. It had been a filter.

And what surprised him most wasn't the strand's secrecy.

It was who else had been part of it.

Cyr Relhart—the prodigy of Expedition Reconnaissance, famed for surviving Outland deployments and topping tactical boards across the Eastern Crest—was not just a model student of the public strand.

He was in Shadow Operations.

His placement within Expedition Recon was a cover. A deep one. One built on years of real accolades, real missions… and carefully curated half-truths.

Elder Erin had said nothing about it. Neither had Cyr.

But Aston now saw the logic.

After completing foundational classes, students were expected to select a strand for formal specialization. But Shadow Ops operatives were instructed to choose a public strand—any of the six—under which to "formally" train.

That false identity would give them operational cover, the illusion of a standard trajectory.

Aston knew what he would do.

When the time came, he would choose a public strand. Likely Expedition Reconnaissance or Cognitive Reconnaissance—both well-aligned with his skills and believable on paper.

Something that would let him move freely, ask questions, and blend into the visible student ranks.

But his true training, his real orders…

Would remain in the shadows.

Just as Shadow Operations intended.

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