The moss lemur chirped once, then bounded toward the nearest tall tree. Its nimble limbs carried it upward in seconds, claws anchoring it as it settled into a cradled crook between branches. A pulse of verdant light radiated from its paws, seeping into the bark.

The forest shivered.

Aston inhaled sharply. His mind felt the shift. A subtle map unfolded within it. It wasn't a visual overlay but a presence web—an awareness of everything within a thirty-meter radius. Movement registered as ripples. Static forms hummed faintly. He felt birds roosting above, a fox slipping through the bushes behind them, and—closer—two fast-moving presences cutting through the perimeter at sharp angles.

One of them paused mid-step.

"Two targets," Rowan whispered, eyes glazed. "Northwest quadrant. Once crouched. The other flanking. They know we're here."

"They're coordinating," Aston murmured. "We split. Triangle formation. I'll draw one out."

Rowan nodded. "Verdy will maintain the map. We've got maybe forty seconds before the sync fades."

Aston slipped right, ghosting through the undergrowth. Gray followed in near-perfect silence. His pulse sharpened—refined—not from fear, but from clarity. Mirage maintained altitude above and Verdy's map glowed like instinct in his skull.

There. A twitch. A flick of shadow.

Aston didn't hesitate.

He launched a stick as a decoy, and in that heartbeat of distraction, he pivoted to the right and dashed—catching the observer mid-turn.

The cloaked student barely had time to react. Gray tackled his legs, and Aston pinned him with a clean sweep and grip.

"One down," he called softly.

"Second's trying to retreat!" Rowan's voice echoed from behind the trees. "I've got him! Verdy says he's heading east."

Mirage dove with a screech as Rowan gave chase.

Within moments, another scuffle ended with a grunt and the rustle of leaves.

Then—silence.

Rowan emerged from the brush, panting, brushing dirt from his pants. "Okay. I love this forest class."

Verdy descended with a proud trill.

Aston smiled faintly. "Your Verdy is ridiculous."

"Well, he gets one sync a day. Totally worth it." Rowan looked toward the trail. "I guess we got the last one?"

"Could be. Let's check with the instructor."

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They regrouped, both exhilarated, their partnership now sealed by shared breath and tension.

As they made their way back to the clearing, Kess circled low overhead—her wings outstretched in a slow glide. The area had already begun to refill with students, many of them brushing leaves from their uniforms or whispering quick retellings of their observer encounter with wide eyes and fast words.

Instructor Oscar stood waiting at the center, arms folded once again. His sharp gaze scanned the returning students like tally marks.

Aston and Rowan arrived just as another group stepped in, dragging a disgruntled observer whose camouflaged hood had been yanked down to reveal a sheepish grin. That made five in total.

Kess gave a confirming cry overhead and vanished into the branches again, almost as if on cue.

The instructor's gaze swept the crowd. "You learned more in twenty minutes of contact than in weeks of lectures. That's the point."

He stepped forward, brushing a finger across the bark of a nearby tree.

"The terrain does not speak clearly. You must learn to read its language—of motion, of silence, of the smallest shifts."

He let that linger, then looked directly at Rowan and Aston.

"Good use of the support ability. And you," he said while meeting Aston's eyes. "You caught the first observer as well as another two, making it three out of five. Not bad for a first year."

Rowan scratched the back of his neck, clearly pleased. Aston gave a short nod.

Instructor Oscar's gaze turned to another pair. "Good synergy with your teammate and spirit beasts. Illusory and disguising techniques often come in handy when dealing with stealthy targets."

Before saying anything, a trio of students walked over from the trail and were escorting a groaning third-year 'observer' who nearly sprawled on the ground.

Instructor Oscar strode over, his boots thudding softly on the forest floor.

One of the students—broad-shouldered, with short black hair—straightened with a proud grin. "We overwhelmed him. Fast takedown. Team effort. He didn't even see us coming."

The instructor's eyes narrowed slightly. "No injuries?"

The older student coughed once. "No broken bones. Just bruised."

Instructor Oscar glanced at the trio. "You're lucky," he said flatly.

The three students blinked, their confident expressions faltering.

"The observers aren't allowed to bring their spirit beasts. They're meant to surrender once attacked—as part of your training. If they had?" He stared at each of them, gaze sharp as Kess' talons. "You'd be nursing shattered ribs, not bragging about ambushes."

"You are not warriors. You are scouts. Precision over power. Information over violence. The goal was detection and subdual, not domination."

He gestured once toward Aston and Rowan, and toward the other pair who caught an observer. "Take a note from the quiet ones. You won't always be the strongest in the forest—but you can still be the smartest."

A beat of silence, as the instructor gazed at the group of students, including the observers.

"Those of you who were caught, and to those who have not—ask yourselves why. Not in shame, but in curiosity. What gave you away? Was it scent? Sound? Movement? Then fix it. That's how you improve."

He glanced toward the sun, now high enough to burn through the morning fog.

"That concludes today's lesson. Collect your field uniforms from the storage lockers on your way to your next class. You will wear them every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday class moving forward.

A few students groaned softly, others nodded with quiet resolve.

Instructor OScar pointed to a thin trail leading back toward the pavilion.

"That way. Dismissed."

With that, he turned ahead and disappeared into the forest as easily as a passing breeze—no sound, no trail. The third years disappeared into the forest, as if they weren't there in the first place.

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