Vaeliyan lay on his back on the cloud bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. The chamber was still, air thick and unmoving, yet his mind refused to still itself. Sleep teased him only to slip further away each time he closed his eyes. His thoughts dragged him back to the fight with Barcus in broken flashes: the pit, the heat that pressed in from every side, the reckless movements that nearly shattered everything. He exhaled sharply, rolled once against the shifting cloud surface, then reached through the bond to Bastard and Stylls. The connection was always there, steady and certain, a second heartbeat thrumming in his chest.

"You'd have died," Vaeliyan said quietly, eyes shut. His voice was low, ragged with fatigue and reprimand. "In the pit, against Barcus. That recklessness of yours… it isn't just a style, Stylls. It would have gotten you killed."

She shifted inside the bond, guilty and restless, her emotions rushing into him in raw, jagged flashes. "Sorry, Warns. Stylls knows. Stylls just thought Stylls could… thought Stylls could crunch him. Wanted to proves it."

Her words were blunt, childish still, but the regret beneath them was clear. Vaeliyan let out a slow breath. "You can't keep thinking that way. Neither can I. I've been reckless too. Too often. And I don't want that bleeding over between us. This bond cuts both ways. If you burn out fast, maybe I start chasing the same fire. That ends with both of us dead, and Bastard left to pick up the pieces."

Stylls hesitated, her usual defiance dimmed. Then she spoke again, quieter this time, her tone edged with a sincerity he rarely heard. "Stylls will do betters. Stylls is trying. Doesn't wants to burn outs. Stylls wants to wins. Doesn't wants to scares you either."

Her honesty struck harder than Vaeliyan expected. He felt it sink deep, a rare, cutting truth. His throat tightened, and he let the bond carry back a thread of approval, enough for her to know he believed her.

Bastard's silence lingered longer than hers. His presence curled small, low, pulled tight into himself. Vaeliyan could feel the weight pressing on him, the memory of teeth bared in alley shadows, the years of being nothing more than a feral thing that the world ignored. He had grown, been reshaped, yet that shame still bit deep. Vaeliyan reached toward him with care. "You think you were useless in there. I felt it. But you weren't. You kept the mech's attention long enough for me to end it. That mattered more than you know. That was not nothing."

Bastard shared no words, but the bond drew up a thought-form anyway: claws raking useless against metal hide, fangs that could find no purchase. Kitten-small. Powerless. The sense of worthlessness hung like lead, thick and choking.

"No," Vaeliyan pressed, leaning into the bond, willing the truth to stick. "Not worthless. Never that. You gave me the chance to finish it. Without you, I might not have. You are not less for failing to break it. You are more for standing against it."

Stylls darted in before the weight could settle again, clumsy but fierce, words tumbling out with stubborn certainty: "One day Bastards will breaks thems open. Bastards will crunches thems. Will eat the silly squishies inside. Stylls knows it. Bastards going to be unstoppables."

The conviction in her voice cut through the haze of Bastard's doubt. If he could have smiled, Vaeliyan knew Bastard would have. The pride that had sagged began to lift, not all the way, but enough to shift his shoulders back into place. Big brother of his pack once more, scarred but steady, guardian despite the doubts gnawing inside.

Vaeliyan let their warmth settle over him, their bond wrapping around his restless thoughts like a blanket he could not push away. For a moment, the gnawing inside him eased, dulled beneath the weight of their faith. His muscles softened, and his chest rose and fell in something close to peace. But sleep still refused him, stubborn as ever, hovering beyond reach. The ceiling above him remained dark and unyielding, the silence a reminder that rest would not come tonight.

Vaeliyan sat on the edge of the cloud bed, elbows resting on his knees, palms dragging hard across his face as if he could scrape the weight away. The fighting earlier had stripped him raw, the clash against Barcus draining him yet flooding him with fire at the same time. For a brief moment it had been release, violence flushing through his blood and burning the edges of his thoughts clean. But the calm hadn't lasted. What came after had only added weight, stacking stone after stone on his shoulders until his lungs felt too tight to fill. Every gift, every victory, every revelation had turned into a fresh burden pressing down harder than the last.

Steel's boon hung sharp in his chest. It was supposed to be a blessing, a bridge between here and home. It would let him step back into Mara, let him stand beside Wren and finally lay eyes on the child he had not yet touched, and yet remain here as Vaeliyan. It should have filled him with gratitude, but instead it frightened him down to his bones. He wanted it, he needed it, but joy carried teeth. He couldn't help but think that something so valuable would only demand something worse in return.

And then there was the license. That slip of paper weighed more than any lance, more than any blade. It was a fuse already lit, its quiet hiss echoing in the back of his skull. To ignore it would be to spit on Mara, to betray the people who had carved him out of ash. To use it would mean planting a flag that would not come back down. It would mean carving himself into history as the tenth greenhouse, challenging the Nine head on, daring them to try and break him. It would mean war, open and merciless. Power, credits, land, a monopoly so vast it would make even the Green itself tremble, and a target so bright every House, every assassin, every vulture circling above would see him marked.

The thought of the Glass Ocean came crawling back. If the Nine ever learned of it, they would kill him for it without hesitation. Not just him. They would scour Mara flat, burn it black, salt the ashes, and erase every trace so that not a whisper of it remained. He didn't have the teeth to stop them yet. Not the strength, not the numbers, not the standing. To survive this, to protect anyone he cared about, he would have to rise so high above himself that even the Great Houses balked at touching him. He would have to prove that he could hold a throne no one had ever sat on before, prove he was worth leaving the fuck alone.

His fingers curled hard against his scalp, dragging down across his eyes. He let the air slip out between his teeth. "If I could just talk to him… the Emperor might know what to do." His voice was hoarse, more plea than statement. But the air swallowed it whole, offering nothing back. Ever since he had taken the ring, he hadn't managed to reach the old man. Not once. Imujin swore the Emperor still spoke to him daily, but never explained why Vaeliyan was left stranded outside the door. The silence festered. Was it punishment? Rejection? Did he simply not matter enough to warrant a word? The questions chewed deeper every time he tried and failed.

He clenched his jaw until it ached, muttered into the dark, "I just need someone to talk to. Someone who's already carried this weight. Someone who knows how not to drown." His voice broke quiet in the room, and again there was no answer. Only silence pressing closer.

Finally, he pushed himself upright, bare feet sinking into the floor's welcome chill. "I'm not sleeping. Not tonight." He glanced toward the bundled forms of Bastard and Stylls, curled in their rest, steady in a way he could not reach. "You two stay down. Don't worry. I'll be fine." He didn't believe the words even as he said them. "I'll head out. Maybe build something. Maybe break something. Both, if that's what it takes."

The choice weighed heavy but certain. He moved toward the door, breath harsh in his ears, the silence stretching out behind him like a shadow that would not let go. He stepped into the hall, carrying the storm with him.

Vaeliyan drifted through the halls of his estate like a shadow, the vast house settled in a heavy silence. The corridors seemed endless, filled with a darkness that pressed against his skin. His steps carried no sound on the polished floors, but the bond was never silent. It tugged at him in countless threads, every cadet's presence pressing close, weaving around him like a web he could never escape. Those asleep filled the air like the hum of a distant storm, steady and warm. He could tell who dreamed deep and untroubled, who twisted with nightmares, who clung to themselves in fear or longing. The ring made turning away impossible. Their emotions brushed against him whether he wanted them or not, whispering into his thoughts.

Most of it he endured. The calm rhythm of his classmates asleep was almost a comfort, a steady bass-line beneath the noise. But some bonds were harder to stomach. The twisted knot of Ramis and the twins clung like tar, strange and suffocating. He recoiled from it instinctively, shoving their presence to the edges of his perception. Whatever they did in the dark, he wanted no part of it. His head already carried too much weight. He didn't need theirs poisoning it further.

Stolen novel; please report.

He passed close to Elian's room first, the bond pressing sharp and bright. Elian's dreams flickered like glass shards, fragile but relentless, filled with ambition that stabbed through the haze of sleep. Vaeliyan moved on quickly, jaw tightening. Next came Varnia's door. She wasn't in her room. He only noted it in passing, just another detail to set aside, though a part of him wondered where she might have gone.

The house creaked faintly as he slowed near another bend, his fingertips brushing the wall to ground himself. The faint cold of stone gave him something real to cling to. Through the bond, he caught flickers of others still awake, scattered like candles in distant rooms. Someone muttering at their desk. Another reading by lamplight, every page turn a gentle whisper against his mind. A pair whispering in low tones, their words indistinct but their emotions too intimate to miss. The awareness clung no matter how he tried to shut it out, needling him at every turn. He could never fully silence them. Not anymore.

Then came the sharper pulse, Jurpat, awake and close. The bond flared with a steady, stubborn weight. Vaeliyan cursed under his breath, wishing for once he could close it, cut himself free. The heavy tread came first, boots against the floor, then the voice.

"You need to sleep." Jurpat leaned in his doorway, shoulders broad enough to fill it, hair a wild mess from hours of restless turning. His eyes were steady, arms crossed like he'd been waiting all along. "Doesn't matter how strong you think you are. You're slower when you don't rest."

Vaeliyan stopped moving. He stood still in the dim hall, the words digging deeper than he wanted to admit. "I don't get tired," he muttered. "Not like you do."

"Bullshit." Jurpat's tone was flat, iron hard. "Your body doesn't, maybe. But your mind? That's different. Skip sleep, and it drags you down. Doesn't matter how many tricks you've got, you'll miss things. And missing things gets people killed."

The bond pressed harder because Jurpat believed every word. The weight sank into Vaeliyan's chest whether he wanted it or not, like lead in his lungs. His jaw clenched, but he didn't turn away. He was listening, even if he wished he wasn't.

"I'll stim before class," he said finally, shaking his head. "It'll be fine."

Jurpat's snort carried no humor, just a quiet edge of frustration. "That's not the same as sleeping."

Vaeliyan tried to fix his focus, but the thoughts clawed their way in again, sharp and relentless. Steel's boon, terrifying and necessary, its promise looming like a shadow over everything he did. The license, a blessing and a curse both, a key that could unlock war and make him a target to powers he couldn't hope to match yet. The Emperor's silence, gnawing at him with every failed attempt to reach the old man, every unanswered call echoing back in the dark. It all crowded in at once, so loud he barely heard Jurpat's next words until they sliced clean through.

"You think carrying more weight makes you stronger. But sometimes it just breaks your back."

Vaeliyan's head turned, eyes narrowing, voice low. "You don't know what I'm carrying."

Jurpat didn't flinch. "You're right. I don't. But I can see it's crushing you anyway."

The words lingered, heavy in the thick air between them. Vaeliyan's hands curled into fists at his sides. For a long breath they just stood there, the dim hall closing in around them, one unwilling to yield, the other refusing to step away.

Finally Vaeliyan exhaled, breath sharp and bitter. "I can't sleep. Not tonight."

Jurpat's shoulders eased, but his gaze stayed firm, unwavering. "Don't burn yourself out. You're not alone in this."

Before Vaeliyan could answer, another voice drifted from the shadows within Jurpat's room, Sylen's, soft but clear, carrying easily into the hall. "Jurpat, come back to bed." The sound carried a warmth that cut strangely against the silence, intimate in a way that made the bond thrum. Jurpat's shoulders stiffened at the call, but he didn't look ashamed. His expression stayed resolute. He gave Vaeliyan one last steady look, something between warning and reassurance, then turned and stepped back inside.

The door closed, leaving Vaeliyan alone in the hall. The silence pressed heavier than before, thick with the weight of every other bond in the house. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaled hard, and let the noise of his thoughts surge again. Steel. The license. The Emperor. The cadets under his care. Too much, all of it, and none of it letting him rest.

The forge called louder than the cloud bed ever could. If sleep would not come, then he would craft. He would build something sharp enough to cut through the noise, or stubborn enough to break beneath his hands before he did. Either way, it would be better than lying in the dark with his thoughts clawing him raw.

Varnai sat alone in the dark kitchen on a stool with her arms wrapped around her knees, thinking. She didn't look up when he came in. He stopped near her and waited.

"What's going on?" Vaeliyan asked.

"Honestly, Vael," she said. "I've been thinking about what you've been going through, mostly, and I couldn't sleep. In the grand scheme of things, we haven't known each other for that long, but it feels like we've been together forever at this point. You know what I mean?"

"The rings really make it hard not to feel that way, especially since it tells me how you're feeling, and I can feel exactly what you're telling me." He replied.

"Yeah," she said. "I can feel what you're feeling as well, and we all can. I don't know how anybody else can sleep thinking, feeling how stressed you are about what's going to happen."

"What do you think is going to happen?" He asked.

"I mean, we all want to be High Imperators. We all have plans to be a squad together, and the way it's going it seems like we're going to succeed, but it seems like it's going to break you. Maybe it already is. I hope when you go home, you'll come back to us better, because I don't know when it happened, but you seemed to be lost. You came up with these awesome plans, but then you went to the ninth layer without us, and when you came back you were not yourself."

He continued, "I almost died that day, and I mean it. It was the closest thing to death that I think I've ever experienced. If I wasn't in the Green, that would have been instant death; I would have died. I realize I'm playing things far more recklessly than I used to, and I can't figure it out, but I know something inside me has changed. Every time I think about it, I think it's because I'm an Aberrant. I don't know. I don't think it is, because that was who I was supposed to be. That's who I am under it all: I'm supposed to be this bloodthirsty killing machine that does nothing but hunger, and yeah, I do feel the hunger. Yet I feel. I love. I hope for more. Do you remember what Dr. Wirk said about the Red Widow?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "Melody. I will never forget that."

He said, "Deep down I know that's how I am supposed to be, but something's different. Something in me doesn't follow the regular logic of what an Aberrant should be. I should be a creature without remorse, and yet I know for a fact that I felt remorse. This has been on my mind, and you're probably one of the better people to ask because you're Velrock's apprentice, so you may understand this a bit more. I've asked Imujin but he doesn't understand it."

He went on, "So we've all seen our monsters, our soul skills. My monster, because I have the Veil, is a corpse covered in bandages that's alive. It doesn't really make sense but that's the first layer. Then, I think, that's All Around You, that's Vaeliyan's soul skill." He pointed at himself and she nodded.

Vaeliyan continued, "Then on the inside of All Around You is Rain Dancer, a horror made out of a storm. Warren's soul skill, my real soul skill. I understand that is my soul skill. But then Imujin has these cookies that let you sink into yourself and have a deeper bonding or merging with your soul skill. I'm not really sure what it was supposed to do, but you're supposed to be able to communicate with that soul."

She nodded. "Velrock has something similar. He uses incense, but it's a drug, definitely a hallucinogen."

He hesitated. "But what seems to be the problem is this: I took the cookie." He stopped and breathed. "I ate the cookie and then I fell into myself like it was supposed to do. I got to where my soul or soul skill lives, and then all of a sudden, I felt past it. Not just past it, I fell into a completely different state of being. It happened twice: once with the cookie, and once when I almost died. I don't know what it is that I'm seeing or feeling, but every time I get there it feels like I'm some sort of weird squishy thing, like a baby."

He was hesitant. "Maybe, but I don't know. It doesn't really make sense, because at some point in the last one I could remember splitting and then feeling so deeply hungry that I just ate the thing that split, like the skin that fell off of me."

Varnai looked at him funny.

"I didn't taste it. I just did it because it felt natural." He tried to defend himself.

"I don't know, Vaeliyan. That's super weird. But wait, you said your soul skill is a corpse wrapped in bandages and then on the inside is a storm, but your armor is a fucking bug." She said.

Vaeliyan looked at her. "Wait, are you telling me that my armor is…"

"Yeah." She said. "My armor looks sort of like what my soul skill looks like. It's a fucking nightmare, like a tentacled horror eldritch abomination."

"You're telling me that my true soul skill maybe is like a monstrous bug, and All Around You and Rain Dancer are what? But Rain Dancer is definitely my soul skill and All Around You was the original Vaeliyan soul skill, so I thought that maybe that would make sense why the armor was weird." He replied.

"Honestly," she said, "Vael, if All Around You is a top-level soul skill then it should have been like a bandage-looking corpse or something like a mummy."

He tried to explain, "It's not really a mummy. I don't know how to explain it. It's, hard to explain."

"It's fine." she said, "They're all hard to explain. That's the concept. It's an idea more than a real manifestation of what it is. It's your idea of what it should be, your own horrible monster."

She continued, "This is the kind of thing Velrock and I talk about all the time. But Vael, your soul skill should be represented in your armor, and your armor is a bug."

"The fuck." He said. "Wait, so am I a larva when I'm down there? That makes so much more sense. Why am I a larva though?"

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