Theramoor listened, then smiled thinly. "If your parents had wanted to ambush us," Vaeliyan said, pacing the narrow gap between the stream and the sheltering trees, "they would have done it in private. They would have made it clean. There are ways to make something sound far worse than killing a sadist like Michael. They could have painted it so there was no room to answer." His voice carried a calm weight, though the undercurrent of irritation betrayed how much the night still sat wrong with him.

Theramoor's eyes were steady, reflective in the dim light of the sanctum's meadow. "The truth is simpler, Vaeliyan. If your parents had wanted to, they wouldn't have needed permission. They already have everything, authority, reputation, and reach. Part of the deal to protect you all was that they made it public. The display wasn't an ambush. It was a shield, built for you in front of everyone who might later turn that blade toward you." She paused, searching for the right phrasing. "Future reprisals were the real threat. Or… future troubles, I should say."

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders visible. "So they could have shut it down quietly, but that would have made me beholden to them. Justinia would have been forced to step in for me, and that would have come with a cost of its own."

Theramoor nodded. "Exactly. A private solution binds you. A public one frees you from immediate debt. If Justinia had intervened behind closed doors, you would have owed her a favor that would follow you for the rest of your life. The moment she shielded you privately, your independence would have ended." Her tone softened slightly. "They know how power works. They taught the Nine how to wield it."

Vaeliyan ran a hand down his face. "I might have accepted help from Ryan, but I don't want to owe them anything either. They keep records of favors like ledgers."

Lisa snorted from the edge of the meadow, finally speaking. "You have no idea. Ryan keeps many things. Not all of them are good. Most of them are dangerous. They hold favors like knives, never out of sight, always ready to cut. If they ever call in a debt, you'd better believe it'll cost more than what they gave." Her voice was sharp with experience, bitter with memory.

Vaeliyan looked toward her, brow raised. "You've dealt with them before."

Lisa smiled faintly, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Once. Never again."

Imujin clapped his hands once, breaking the thread of tension before it could coil tighter. "Enough about politics," he said, smiling with an uncharacteristic warmth that softened his scarred face. "You all did it. I am proud of you. You've done what many thought impossible. You've survived." He crossed the clearing and placed both hands on Vaeliyan's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "You are all efficient, adaptable, and lethal. The Legion could not ask for better."

Deck grinned, leaning against a tree. "We're proud of you," he said, his voice half sincere and half teasing. "You're beautiful little killing machines, and we can't wait to see how many people you slaughter next."

Jim rolled his eyes, and before Deck could say anything else, Jim punched him in the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. Deck laughed, rubbing at the spot. "That's a pleasant way to put it," Jim said, smirking.

Gwen strode up behind them and slapped both men on the back of the head. "You idiots," she muttered. "Stop talking like barbarians. Tell me about the report instead. Your field report is insane. Were you actually there for Graveholt? Did you see Melody?"

Wirk's face went very still. Then came the quiet, raw voice. "Was she there? Did you see her?"

Vaeliyan turned slowly to meet his gaze. "I won't lie to you," he said after a pause. "I thought about it for a long time before saying anything. I spoke with her. She's alive. She's still… she still seems like a child."

Wirk's voice broke. "How many years has it been?"

Vaeliyan hesitated, then answered, his voice low and careful. "Thirty-seven years, four weeks, two days, seven hours, and thirty-two minutes," he said, trying to soften the number with humor he didn't feel. The attempt fell flat, but no one faulted him for it.

Wirk's throat tightened. He tried to keep his composure, but the words came unevenly. "It's been like that for me, too. All that time. I have no right to ask you to be sorry. I'm sorry anyway."

He stepped forward suddenly and pulled Vaeliyan into a rough embrace. Vaeliyan didn't resist. He wrapped his arms around the man and held him back with equal force, both of them standing silently in the hum of the meadow's stillness. It wasn't forgiveness. It was acknowledgment.

When they finally separated, Wirk's eyes were wet, but steady. "Do not be sorry," he said. "You did what was necessary. It was either that or risk everyone. I would never have let her do that to you."

Theramoor approached then, placing a gentle hand on Wirk's shoulder. "She's alive. That is what matters," she said softly. "We dealt a crippling blow to our enemies. The city wasn't destroyed, but the strike hit deep. Graveholt will take years to recover. And according to the reports, Melody escaped. She fled east after two days of chaos and blood."

Wirk nodded slowly, the sound of the stream filling the silence that followed. "I don't blame you," he said at last, his voice barely audible. "I understand why you did what you did. I'm glad you're safe." His eyes flicked from Vaeliyan to the others gathered nearby. "All of us are. That's what matters."

Imujin folded his hands behind his back, the gesture carrying both authority and weariness. "We'll go over the full reports."

Isol passed out the reports one by one, his movements slow, deliberate, as though the weight of each sheet burned his fingers. As they began to read, the unease in the group thickened until it was almost physical, pressing against their chests. The silence that followed was heavier than any weapon they had ever carried. Sadness rippled through the bond, spreading like a slow current through them all. Faces hardened. Eyes lowered. The names on those pages felt like ghosts whispering between them. Friends. Rivals. Cadets they had fought beside, trained beside, laughed beside. Gone.

Meri's class had suffered the worst of it. The losses were brutal, unflinching. Geo was dead. The Freds, both of them, were gone. Lupa had barely survived, critically injured, but alive. The reports were clinical, devoid of mercy, numbers and statistics where lives had once been. Wounds were measured in centimeters and seconds survived. Yet behind every line was a face they knew, a memory that still breathed. Every number on the page carried a laugh, a voice, a promise that would never be fulfilled. The pages were soaked in ghosts.

They had all known that the Shatterlight Trials were war. They had been told again and again that the price of greatness was blood. They had watched others die in simulations, in drills, in lessons. But knowing it and feeling it were two very different things. It hit them now with full weight. Even the sound of the stream seemed quieter. The bond went still, heavy with shared grief.

Vaeliyan stared down at the names, the letters swimming in front of his eyes. He had fought beside many of them. Some he had barely spoken to, others he had nearly died with. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke. "Why is… where is Deic? I don't see her on the list."

Imujin's expression darkened slightly, though his tone remained steady, controlled. "That's because she's no longer Red," he said. "She challenged into the Blue, same with Alex. From what I've been told, they're both alive. I haven't seen the reports myself yet, but command has confirmed their survival. They're among the lucky ones." He paused; the words heavier than they sounded. "Most of their class wasn't prepared for the kind of slaughter that unfolded at Graveholt. Mechs like that don't forgive mistakes. They don't miss."

Lisa ran a hand through her hair, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. "I read the casualty totals," she said quietly. "It's worse than I thought."

Imujin nodded. "If it weren't for what happened to Graveholt, the losses would have been even higher. The losses would have been immeasurable. The exposure to the blizzard broke many before the battle even began. The West is unforgiving. Cold. Biting. A winter that doesn't end."

Vaeliyan looked down again, eyes scanning the list with deliberate care. "I see," he murmured. "I can't believe they're gone." His eyes moved slowly down the page, searching for one name in particular. When he found it untouched, relief shuddered through him like air after drowning, like light through smoke. But the feeling vanished just as quickly as his gaze dropped one line lower. Thomas's name was cleanly crossed out in black ink. "Wait," he said, voice cracking just slightly. "Thomas?"

Imujin's jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes briefly before answering. "Yes. He didn't make it out." His voice was flat, but the restraint only made the sorrow clearer.

Vaeliyan swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Imujin." The words felt hollow, insufficient, but they were all he had.

Imujin's voice softened, almost a whisper. "It happens sometimes." He paused, the words seeming to taste bitter. "He was kind. Steady. The sort you don't forget easily." His gaze drifted toward the stream that cut through the sanctum, light reflecting off the water like fractured glass. "These things happen. But they'll happen less once I'm back in the field."

Lisa frowned. "Back in the field? When?"

Imujin looked at her, a faint spark of grim amusement in his eyes. "Soon. The Last Testament will be deployed once again." His voice carried both pride and inevitability. The decision had already been made long before this meeting.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Vaeliyan raised a brow, trying to mask the unease that coiled through him. "Does that mean all of you are going?"

"Yes," Imujin said. "Every one of us. That was part of the deal with Elian's parents. We will be covering our part of the reparations by returning to active duty. It's symbolic, yes, but necessary. As long as we're assigned close enough to you, it works in everyone's favor."

Elian frowned deeply. "What about the Citadel?"

Imujin smiled faintly, though it carried no real humor. "It'll fall into chaos. The sub-instructors will be running it in our absence. We'll be gone for three years on campaign. When we return, the structure will have shifted. High Imperators will take our places as mentors for the next few apprentices."

Theramoor folded her arms. "They'll hold things together. Barely. But they'll manage. They always do."

The meadow outside the sanctum swayed faintly in the artificial wind, the shimmer of its golden grass reflecting on the glass walls. The reports lay open in their hands, words bleeding into memories. None of them spoke for a long time. Even Bastard, stretched out at Vaeliyan's feet, seemed subdued, eyes dim with shared understanding.

Imujin exhaled and leaned back slightly, the faintest grin breaking through his usual stoicism. "Luckily, we won't have to be here for next year's bullshit," he said. "We get way too many applicants trying to join the Red just because of the prestige. Being the best Citadel has its downsides." He chuckled under his breath. "Thanks to all of you and the prestige you brought to my Citadel. Still, I can't complain. I've been meaning to stretch my legs for a while. This place is a confining measure, as you well know."

Vaeliyan nodded, understanding the feeling more than he wanted to admit. The Citadel had always been both an academy and a cage.

Varnai turned her attention toward Velrock, curiosity softening her usual sharp tone. "What about you, Master?" she asked. "Will you be returning too?"

Velrock smiled faintly, the expression distant but warm. "I will be returning as well," he said. "I am still a member of The Last Testament. But I have made my vows, and I will be serving in a support role. Unless something goes immeasurably wrong, I will not have to actively seek violence again." His voice was calm, resolute, yet there was a faint tremor beneath it, a quiet hope that the world might let him keep that promise.

Vaeliyan looked at Isol, then felt Jurpat step forward, the bond carrying his questions before words did. Jurpat met Vaeliyan's eyes and smiled, the grin all mischief and sincerity. "So, Grandpa," Vaeliyan said lightly, "what's happening with you? You going with Imujin? Are you coming with us? My chronicler can hardly chronicle my story if he follows someone else, can he?"

Isol grinned despite himself and said, apologetic and earnest, "I will be going with Imujin and Josephine and the others. We are returning to active duty. We will see one another in the field, if needed."

His face tightened with the mixture of pride and worry that had become familiar. "That should be fine," he said slowly. "If they call us, it will be for something grave. They would not drag the Last Testament into nothing. You may have time to train with us. We will still be able to be in each other's company."

Imujin leaned forward, his voice steady and reassuring. "You do not need to worry. We have pulled favors and placed ourselves in positions where we can assist you while in the field. In the end, you may still get the years you feel you lost. The training you missed can be supplemented in the field, and if we march together, we will do what we can to teach you what you need."

Vaeliyan let the relief wash over him. "That is... good. At least there is that." He tried to sound light, but the gratitude in his chest was raw.

"Did Elian's parents get anything for themselves out of this?" he asked suddenly, suspicion tugging at the edge of his voice.

Theramoor shrugged, the motion small and precise. "Oh yes. They did. We owe them favors. It is not nothing. We would have returned to the field for them regardless, but this way the burden counts against our debt."

Vaeliyan squared his shoulders. "I am sorry that you took on that burden for us."

Lambert stepped forward then, her expression grave but not unkind. "Child," he said quietly, "it was our decision. Michael was a danger either way. There were two outcomes we saw: he could become a catalyst for your growth or an ally. In either case he would have provided you with value. We had planned to remove him ourselves. We did not anticipate that the situation would accelerate as it did, nor that the result would be you ending his life directly."

Vaeliyan blinked. "What do you mean?"

Lambert's eyes were steady. "Do you think that, with our levels, we did not see what Michael was doing? There was no way a man of his level would slip. He was a risk we intended to neutralize. If we had acted, we would have made it look like an accident, or like a sanctioned removal. The Nine would have accepted it." She paused. "But in the end, it worked out better this way. You were rewarded for what he had done to you, and you removed him yourselves. Even if you required Imujin's intervention to subdue him, you were the ones to end his life. That accelerated your growth massively."

He reached into his coat and tapped a small device. "I have a report that will never be filed. I will send it to your AI later." He smiled, rueful and tired. Vaeliyan felt a strange mix of vindication and unease.

"Tell me," Vaeliyan asked after a moment, the question burning in his throat, "what would have happened if you had killed Michael? If he had been removed without us?"

Lambert's answer was blunt. "Far less consequence. We would not have needed a public display. Imujin or one of us could have erased him and buried the fact so deep that no one would have known. Michael was a noble of House Sable, a sub-instructor with status. You were cadets. The hierarchy would have protected him in theory. In practice, if a senior officer had claimed intervention, the Nine would have accepted that paper. But because you acted, because a group of cadets ended someone of his rank, the optics changed. That is the crux of this. You destroyed his fragment. That is what ignited House Sable's ire."

"The fragment?" Xera questioned.

Lambert's voice was flat with regret and the science of it. "That fragment, in their eyes, was their property. Whether or not it was is another story. But the loss of that fragment is, to them, the loss of a substantial investment. Michael's fragment was refined beyond measure. They could have given it to any of their heirs, and it would have elevated them immensely. That removal is what drives this problem. House Sable lost something they had cultivated for decades. And that is why everything is unfolding as it is."

"If we had acted," Lambert continued softly, "we would have had him removed quietly. We would have ended his life and returned the fragment to them. But you moved quicker than we expected, you went to Imujin, and he chose to let you finish him. Arguably it was the right decision; your actions accelerated what needed to happen. But it is also the reason we're all tangled in this mess now."

Silence settled again, thick and thoughtful. To Vaeliyan, the idea of it baffled him. You kept what you killed. That was how the world worked, how it had always worked. If an enemy raised a weapon against you and you survived, that weapon became yours by right. That was the truth of survival, the code of power. But to the Houses, the rules were different. To them, lineage and inheritance outweighed battle-earned claim. The difference between those two worlds was the crack that split this whole situation open.

Theramoor stepped closer, her tone softer now. "You did what you had to. In the field, the calculus is different. But in the public eye, those pieces are ledger entries. Lord and lady Sarn recognized that and acted to reframe the ledger before anyone else could."

Imujin rubbed his chin. "We will untangle what we can. For now, accept that the move shielded you from worse. It also saddled us with obligations we cannot ignore."

Vaeliyan, and all of you, actually," Wirk said, stepping forward with a grin, "we have gifts. You've earned them. You deserve these." He held up a small case, tapping it against his palm. "We raided the Skill Vault."

He turned to Vaeliyan and tossed him a fragment that shimmered with faint light. "I know this is the one you've been eyeing it for a while. I hope it serves you well. I truly believe that with your skill set, it will be a massive asset. I also have a list of skill combinations I think you should craft if you get the time. I know you have quite a few fragments you can use with your Loom. Honestly, it's still insane to me that you have your own personal Loom."

Vaeliyan nodded, accepting it with quiet reverence.

"I wish you nothing but the best," Wirk said, then added with a smirk, "and now I'm going to go pack up my house. I'll be moving it with the rest of these fools as we head off into the great unknown, as they say."

Lisa glanced at Deck, her voice soft but teasing. "Give it to them. I know you want to."

Deck sighed, feigning reluctance. "Alright, alright." He tossed a small data disk to Vaeliyan. It glittered faintly under the sanctum lights.

"What's this?" Vaeliyan asked, holding it up.

"Oh, that?" Deck said, grinning. "You should install it into your Bolt Fire. It's a cloaking program for your communications array. I ran through your ship's specs and realized you needed something a little more… private. It'll confuse anyone trying to listen in. From the outside, it'll sound like your squad is dead silent, just background hum, a few noises from the ship. No one will question it. The program's adaptive; it'll pick up on cues, mimic real sounds, and block anything you don't want leaked. If you're injured or in the middle of something classified, it'll mask it perfectly."

Vaeliyan raised an eyebrow. "That's… useful. But you're not giving us something that you can bypass, aren't you?"

Deck laughed. "Yes, I do have a back door into it. No way I'd hand over something like that without being able to check in. But don't worry, if you ever need to reach me directly, you just need to say the phrase engraved on the back of the disk."

Vaeliyan flipped it over, read the phrase, and grimaced. "I'm never saying this."

Deck chuckled. "You will one day and when you do, just know, it will be recorded and backed up a thousand times over. I know one of you took my prize from me, so I'll enjoy it when you do."

Gwen walked over next, holding a weapon that gleamed like liquid lightning. "Hey, little buddy," she said warmly as she moved to Fenn. "I know you always borrow Vaeliyan's lance because, well, it's awesome. It honestly makes me sad that something like that isn't in the hands of the best lancer I've ever met. But, here." She handed him a new lance. The weapon was long, elegant, and heavy, its lines humming faintly with restrained power. "It's a Model 4XZ Thunder Lance. It can put a flechette through fifteen inches of reinforced steel. It'll go through a mech clean. It's my favorite model."

Fenn ran his fingers over its surface, awe flickering in his eyes. "It's beautiful."

Wirk distributed more fragments to Rokhan than the rest but the others each got a fragment that matched perfectly to their skill sets. Some were rarities, others experimental, some were just plain confusing.

One by one they were given gift chosen with precision and care, each one a symbol of their mentors' pride.

When Imujin finally stepped forward, the chatter died. He stood before Vaeliyan and held out his massive hand. "Give me your hand," he said.

Vaeliyan obeyed, and Imujin dropped a tiny seed into his palm, light brown, no larger than a fingernail. It looked like nothing.

"Master," Vaeliyan said, confused, "I don't understand. What is this?"

Imujin smiled faintly, softness breaking through the iron of his face. "This is all that you need. When you go to war, remember this little seed. This is peace. You don't need more weapons. You don't need more armor. You already have power. You'll gain wealth, fame, and glory soon enough, but you must hold peace at your center."

He gestured toward the sanctum around them. "This place was built from a seed like that. When the man who chose me to become what I am gave me my gift, it was the same kind of seed. To remind me that the world isn't meant to be perfect, it's meant to grow."

Imujin's gaze met Vaeliyan's, calm and unflinching. "You are a man of war. But at your core, you must cultivate peace. Grow it. Guard it. It is the only thing that will stop the pain you will carry from consuming you."

Vaeliyan looked at him and frowned slightly. "This seed grew a garden?" he asked.

Imujin laughed, the sound booming through his sanctum. "No, you idiot," he said with a grin. "It grew a Citadel."

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