Night had settled deep over the meadow, a living blanket of silver and shadow. The air was rich with the scent of grass and cold earth, the faint perfume of wildflowers, and the rhythm of insects calling from the dark. The world felt still, patient, as though holding its breath for whatever came next. Above them, the stars spilled across the sky in slow drift, unbothered by the affairs of mortals.

Josaphine and Isol crossed through the high grass, their figures traced in moonlight. Between them, a long chest floated just above the ground, brushing the tops of the blades as it passed. They moved without hurry, their steps careful, reverent. When they reached the circle where the others waited, they let it settle into the grass. The soft thud of it landing felt louder than it should have in the quiet.

The wind shifted, brushing hair across faces. Fireflies blinked near the treeline, slow as embers dying out. Isol looked around at the gathered group before focusing on Vaeliyan. His voice broke the stillness, even and warm. "We have a present," he said. "For all of you, but mostly for Vaeliyan and his House. Since he already has the Loom, it only seemed right to finish what he started."

Josaphine crouched beside the chest and pressed her hand against the latch. The metal clicked free, and the lid rose on its own, slow and smooth. Moonlight pooled across what lay inside, touching the shapes within like a painter's brush. She exhaled once before speaking. "These are the last three components you'll need to complete your Skill Forge. The Oculoscope, the Resonance Array, and the Exoversic Inverter."

She gestured toward each as she spoke, her tone both proud and warning. "The first two you can find if you know where to look, but not like these. These are top-line models. The Inverter though…" Her smile tilted. "That's a Mark Seven. Twice as efficient as the Mark Five you've been working with. You'll need a proper power source to run it, but when it's alive, it will respond to you like instinct."

The moonlight caught on the shapes inside: the Oculoscope glimmered faintly, its curved surface throwing small reflections across the grass; the Resonance Array lay still, its rings etched in pale blue patterns; and the Exoversic Inverter dominated the center of the chest, a heavy core of white and violet alloy, humming quietly with contained potential. Vaeliyan crouched beside it, watching the soft color roll across its shell like breath beneath skin.

The others leaned closer, the moment pulling them in. Wirk was the first to speak, half awe and half complaint. "Gods' damn," he muttered. "These are better than the ones I use."

Josaphine didn't look up from her crouch. "That's what happens when you invest, Wirk. You can afford luxuries."

He straightened, gesturing wildly. "Luxuries? You just handed him the kind of equipment that could bankroll an entire research division. I don't call that luxury. That's robbery."

Isol laughed softly. "And you spend everything you have on fragments that don't even do anything."

"They do!" Wirk shot back. "They're valuable. Rare. For research."

Josaphine turned her head toward him, eyes half-lidded. "One of them makes you smell like apple pie."

Silence swallowed the clearing. Even the insects seemed to pause.

"It's valuable," Wirk said after a beat, the protest small.

Josaphine arched a brow. "It better be valuable. You spent seventy billion credits on it. And what have you used it for? Going on a date? I don't think so. It's been years, man. I know he was your true love, but that thing smells great and you never use it."

That broke the stillness. Jurpat laughed out loud. Lessa covered her face, shaking. Imujin didn't even try to hide his grin this time. The group's laughter rolled through the meadow, carried by the night wind until it faded into something soft, something human.

Vaeliyan reached down and brushed his fingertips along the Inverter's edge. The surface pulsed faintly beneath his touch, as if acknowledging him. The air felt heavier for a moment, charged but not tense. He didn't need to power it on to know it was already his. The pieces were complete now: the Loom, the Oculoscope, the Array, the Inverter. A Skill Forge, full and whole, capable of creation beyond design.

Josaphine lowered the lid, sealing the light back inside. "No one can ever know you have this, Vaeliyan. Not even your allies. A full Forge in private hands would start questions that don't deserve answers." Her words were quiet but heavy. The wind tugged at her hair as she looked at him. "Protect it. Protect yourself."

Isol placed a steady hand on Vaeliyan's shoulder. "You've earned it," he said. "Just remember, power doesn't need to shout. Build quietly. Let the work speak when it's ready."

Vaeliyan nodded. "Understood." His voice came low, certain.

Josaphine smiled then, small and sincere. "Good. Then take this as your final lesson tonight, sometimes the greatest weapon is what no one believes you have."

For a while, no one moved. The only sound was the grass sighing under the breeze, the quiet lap of air against skin and fabric. The moon traced their faces in silver, and for a moment, the meadow felt like it belonged only to them, a place outside the Legion, outside rank or rule. A pocket of peace where creation waited in silence.

The chest sat closed at the center of the circle, reflecting the sky. The others began to talk quietly again, voices soft in the night. Then Styll spoke up from Vaeliyan's pocket, fur bristled and tail flicking.

"This bullshits," she announced. "Stylls work hard. Bastards work hard. Momos work hard. Why we not get nothing? This is like when Warns say, Stylls get chicken. Stylls only get chicken bones."

Vaeliyan blinked at her. "Are you drunk again?"

"Stylls no drinking," she said, offended. "Warns said no more spicy water. Stylls just pissed."

The meadow went quiet again, then laughter spread through the group. Even Josaphine laughed, shaking her head. Bastard flicked an ear in quiet approval while Momo gave a low grunt, deep and deliberate, adding her agreement.

Vaeliyan sighed, hiding his smile. "Fine. Next time, I'll make sure the chickens still got meat on it."

Styll nodded firmly, satisfied, and settled back into his pocket as if justice had been restored.

Lisa, who had been quiet through most of the exchange, finally spoke. Her voice carried easily over the grass. "Actually," she said, "I have something for you three." The words pulled every eye toward her. She smiled slightly; the kind of smile that meant the promise wasn't empty. "You've earned it too. I wasn't about to let anyone walk away feeling left out."

Styll sat up again, eyes wide, tail twitching. "Stylls like Lisa. Lisa's smart." Bastard blinked, almost pleased. Momo gave another grunt, as if agreeing with absolute conviction.

Above them, the stars burned on, indifferent but bright, and the meadow held its secret close.

Night hung heavy over the meadow, quiet but alive, the grass whispering under the weight of the wind. The last of the laughter had faded into the soft rhythm of breathing and rustle. The chest from before was gone, carried off with its secrets, and only the circle of them remained. The stars above looked close enough to touch, scattered across a sky that felt almost too still for the kind of night it had been. The air smelled faintly of rain and ash, a reminder that comfort and ruin always shared the same horizon.

Lisa stepped forward again, Deck just behind her, carrying a small wooden box under one arm. Velrock followed a few paces behind them, hands in his coat pockets, the picture of calm observation. The three of them stopped in front of Vaeliyan and his Bonds. For a moment, nobody spoke. Only the distant call of night insects and the quiet hum of power between all of them.

Lisa knelt and opened the box. Inside were three tiny collars, simple bands that caught the starlight without reflecting it. She brushed her fingers over them before speaking, her tone softer than usual.

"These are called Personal Atmosphere Collars," she said. "They'll adjust to make your Bonds feel comfortable wherever you go. They map their shape automatically, so if their war form is massive, the collar scales the projection. If you're ever stuck in a desert and let's, say Momo doesn't want to feel the heat…" She looked at Lessa with a small, knowing smile that said she'd thought of this for a while. "…just stand close to her. The atmosphere she's generating will cover you too."

Lessa grinned, leaning forward slightly. "That's awesome."

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Lisa nodded. "They're compatible with all their forms. No matter what size they are, the collar adapts. You'd think these things would be energy intense, but they're efficient. A night's charge lasts about a month. They'll never feel too cold or too hot again." Her voice faltered just enough to reveal the care buried underneath her professionalism. "They deserve that."

She reached into the box and offered the collars one by one, first to Bastard, who took his with deliberate patience, then to Momo, who sniffed at hers before accepting it with a quiet huff, and finally to Styll, who stared at hers in wonder as if it were something divine.

"What's this?" Styll asked, voice small and curious. She held it up to the moonlight. "It's pretty," she said after a long pause. "I like it. Thank you. You're good, Lisa. You're good." Her gaze shifted toward Deck, her ears flattening slightly. "I don't know about you. Warns says you's a bad man."

Deck pressed a hand to his chest, staggering back like he'd been stabbed through the heart. "How dare you! I've been nothing but kind to you."

Vaeliyan tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. "I think she's drunk."

"Stylls no drinking," she said immediately, tail flicking in indignation. "Warns said no spicy waters."

Vaeliyan frowned, lips twitching. "I don't believe you. This isn't like you, Styll. This isn't like you at all."

"Don't try to blame Stylls," she said, crossing her tiny arms in outrage. "Stylls just say what Warns says. No more. No less."

Deck narrowed his eyes, pointing two fingers at Vaeliyan and then at his own eyes in a slow, exaggerated motion. "You. I'm watching you." He squinted dramatically, held the pose for far too long, then spun on his heel and started walking away, muttering to himself about betrayal and wounded trust.

Vaeliyan watched him go, sighing with theatrical exhaustion. "Well, that's ominous."

Laughter rippled through the meadow again, not sharp or loud but warm and real—the kind that comes from knowing that for one moment, everything felt right. The Bonds leaned against one another, their new collars faintly glimmering under the stars. The meadow, the night, and the people in it felt stitched together by something deeper than duty.

Velrock stepped closer, folding his arms loosely, his voice steady but kind. "For what it's worth," he said, "Lisa asked me to help her get these. I already had one myself." He tapped the side of his neck, where a faint outline of his own collar shimmered beneath his shirt. "They're fantastic. Honestly, you've got one built into your House already, but out in the wild, especially the cold or the desert, it's nice to have the right temperature. You start realizing what real comfort feels like."

Lisa gave a quiet, self-conscious laugh. "They're not for combat," she said softly. "Just for comfort. Everyone deserves to feel at home somewhere."

Velrock crouched, his hands gentle as he ran them through Momo's fur, then over Styll's back. "You three have carried more than most," he murmured. "You've earned this. You should rest while you can." His voice was lower than usual, heavy with a sincerity that cut through the joking ease from before.

The Bonds accepted the collars in their own ways, Bastard with silent pride, his tail flicking once before stilling; Momo with a low approving grunt that sounded almost content; and Styll with a triumphant spin that sent her fur gleaming silver in the moonlight. The quiet admiration that followed wasn't forced. It just happened.

Vaeliyan opened his mouth to thank them, but something shifted behind his eyes. His focus sharpened, and the humor in his face vanished. "Actually," he said, glancing toward the others. "That reminds me. I need to tell you all something. Something strange happened in Graveholt. With the storm."

The laughter faded into stillness again, the meadow quieting as the weight of his words settled over them. The air thickened, the moment stretching like the space before thunder. "There's a lot," he said finally, voice lower. "And I think I forgot to tell you the strangest part."

Vaeliyan stood a little apart from the others, his gaze fixed on the horizon instead of the stars. The meadow had gone quiet again, that kind of silence that felt heavy, waiting, like the air itself understood that something important was being remembered. Even the insects had gone still, and the faint hum of the night wind had lowered to a whisper. Every eye was on him.

"I wanted to tell you about what happened before Graveholt," he said finally. "About what happened in the storm." His tone was calm, but underneath it ran something quieter and harder. "About Melody."

Vaeliyan exhaled, his breath fogging white in the cool night. "She didn't feel the cold," he said quietly. "Not once. Not for a heartbeat. We were in the middle of a blizzard, winds that cut through steel, snow thick enough to bury a tank, and she walked through it like it was mid summer. No frostbite. No tremor. No shiver. She wasn't uncomfortable. She was smiling. Laughing. Like she belonged in it." He hesitated. "Like she was playing."

Lisa frowned, the corners of her mouth tightening. "You mean she adapted fast?"

Vaeliyan shook his head slowly. "No. She wasn't adapting. She was enjoying it. The cold didn't exist to her. It never touched her."

Wirk rubbed her temple, expression unreadable. "We don't have any readings on her, not from before or after. She's never let anyone take samples. Even if she had, it wouldn't explain something like that."

"Because it's not biological," Jim said, his voice steady but low. "It's her. I'd call it a Soul Skill, but it isn't. Maybe it's her domain or her resonance... I don't know."

The firelight flickered across the group's faces, painting each in shades of doubt and thought. Wirk let out a slow breath. "For all that we fear Aberrants, and rightfully so, we still don't understand them. The Emperor's research didn't get far. Even when Calum and I worked with her before she disappeared, we learned next to nothing. The more we studied, the less sense any of it made."

Jim nodded. "Yeah. Unlike you," he said, pointing at Vaeliyan, "Aberrants don't have chips, so they don't have access to Skills or the System. They've got nothing but that weird resonance they give off. That song she sings, the blood that trails behind her, that's not a Skill. It can't be replicated. It's something unique to Aberrants. The world bends around it. Not for it. Around it."

He shifted, his voice turning more personal, quieter but sharper at the edges. "You know, that's how I got into the Green. I was still a bounty hunter back then. Took a contract on an Aberrant." His mouth curved in a small, humorless smile. "Everyone said it was suicide. You don't hunt them. You avoid them, or you end up in pieces. But I was from the Yellow, and the way I saw it, it was a chance at a real life or a slow death, so I took it."

He looked around at the group, gauging their faces. "The thing could walk through walls like they weren't there. Didn't have a chip, didn't have any Skills, but the hells it might as well have for how it moved. Nothing stopped it. I tracked it through five settlements before I realized it wasn't running from me; it just didn't care. I'd walk into a room and find it already gone. Once, I saw it step through a solid slab of Kalacrete like it was mist." He rubbed his jaw, eyes distant. "Lucky for me, it could walk through walls, but not out of a pitfall. Gravity still cares about some things. Also, boulders helped. A lot."

The silence that followed wasn't pity. It was respect, the kind that only came from understanding what kind of creature you had to kill to survive. The meadow seemed to close around them again, the grass moving as if listening.

Gwen crossed her arms, speaking quietly. "So, you think she was using that, whatever it is? That resonance?"

Jim's reply came slow, deliberate. "No. I think she was being herself. She doesn't need to use anything. The world's already doing what she wants it to. You can't fight something like that." He turned toward Vaeliyan. "And if your storm bent with her in it, then she let you hold it for whatever reason."

Wirk's expression darkened. "Do you think that she was testing you for something?"

Vaeliyan shook his head. "No. She was just playing." His voice lowered, softer than before. "She wasn't trying to hurt me. She just wanted to see what would happen. That's what makes it worse."

Vaeliyan nodded. "The storm should have shredded her. The wind was strong enough to peel the ground. But she danced through it. Smiled like it was a game." He paused, his expression tightening. "And I think she liked knowing that I noticed."

The meadow fell into silence again, heavy and still. The stars had faded behind a thin layer of cloud, and the wind moved through the grass with a low sigh, carrying the ghost of Melody's laughter through the dark.

No one spoke after that. There was nothing left to say, only the quiet understanding that whatever Melody was, whatever the Red Widow had become, she wasn't just alive. She was beyond alive.

Imujin stepped forward, his presence cutting through the quiet like a clean blade through mist. The tension that had settled over the meadow eased slightly as all eyes turned toward him. His voice carried the calm certainty of someone who had long ago learned to bury sentiment beneath order.

"This is not something we can solve right now," he said, scanning each face in turn. "You've all done enough for one night. What comes next isn't for this meadow, and it isn't for tonight." His gaze lingered on Vaeliyan for a heartbeat longer, the faintest shadow of approval in his eyes before he straightened. "You lot have a very important meeting tomorrow with Elian's parents. I suggest you go home, get some rest, and prepare yourselves. You'll need your heads clear for that one."

The group murmured quietly, the exhaustion of the day pressing down on them. The reality of what tomorrow represented was beginning to take shape, not another exercise, not another lecture, but the beginning of something far larger. They were no longer cadets waiting to be tested. The world outside the Citadel was finally opening, and with it came everything they'd been trained to face.

Imujin crossed his arms, the faint metallic sheen of his gauntlet catching the moonlight. "You'll also need to get your house moving to the Legionnaire lot in Kyrrabad," he continued. "As of tomorrow, you're no longer cadets. That means your estates, your machines, your equipment, anything tied to you, must be relocated from Citadel grounds."

Ramis muttered under his breath, "Feels like we just got here."

"Welcome to the Legion," Imujin replied dryly. "We move forward, or we fall behind." His words were blunt, but not cruel. They carried the weight of experience, of a man who had said them to hundreds before but still meant every one.

The group shifted uneasily, some in disbelief, others in the quiet, weary acceptance that comes when the truth finally lands. The Citadel had been their home, their prison, their forge. Every stone, every echo of their year there was carved into them now. Leaving it behind would feel like cutting off a limb.

Imujin's expression softened slightly. "You'll be permitted to visit as alumni," he said, his tone gentler now, though the faintest trace of irony crept in. "But I don't imagine any of you will have the time for that anytime soon… not with all of us leaving as well." He let that linger, the implication heavier than the words themselves. Even the instructors were going back into the field, into the world that had shaped them before they came here to teach.

For a moment, no one spoke. The night carried only the sound of the wind moving through the grass and the soft, rhythmic hum of distant Legion transport engines somewhere beyond the horizon. The Citadel, for all its immensity, suddenly felt small. The meadow felt smaller still.

Imujin glanced toward the sky and then back at them. "Get some rest. You've earned it," he said. "Tomorrow, you start the life you were built for." He turned and walked away without waiting for a response, his silhouette fading into the darkness of the trees as the group stood in silence, the weight of his words pressing down.

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