The other instructors were gone. Their footsteps faded into the tall grass until only the wind remained. The meadow breathed again, quiet and wide beneath the moon. The air was cool and still, filled with the faint hum of night insects and the low rustle of leaves at the edges of the field. The smell of wild mint and damp earth clung to the air, grounding everything in silence.

Alorna hadn't moved. She stood as if carved from stone, her shadow long and sharp against the grass. She waited until the last trace of movement vanished from the horizon before she finally turned. Her expression didn't shift, but something about her posture softened. She lifted one hand and tapped her boot lightly against the ground.

The group stopped where they were. The noise of shifting grass and restless boots faded until even that was gone. She gestured toward the center of the meadow and started walking back without a word. The others exchanged confused looks but followed, drawn in by the quiet authority that always followed her.

At the meadow's heart rested a single flat rock. On top of it lay a folded sheet of paper. Its edges were creased and slightly torn, the surface smudged from being handled more than once. She'd left it there long before the night began, knowing she'd come back to it when the time was right.

Alorna picked up the paper and unfolded it with deliberate care. The moonlight spilled across its surface, revealing the drawings. The first drawing showed her, tall and broad, standing atop the Salidar mountain range. Below her were the others, arranged in a careful row: Jurpat's solid shoulders, the twins holding hands, Vaeliyan's smaller form standing apart but balanced, Lessa's wild hair caught mid-motion. Even Xera, Fenn, and Elian appeared, frozen in mid-conversation, gesturing wildly. The detail was astonishing for something so simple.

The next drawings told the rest of the story. Alorna standing on the mountain, defiant. Lessa below, the ground cracking. Then the mountain breaking apart, tumbling down, Alorna drawn mid-fall, limbs flailing. The final frame: the mountain settled, and only one stick leg poking from the rubble.

Jurpat laughed softly, shaking his head. "That's Salidar, all right. Down to the last pebble."

Lessa crossed her arms, eyes bright with mischief. "She's admitting I beat her."

Alorna's head turned toward her, and her eyes narrowed, not in anger, but acknowledgment. Then she flipped to the next page and held it higher so they could all see. It showed her brushing herself off, standing proud again, holding out a tiny crown toward Lessa's stick figure.

Lessa's grin spread wide. "You're kidding. She actually is admitting we beat her."

Without hesitation, Alorna turned to the next drawing. Her drawn self now stood behind Lessa, a spear through the heart.

Roan snorted, unable to hold it in. "That's a grudge if I've ever seen one."

Vaeliyan's tone was quieter, more thoughtful. "Still counts as respect. The spear's just for balance."

A few more chuckles broke through the group. Even the twins leaned together, whispering something that sounded like agreement.

The next page was different, gentler. Two smaller figures stood beside her, drawn with careful lines. Vexa and Leron, clearly marked by the looping connections drawn from her chest to theirs. Around them, she'd shaded a soft circle of light, protecting them, claiming them. A master and her apprentices.

Then she turned to the final sheet. The entire squad filled the page this time: Lessa with her crown slightly tilted, Jurpat's wide stance anchoring one side, the twins mirroring one another perfectly, Xera and Roan mid-motion, Fenn crouched near Bastard's shape, and Vaeliyan, small, steady, centered, at the front. Alorna stood behind them all, one hand resting over her heart. Above the group floated a small heart, faint but deliberate.

Lessa crouched lower to see. Her grin faded to something quieter. "She is proud of us.."

Alorna held the paper a moment longer, her fingers lingering on the edge. Then she pressed it flat against Vaeliyan's chest. He looked down at it, then back up at her, understanding before anyone spoke.

Her gaze drifted across each of them in turn, Lessa's defiance, Jurpat's grin, the twins' eerie stillness, Xera's spark, Roan's focus, Fenn's quiet readiness, Elian's watchful calm, Sylen's fiery eyes glinting in the dark. One heartbeat at a time, she seemed to memorize them all.

Then, almost shyly, she opened her arms.

It was Fenn who broke the silence first. "She wants a hug."

They didn't need another word. Jurpat stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her first. Lessa followed with a laugh. The twins joined at once, slipping in from both sides. Roan and Xera came next, and Fenn brought up the rear. One by one the former cadets joined in.

It wasn't graceful. Someone's elbow caught someone else's ribs. Lessa almost fell. But they all stayed, pressed together in the cold air. Alorna didn't push anyone away for long moments. Her arms came up slowly, and then held steady. The air between them warmed. The scent of oil and dust and grass hung heavy, and for a long, quiet moment, there was nothing else.

When they finally stepped back, the silence carried something new. Respect. Affection. Understanding.

Alorna nodded once, deliberate and final. She folded the paper again, its creases sharp under her hands, and slid it into Vaeliyan's hand with a brief tap that said everything she'd never speak aloud.

Then she turned toward the trees.

She walked without a sound, the moonlight tracing the edge of her shoulders until the shadows swallowed her whole. One moment she was there, a dark shape against grass. The next, gone. The wind filled the space where she'd been, carrying only the faintest scent of mint and iron.

The meadow stayed still behind her, and no one moved for a long while.

When Vaeliyan finally looked down, the folded paper shimmered faintly in his hand, the light catching the charcoal lines just enough to show what remained: a crown, a heart, a grudge, and the kind of goodbye Alorna could give.

Vaeliyan and the Complaints Department were the last to leave the meadow. The grass was still pressed flat where the instructors had stood, the faint impressions of boots and bodies lingering like ghosts in the soil. The night carried the smell of churned dirt and cold air, touched by the faint warmth of what had just ended. It felt too quiet now, no commands, no shouting, no sparring, just wind whispering through the grass and the creak of their armor as they walked.

Everyone had been given gifts, tools, fragments, weapons, keepsakes, but none came close to the spectacle that had been handed to Vexa and Leron. It was obscene. Comical. Perfectly Alorna. Even the others, who had grown used to the twins' chaos, could only stare in mute disbelief.

Ramis trudged behind them, staggering under the weight of half their haul. He had one crate under each arm, three satchels strapped across his chest, and a lance fragment tucked between his teeth because he'd run out of hands. Ahead of him, the twins waddled forward beneath an avalanche of gear. Their matching faces peeked out from between belts, straps, and pouches, blinking like heavily armed owls. Every few steps, something clinked, whirred, or fell off entirely.

Vaeliyan slowed his pace to watch, both horrified and faintly amused. "They're going to sink my house trying to store all that."

"It's possible," Jurpat muttered. "I'm not volunteering to help them unload."

Whatever Alorna had done, she had gone far beyond generosity. It looked like she had emptied her entire fortune into outfitting them for every possible scenario, from war to wilderness to bubble bath. There were shock rods strapped to their thighs, multipurpose gauntlets that looked like miniature siege tools, and, somehow, bathrobes. Bright pink ones. Embroidered with tiny yellow ducks. Leron held hers like a sacred relic. Vexa immediately declared she would wear hers into battle.

Lessa wheezed out a laugh. "You're not serious."

"Completely serious," Vexa replied. "If I die, I'm dying in comfort."

Leron nodded solemnly. "And with style."

Then came the final discovery: two compact crates tucked beneath Ramis's arm, each stamped with hazard symbols, safety warnings, and a smiling corporate logo. Portable flame turrets. One for each twin. The group froze.

Torman blinked. "Are those turrets?"

Vexa looked up, perfectly innocent. "Yes."

"Like, actual turrets that shoot fire?" Wesley asked, his voice tilting somewhere between awe and panic.

"Fully automated," Leron added proudly, brushing soot from one of the hazard labels.

Jurpat stared at them for a long, silent moment. "You two are going to turn the Legion lot into a fire hazard before we even unpack."

Ramis shifted the weight in his arms, grunting. "They nearly cooked me just carrying them."

Vaeliyan exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand over his face. "Alorna must really love them."

"She does," Sylen said, lips curling into a smirk. "She's just making sure the rest of us know she loves them more than she loves us."

The group's laughter came easily this time, echoing across the open field. The sound broke the weight of the long night, the last tension of the day, of everything they'd be forced to become. The meadow no longer felt like a place of endings but something else entirely: a place between worlds, where old versions of them had been left behind.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

They started walking again. The twins clanked and jangled with every step, their duck-embroidered robes fluttering like flags of some absurd victory. Behind them, Ramis muttered curses between gasps of breath, while Bastard padded alongside with slow feline patience, tail flicking near the turrets as if daring them to spark.

The moonlight followed them, soft and unwavering, catching on the glint of new gear and the faint laughter that refused to fade. Whatever came next, interviews, bureaucracy, or the Command's iron order, they would face it together, ridiculous and armed to the teeth. The Citadel was behind them. The world waited ahead.

When they arrived back at Vaeliyan's estate, the Rank One estate was dead quiet. The silence stretched through the air like a held breath. None of the others had returned from the Shatterlight Trial yet. The Complaints Department had been the first to finish, and it made sense, being rewarded with a skycraft that could cross a day's journey in less than an hour had its benefits. The survivors would be returning soon, but for now, the estate was still and hollow, the halls echoing faintly with the hum of systems waiting for their master's return.

The gates recognized Vaeliyan on approach. The old wood doors creaked open, hinges whispering against polished stone. Warm light spilled from the sconces along the entryway, revealing smooth grain and the subtle patterns of hand-carved wood. The air carried the scent of oil, citrus, and cedar, clean, warm, familiar. Beyond the threshold, the hall opened into a wide chamber framed in stone and timber, quiet but alive with the faint pulse of the systems running through its walls.

House greeted them softly through the walls, voice calm and even. "Welcome home, Master Vaeliyan."

Home. The word settled deep, heavier than it should have.

Outside, through the tall windows, the gardens glowed under lampposts. Trees shifted gently in the wind, the sound of running water threading through the air from the small brook that wound past the hedges. Roundy was out there, steady as always, trimming the hedge line into perfect symmetry. He moved slowly, purposefully, pausing to inspect each section before adjusting a single branch by hand. His precision bordered on obsession, but there was peace in it. The garden was his pride and it showed. Even from the window, the blooms and shaped trees stood immaculate.

But inside, something felt wrong. The quiet wasn't peaceful. It was heavy, like the house itself had forgotten how to breathe. There were supposed to be sounds. Now there was nothing. Thomas was dead. Deic's house was gone. Meri's place sat dark across the way, the usual party lights extinguished. Only Vaeliyan's remained, one house left standing in a field of ghosts.

Lessa's voice broke the stillness. "It's too quiet here."

Jurpat nodded slowly. "Feels wrong."

Varnai crossed her arms. "Then why wait? Let's move it now. No point in staying in a graveyard."

Vaeliyan looked toward the dark horizon and nodded. "Agreed. But we're not leaving yet. Everyone still has things in the dorms. We bring everything back here first. Once it's loaded, we move."

House acknowledged with a soft chime. "Preparations ready. Flight systems on standby."

Fenn groaned, rubbing at his shoulder. "That means I have to dig out half a semester's worth of junk. Fantastic."

Chime shot him a dry look. "If you hadn't kept every broken tool for 'experiments,' you wouldn't have that problem."

He pointed at her with mock offense. "One of those experiments exploded beautifully."

"Exactly my point."

Lessa leaned against the banister, eyes tracing the dim outlines of the neighboring estates. "It's not just quiet. It's wrong. Feels like the whole place knows we're not supposed to be here anymore."

Elian, standing near the stairs, gave a short nod. "Maybe it does. The Citadel lets go when it's time to move on."

Vaeliyan took a breath, the faint hum of House's systems steady underfoot. "After we meet Elian's parents in the morning, we're heading to Mara. That'll be our base of operations moving forward. The Boltfire goes with us. It won't be fast, we'll be moving at the speed of a flying estate, but we can't just leave it behind."

Jurpat frowned. "That'll take days through the Wilds."

"Three, give or take," Vaeliyan said. "Unless I can afford a tow."

Sylen raised an eyebrow. "You can afford anything, Vael."

"Maybe. Depends how generous Ryan's been with the royalties while we were gone."

Lessa snorted. "You mean depends how much of your fortune you're willing to burn to get there faster."

Vaeliyan's expression softened into a grin. "Exactly."

Chime adjusted the strap of her satchel. "Still, three days through open sky with a flying house the size of a fortress? We'll be a target."

Vaeliyan nodded once. "We'll move after we're packed. I'll check the accounts in the morning. If it's enough, we fly fast. If not, we take it slow and careful."

The others murmured their agreement. Then they split off into smaller groups, Jurpat, Fenn, and Varnai heading toward the Citadel dorms, Lessa and Sylen going to the equipment storage, Chime already making a list of what to retrieve. Elian lingered last, looking up at the silent sky before following them down the path.

Vaeliyan stayed at the door, watching their figures fade into the dark. The wind brushed through the garden, carrying the faint scent of cedar and earth. Roundy never stopped working, snipping one branch at a time as if the world hadn't changed around him.

The house creaked softly. It wasn't empty, it was waiting.

When the others returned, it would rise. But for now, it stood still, breathing in the dark, waiting for its ghosts to come home.

Lessa and Sylen finished their work in the equipment storage, surrounded by walls of sealed crates and humming racks of ordnance. They weren't just checking inventory anymore; they were trying to comprehend what they were looking at. Every compartment, every labeled crate, every precision-engineered weapon wasn't something Vaeliyan had purchased. It was something he had built.

Lessa crouched beside an opened panel, running her fingers over the clean weld lines. "You realize he's been building all of this himself," she said quietly. "None of this is standard issue."

Sylen nodded slowly, her eyes tracing the row of power couplings leading into the main targeting matrix. "Yeah. Every part of it. He didn't buy this." She tapped a crate beside her. "He forged it. Designed it. There's not a single serial number here that matches P.G.I manufacturing."

Lessa exhaled. "We're living in a house that could level a fleet, and he made it by hand."

"By hand," Sylen agreed, her voice faint with awe. "This is an obsession at this point."

Lessa opened another compartment. Inside were two long barrels, sleek and dark, with internal resonance coils that hummed faintly even while dormant. She swallowed hard. "You realize this setup could take down a Neuman fortress, right?"

Sylen blinked, then gave a half-laugh. "At this point, I think it could take down several." She rubbed her temples and looked around at the glowing racks and sealed cases. "We live in a house that could blow up the sun. And he probably thinks it's normal."

Lessa let out a breathless laugh. "Good thing he's on our side."

"For now," Sylen murmured, smiling slightly. "Come on. Let's make sure we actually know what this stuff is if we do end up needing to use it."

When they finished, Sylen held up her slate. "We've got enough here to hold off a siege. Ten heavy turrets, dual-layer countermeasures, rail clusters, and a thermal battery that could punch through a city shield. If someone picks a fight with us midair, they're not surviving the opening volley."

Lessa gave a low whistle. "We could cause an extinction event if we fired a fifth of this at once."

"Let's not," Sylen said, laughing nervously. "We're supposed to at least pretend we're civilized now, remember?"

Lessa smirked. "Depends on who you ask."

They both stood there for a moment longer, looking around the weapon storage that could easily pass for a strategic arsenal. It wasn't the size of it that unnerved them, it was the precision. Every weapon was built to last, every coil perfectly seated, every connection polished. Nothing was random. Nothing was unintentional.

"Everything accounted for?" Lessa finally asked.

Sylen nodded. "Yeah. Every last piece. If this house ever goes down, it'll go out like a gods damned supernova."

"That's… comforting," Lessa said with a half-smile. She slung her pack over her shoulder as they left the storage.

The halls of the estate were quiet, their footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floors. When they reached the main hall, they found Vaeliyan standing by one of the tall windows, staring out toward the horizon. The light from the lamps cast a dim reflection of him against the glass—an image of a man half here, half lost somewhere far away. His posture was still, but not calm. Thoughtful. Worn. Sylen exchanged a glance with Lessa, then waved her off with a small, knowing motion before walking toward him.

"Hey, cousin," she said, her tone gentle. "You miss home?"

Vaeliyan didn't look at her right away. His eyes stayed on the night sky. "Yeah," he said softly. "I miss them a lot."

Sylen leaned against the frame beside him, following his gaze. "Makes sense. I can't wait to meet them. It's nice to know there's family out there that isn't a bunch of shitholes."

That earned her a quiet laugh. "They're awesome. I think they'll like you guys."

"I hope so," she said, smirking. "I mean, I'm awesome."

"Yeah, you kind of are."

That answer stopped her short. She frowned slightly, tilting her head. "I was expecting you to tell me to shut up or make a joke."

He looked at her then, his expression serious. "Not this time."

For a moment, neither spoke. The hum of the estate filled the silence between them. Outside, the wind rustled through the garden, brushing past the hedges Roundy was still trimming. It felt like the whole house was listening.

Sylen broke the quiet first. "You know, I've been thinking... when you finally reveal yourself to the world and House Smith becomes a real noble name, I might just change mine to Smith too." She smiled, but the sadness behind it was unmistakable.

Vaeliyan turned to her fully. "They've always been that bad, huh?"

"Yeah." Sylen's voice was steady, but her eyes dimmed. "They treated my mom like she was invisible. The only reason I ever got anything from them was because I could fight. They told me 'family does what family must,' like that made it right. Then they threw me into an illegal fighting ring. I was twelve. Said it would build character."

Vaeliyan's gaze softened. "And you killed your way to the top."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I was angry, and I didn't know any better. It wasn't about pride. It was survival. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed either. It's what they made me."

Vaeliyan looked away, his reflection bending across the windowpane. "I've been killing my whole life too. Not because I wanted to, but because that's what I am. But I don't want that for you. Not for any of you. Wren, Belle, Car, Florence, they know what I am, but they don't need me to be it. That's enough for me."

He paused, his expression softening into something heavier. "I don't want you to have to become what I did. I can't change what I am, but I can try to keep you all from ending up the same way."

Sylen gave a faint, crooked smile. "You've got a strange way of showing it, leader."

Vaeliyan groaned quietly. "Don't start. And for the record, I know about you and Jurpat. It's weird. He's like my brother, and you're my cousin. I love you both, but it's... strange. He had a crush on Wren's cousin once, now he's with mine. I'm starting to see a pattern."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Yeah, but at least I know it." He smiled.

The humor faded, leaving something quieter behind. "Jurpat wasn't a killer when I met him," Vaeliyan said. "He was a sweet, wide-eyed idiot who thought joining the Legion would be fun. He just wanted to go on adventures and fight for something bigger than himself. Then he got drafted into an enforcer unit and learned what that really meant. He's still kind, still him, but now there's a line he's willing to cross. That edge wasn't there before."

Sylen folded her arms, her tone softening. "You care too much, Vael."

"I can feel it," he said. "Through the bond. Everything you all feel, I feel. I could shut it out, but I don't. Because if I did, I'd stop knowing who you are. I'd stop feeling the weight of it."

He turned his eyes back to the window, watching the moonlight slide across the garden path. "We're going to war soon. Some of us might die. I don't know what I'll do if that happens. I don't even know what happens to all of you if I die. The ring... someone might have to take it, and I don't think I'd wish that on any of you not even Elian."

Sylen's voice was quieter now, almost a whisper. "That's the burden of a leader."

"I never wanted to be a leader," Vaeliyan said, almost under his breath.

"The best ones never do." She bumped her shoulder against his lightly, a touch of warmth in the gesture. "For what it's worth, we're glad you did. Someone had to come along and tear this whole place down. Might as well be you."

Vaeliyan's expression softened into something almost like peace. He smiled, tired but sincere. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Might as well be."

They stood there for a while longer, the hum of the estate filling the silence. Outside, Roundy's steady snipping carried through the garden, rhythmic and patient. The night was long, but the world felt just a little smaller, a little more human.

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