The sky above Zenith did not just glow. It ignited.

Less than three hours after the Eastern sea-beasts had moored, a second sun broke through the cloud cover. The Solstice, the flagship of the House of Sol, descended with a blinding radiance that turned the white marble of the sky-piers into molten gold. It was a gilded dreadnought of impossible proportions, its hull engraved with solar runes that hummed with the power of a captured star.

On the docks, Professor Aris and Professor Thorne stood in stunned silence. They had barely finished escorting the Razar delegation to their embassy when the horizon caught fire.

"They are five hours ahead of schedule," Thorne muttered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his practice blade. "The Imperial protocol dictates the West arrives last to signify their status as the host of the continent. Alistair Sol is spitting on the Emperor's timetable."

"The Sol family does not follow schedules," Aris replied, his expression strained. "They create them. If the Grandmaster is here early, it means he does not want the other families to have a head start on the boy."

A sleek golden shuttle detached from the belly of the Solstice and drifted toward the private landing pad of the elite sector. Vane stood at the edge of the pad, his midnight-blue suit snapping in the heat-wash of the shuttle's engines. He was alone. Valerica had been summoned to the ship the moment it cleared the clouds, leaving him to face the summons of a Grandmaster without his navigator.

The shuttle doors slid open. Two guards in full solar-plate armor stepped out, their visors glowing with a soft orange light. They did not speak. They simply gestured for Vane to enter.

The ascent to the Solstice was brief but harrowing. As the shuttle entered the ship's internal hangar, Vane felt the change in mana-density. It was not the suffocating weight of the Eastern Embassy. It was a dry, radiating pressure that felt like standing in the heart of a desert at noon.

When the doors opened, Valerica was waiting. She wore a gown of shimmering white silk that seemed to drink in the light of the ship. She looked like a goddess of the sun, but the slight tremor in her hands told Vane everything he needed to know.

"He is in the observation deck," Valerica said quietly. She didn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the golden corridor ahead. "He knows everything, Vane. He has been watching the Labyrinth logs since the moment we cleared the first floor."

"Then he knows I don't scare easily," Vane said.

They walked through the ship in silence. The Solstice was a masterpiece of Imperial luxury, filled with marble statues and enchantments that kept the air at a constant, balmy temperature. When they reached the observation deck, the heavy gold-leafed doors swung open.

The room was a hemisphere of reinforced glass, offering a panoramic view of the Zenith archipelago. A man stood at the edge of the glass with his back to them. He was not physically massive like Kaito Razar, but his presence was infinitely more terrifying.

"You may leave us, Valerica," the man said. His voice was calm and melodic, yet it carried an undertone of crackling heat.

Valerica bowed and retreated. The doors clicked shut, leaving Vane alone with the West's most powerful Grandmaster.

Vane did not wait to be addressed. He used the Sovereign's Glide to walk into the center of the room, his movements fluid and controlled. He stopped ten paces away, his gaze fixed on the man's silhouette.

Lord Alistair Sol turned. He looked remarkably like Valerica, with the same sharp features and molten-gold eyes, but his hair was the color of cooled ash. He wore robes of deep crimson. He did not look like a warrior. He looked like an architect who had just finished designing a new reality.

Vane focused his intent, his eyes glowing with a silver spark.

[Target Analysis]

Name: Alistair Sol

Rank: 8 (Grandmaster)

Danger: Catastrophic

Authority: Crowned Sun (SS)

The information sent a shiver through Vane's mana-veins. Rank 8. A Grandmaster was a being that could single-handedly tip the scales of a continental war. His authority, [Crowned Sun], was SS-Rank.

"You are at the Gate," Alistair observed. He did not move, but Vane felt a wave of mana-pressure wash over him. It was not a physical push. It was a psychological weight that demanded he acknowledge his own insignificance. "Rank 3, and already your mana is crystallizing into the Sentinel structure. You have clawed your way out of the well quite effectively."

Vane remembered the words his mother used to say about the frog in the well. He looked Alistair in the eye. "The well was crowded, Lord Sol. I preferred the view from the top."

"A commoner who speaks of views," Alistair said, walking toward him. Every step he took left a faint, glowing footprint on the floor. "Valerica believes you are the spark that will finally burn away the stagnation of the Empire. She thinks you are a King in the making. I, however, see a boy who is dangerously close to being fuel for someone else's fire."

Alistair stopped three feet away. His eyes were like twin pits of molten gold. "The Gala begins tomorrow. The Empire will try to absorb you. The Independent Palaces will try to recruit you. You are a small flame in a room full of gale-force winds. Tell me. Why should I allow my daughter to remain in your shadow?"

"Because in my shadow, she is actually shining," Vane said, his voice flat and certain. "In your house, she was just a reflection of you. In my squad, she is a Sol. If you take her back, you aren't protecting her. You are just putting her back in the box."

Alistair leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "The Sun only shines on those who can withstand the heat, Vane. Everyone else is merely fuel."

The pressure in the room suddenly vanished. Alistair turned back to the window, dismissing him.

"The shuttle is waiting," the Grandmaster said. "Go. Tomorrow, the world stops being a classroom."

Vane bowed, a sharp, precise movement. He turned and walked out of the observation deck. When he reached the docking bay, Valerica was searching his face for any sign of a break.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He told me not to catch fire," Vane said.

He looked out at the horizon. The sun was setting, and the first of the Glacial Palace ships were beginning to descend from the northern sky. Their crystalline hulls glowed with a pale, cold blue. The temperature of the archipelago was already starting to drop.

"The classroom is over," Vane said, his fingers tightening into a fist. "Tomorrow, we show them why we are at the top of the list."

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