The social reprieve provided by the shadow of the pillar was short lived. The music had shifted again, transitioning into a low, rhythmic pulse of strings that felt like the steady heartbeat of the Empire itself. The light from the floating mana candles seemed to dim as a heavy, metallic pressure began to roll across the ballroom floor. It was not the sudden, explosive frost of the North's arrival. Instead, it was a slow, inevitable tide that demanded acknowledgment.

Vane stood tall, his midnight blue suit feeling like a second skin as he watched the crowd part. Princess Anastasia moved with a grace that was surgically precise, her golden robes trailing behind her like a river of liquid sun. At her right shoulder, Grand Marshal Varron walked with the steady, thumping cadence of a man who had marched over the ruins of a dozen cities. He did not look at the minor nobles who scrambled to clear a path. His gaze was fixed entirely on Vane.

'It is starting,' Vane thought. 'The social games are over. Now comes the acquisition.'

Beside him, he felt the atmosphere shift within their small circle. Valerica's posture became impossibly straight. She adopted the cold, unreadable mask of a Sol princess, her silver gown shimmering in the low light. Ashe set her glass down on a nearby ledge, her hands hovering near her waist, her red eyes narrowed into slits. Even Isaac had stopped slumped against the marble. He stood at attention, his face pale but his expression hardened. They had only been a squad for a single practical evaluation, a temporary alliance of convenience, but in this moment, they stood together like a unified front.

The Princess and the Marshal stopped five paces away. The air in their immediate vicinity became thick and dry, smelling faintly of heated iron. It was the passive influence of Varron's Rank 8 presence. To a normal person, it would have been impossible to breathe. To Vane, it was a physical weight that pushed against his Rank 3 core, making his silver mana churn with a restless, defensive energy.

"The Rank 1 of Zenith," Princess Anastasia said. Her voice was calm and melodic, yet it carried an authority that needed no amplification. "Vane. It is rare to see a commoner command such a distinguished circle. Lady Sol, Lady Razar, and even a Prince of the Glacium. You have a talent for gathering assets, even if the squad was intended to be temporary."

"They are my friends, Your Highness," Vane said. He did not bow. He kept his gaze level with hers, a move that caused several nearby nobles to gasp in shock. "Not assets."

Varron's eyes flared with a dull, orange light. The pressure in the air spiked, a silent warning that Vane was dancing on the edge of a blade. The Marshal's voice was a low rumble. "Friendship is a luxury for those who do not have the weight of a continent on their shoulders, boy. In the Empire, we call things by their true names. And right now, you are the most valuable unrefined resource in this ballroom."

Vane felt the weight of the Marshal's gaze. It was clinical. It was the look a blacksmith gave to a piece of raw ore.

"We have been following your progress, Vane," Anastasia continued. She stepped a fraction closer, the golden light of her robes washing over him. "The conquest of the Hub was impressive. The Empire has a long history of rewarding those who show such exceptional promise. We do not believe in letting talent go to waste in the outer rim."

"I am quite comfortable at the academy," Vane replied.

"The academy is a greenhouse," Varron interrupted. He stepped forward, his dark iron plate grinding with a sound like a closing tomb. "It protects you from the wind, but it also limits your growth. You are at the Gate to Rank 4. I can feel the silver energy in your core begging to crystallize. If you stay here, you will struggle for weeks to stabilize your foundation. But if you come to the Capital, under my direct oversight, I can ensure you break through within the week. We have the resources, the catalysts, and the training grounds you lack."

The offer was blunt. It was the dream of every student in the room. A shortcut to the Sentinel rank, a title in the Capital, and the backing of the Grand Marshal. It was a golden leash, and it was being offered with a smile.

Valerica shifted beside him, her golden eyes flashing. She knew the price. Once Vane accepted Imperial resources, he would belong to them. He would be a tool of the Vanguard, a weapon to be pointed at the Empire's enemies.

"The Rank 1 squad has its own training schedule," Valerica said, her voice cutting through the Marshal's pressure. "We have already made arrangements for the winter break."

Varron didn't even look at her. "The Sol family can find another interest, Lady Valerica. This is a matter of Imperial security. A Sentinel of Vane's potential cannot be left to wander without proper supervision."

The tension reached a breaking point. Vane felt his mana core pulsing, the Gate in his chest vibrating as it sensed the hostile intent from the Marshal. The surrounding nobles were leaning in, their faces filled with a mixture of envy and expectation.

Suddenly, a shift occurred. It was not a physical movement, but a change in the weight of the world.

Headmistress Evangeline appeared from the crowd, her dark robes trailing behind her. She did not look happy. In fact, she looked deeply annoyed. She stepped smoothly between Vane's group and the Imperial party, her eyes sweeping over the Grand Marshal and the Princess with a weary, sharp light.

"I believe I made myself clear when I spoke to the Sylvaris earlier," Evangeline said. Her voice was not loud, but it possessed a resonance that silenced the entire ballroom. "And yet, it seems the message did not travel very far across the floor."

Varron narrowed his eyes. "Headmistress. This is a state matter."

"This is my academy," Evangeline countered. Her expression hardened, and for the first time, she stopped holding back. "I am tired of repeating myself. I told the Saintess to respect my students, and now I find the Vanguard trying to poach them in my own ballroom."

She took a single step forward, and the air ignited. A Rank 9 aura exploded outward, but it was controlled with terrifying precision. It did not touch the students. Vane, Valerica, Ashe, and Isole felt nothing but a cool breeze.

But the adults in the room felt the sky fall.

Grand Marshal Varron, a Rank 8 Grandmaster, actually staggered. He braced his feet, his armor groaning under the sudden, massive gravity. Princess Anastasia went pale, her knees buckling as she clutched the arm of a nearby chair to keep from falling. All around the room, Dukes and Counts were forced to their knees, their breath catching in their throats as the Headmistress's power flattened the air.

The only person in the room who seemed entirely unaffected was Isadora Glacium. The Queen was still near the buffet, currently inspecting a plate of grapes. she looked over at the display of power with a faint, amused smile before going back to her snack.

"You are overstepping, Evangeline," Varron gritted out, his face reddening as he fought to remain standing.

"I am protecting my territory," Evangeline replied. Her eyes were cold, glowing with a faint, violet light. "Vane is a student of Zenith. He is not a resource, he is not a weapon, and he is not your property. If any of you approach him again tonight with an offer he did not ask for, I will consider it a personal insult to my house."

She maintained the pressure for five long seconds, long enough for the Grand Marshal's boots to crack the marble beneath him. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she withdrew the aura. The ballroom let out a collective, gasping breath.

Evangeline turned to Vane. The annoyance in her eyes faded, replaced by that same cryptic look she had held earlier.

"Why go this far?" Vane asked quietly. He was still shaken by the display of Rank 9 power. "You just threatened a Grand Marshal for me."

"I am simply paying back a debt I owe," Evangeline said. Her voice was flat, offering no further explanation. She looked at the Princess, who was still recovering her composure. "I believe the young man is tired. He and his friends are leaving now."

She didn't wait for an answer. She glanced at the squad. "Go. The carriage is waiting. Enjoy your winter break, such as it is."

Vane looked at his friends. They were all stunned, especially Isaac, who looked at the Headmistress with a new kind of fear.

"Let's go," Vane said. He didn't want to wait for the Marshal to find his voice again.

As they walked toward the grand exit, Vane felt the eyes of the entire Western nobility on his back. He had just seen a Rank 9 Transcendent humiliate the Empire's greatest general for his sake.

'A debt,' Vane thought as they stepped out into the cool night air. 'She didn't say who to. She didn't say why. But she's protecting me like I'm her own blood.'

The first snow of the year began to fall, tiny white flakes drifting through the mana-lit air of the sky-piers. The Gala was over, and as the carriages lined up to take the guests away, Vane looked back at the glowing Spire.

'I have no home to go to,' he thought, 'but for the first time in my life, I have people willing to fight the world to keep me where I am.'

He climbed into the carriage with Valerica, Ashe, and Isole. The silence between them was not awkward; it was the quiet of survivors who had just navigated a minefield. The winter break was here, and while the rest of the world headed for their manors and palaces, Vane looked toward the dark, quiet spires of the academy. He had a Gate to cross, and a mystery to solve.

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