I leaned forward. "What about success rates by rank? You said S-rank minimum. How does that affect the odds?"

"At S-rank, assuming full health and proper preparation, the mortality rate is roughly sixty percent. At S-plus rank, it drops to about thirty-three percent. At SSS-rank..." She looked at Adrian. "Twenty-five percent. Your raw power makes it easier to survive the backlash."

Adrian didn't look reassured. "Twenty-five percent is still one in four."

"Yes. Which is why most SSS-rank individuals never bother learning it. The technique gives you the ability to cut fate threads, but at SSS-rank, you're already strong enough to brute force through most narrative constraints. The risk doesn't justify the reward for them."

"But we're not most people," I said.

Victoria's smile was grim. "No. You're people the Council is actively hunting. For you, the risk very much justifies the reward. If you can learn this technique, you can cut the threads that bind you to your narrative roles. Break free of the story structure entirely. Become undefined in the Council's system."

She stood and walked to the wall, pressing her hand against the stone. A hidden compartment opened, revealing a small wooden box. Victoria retrieved it and returned to her seat, setting the box on the floor between us.

"This contains three things," she said. "First, detailed notes on the training regimen I used. Second, emergency medical supplies specifically designed to stabilize someone whose life force is destabilizing. Third, instructions for what to do with your bodies if you die during training."

The last part hung in the air like a curse.

"I'm required to give you those instructions," Victoria continued, "because if you die during Contact or Severance, your corpse won't be entirely real anymore. Parts of you will still exist in the narrative layer. If not handled properly, those fragments can create... problems."

"What kind of problems?" Adrian asked.

"The kind where your ghost becomes a narrative parasite that feeds on other people's story threads until it either dissipates or grows strong enough to replace you entirely." Victoria's voice was matter-of-fact. "The League encountered one three years ago. It wore the face of someone who'd died attempting Fate's Severance. Took us four months to hunt it down and destroy it."

I felt cold. "That can happen?"

"If your death occurs during Contact or Severance, yes. Not if you die during Perception or after completing the full training. Just during the middle stages when you're partially transitioned between reality and narrative."

Adrian and I exchanged glances. His expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. This was worse than we'd thought. Much worse.

"The training itself," Victoria said, "requires two weeks of intensive work. Six days from now when you're both at full health, we'll travel to a facility in the northern mountains. Remote location, heavily warded, no nearby population centers. If something goes catastrophically wrong, the damage will be contained."

"Contained meaning what?" I asked.

"Meaning if one of you becomes a narrative parasite, I can kill you before you reach civilization."

The bluntness was almost refreshing. No sugarcoating. No false reassurance. Just the cold reality of what we were attempting.

"The facility has everything we need," Victoria continued. "Medical equipment, defensive measures, and most importantly, complete isolation from fate thread networks. The fewer threads connecting you to other people during training, the safer it is. You'll cut all communication with your teams once we arrive. No contact until training completes successfully or you die. Those are the only two outcomes."

"What about injury?" Adrian asked. "If we get hurt but survive?"

"Injury during this kind of training usually means permanent damage. Loss of mana capacity, spiritual scarring, reduced lifespan. The kind of wounds that don't heal because they exist partly in narrative space." Victoria's voice softened slightly. "I'm not trying to scare you. I'm trying to make sure you understand what you're committing to. This isn't like normal training where you can quit if it gets too hard. Once you start Contact training, you either complete it or die. There's no middle ground."

I sat back in my chair, processing everything. One in three chance of death for me. One in four for Adrian. Those were terrible odds. The kind of odds you only accepted when all other options were worse.

The Council had given us thirty days. Less than that now. Three weeks and change before they made their move. If we couldn't cut our narrative threads by then, we'd be fighting them while still bound to the roles they'd assigned us. Villain and Hero. Narrative slaves dancing to someone else's script.

"I'm in," I said.

Victoria nodded as if she'd expected nothing less. She looked at Adrian.

He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the wooden box with its medical supplies and death instructions. Then he straightened. "I'm in too."

"Your team won't be happy," Victoria said. "Elena especially will try to talk you out of this."

"Elena will understand. Eventually." Adrian's voice was firm. "If I don't do this, the Council owns me. I'd rather risk death than live as someone's puppet."

Victoria studied us both, then reached into the wooden box and pulled out two small vials filled with silver liquid. She held them up to the light. The liquid seemed to move on its own, swirling in patterns that hurt to watch directly.

"Stabilization serum," she said. "Extremely expensive. Extremely illegal. Made from concentrated mana mixed with extract from creatures that exist partially outside normal reality. If you start to fade during Contact training, this will pull you back. Temporarily."

She handed one vial to each of us. "Keep these on your person at all times during training. If you feel yourself becoming less real, drink it immediately. You'll have maybe ten seconds to make that decision before you lose the ability to interact with physical objects. After that, you're gone."

I pocketed the vial carefully. It was heavier than it looked, dense with compressed magic.

"One more thing," Victoria said. She pulled out a third item from the box. A simple piece of parchment covered in dense handwriting. She unfolded it and laid it flat on the floor between us.

"This is a contract standard for anyone attempting Fate's Severance training. It absolves me of responsibility if you die, acknowledges that you understand the risks, and contains instructions for disposal of your remains should the worst happen. Sign it before we leave for the mountains."

The contract was thorough and grim. Clauses about notification of next of kin, distribution of assets, proper handling of partially real corpses. Legal language trying to encompass scenarios that shouldn't exist.

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