"We need the exact size," I say, lifting my chin slightly. "If we overshoot an affinity blast and crater half the pond, we fail before we start."
There's a shuffle and a soft creak of wood. Rōko's voice drifts from overhead — she's probably climbed onto a crate again.
"I can barely see Floor 6. It's like this weird balcony just hovering. If the magisters are giving us room to fly, then hell, why not take it? Aerial battles give you a serious advantage."
"Good," Raphos rumbles nearby. "I can definitely jump that high. One leap, one punch, someone's down before they know what hit 'em."
"Height advantage noted," I murmur, "but I still need width. Hang on."
I slip the blindfold up, letting the world bloom in streaks of mana and blurred silver outlines. Trunks of trees pulse faintly like arteries. The pond glows beneath a delicate lattice of embedded water runes. Even the tent's support beams radiate structure — Lincoln's magic woven through everything like an invisible skeleton.
The whole floor is massive. At least two hundred meters across. Give or take. Enough space to get lost in… or mount a proper defense.
I lower the blindfold again. The world drops to sound and air.
"All right," I say, brushing my palm against my thigh. "We're on a massive chunk of land — about two hundred meters across. It's too big to keep everyone close, but not so big we'll lose each other. I'd bet five elite attackers. The magisters love symmetry. Since Salem counts as my bond."
"Six against five," Salem murmurs. She's close — I can feel the subtle warmth of her shoulder.
"So," I continue, "we divide the battlefield into zones that play to our strengths. That way, when the time comes, we're not reacting, we're controlling."
A pause. I hear quiet nods. Someone stretches. A thoughtful grunt from Raphos. Soft approval from Salem. Not bad for the first minute of planning.
"I still have a bond down in the Academy garden," Raphos says. "Eight-hundred-pound cave bear. Obedient, tough, ugly as sin. Could come in handy."
There's a snort from Rōko.
"Of course the walking slab has a bear bond. What, not just your long-lost twin brother?"
Raphos sighs, low and theatrical. "Did someone tall traumatize you as a child?"
"I just think the one-hit brute style is boring," she says. "No flow. No precision. Just 'walk up and punch.' Yawn."
"I'm third in the Ætherbound, not for deadlifting." His tone stays calm, but I can hear the edge of pride. "You'll eat those words when we spar. I move fast when it counts."
"He's not lying," Lirael cuts in. Her voice is calm, factual. "His speed doesn't match his size. It's… impressive."
"Fine," Rōko mutters. "I'll believe it when I don't see it."
I took a deep breath breaking the silence "Let's rank ourselves," I say, taking a step back. My boots shift on the soft soil of the tent. "From weakest to strongest. It's not about ego. It's about knowing who needs backup first."
"Bottom!" Fay blurts immediately. "No debate. I'm a soft, squishy glass cannon, thank you very much."
I smile. "Accepted."
"Second-worst," Lirael offers. "I'm a healer. I can fight at range, but… plants aren't the fastest deterrent."
"Next is me," Rōko says. "Look, I'll admit it. Though I plan on punching bear-boy in the ribs one of these days."
"I'll bring the ribs," Raphos mutters.
"My turn," I say. "I've got the most affinities, but Salem has shown time and time again she still beats me.
"So that leaves me for second," Salem says.
"And strongest is Raphos," I finish. "Although i have a feeling Salem would beat him in a fight simply because of speed and having shadow affinity, Based on pure power Raphos is the strongest. He's got the tank power, plus his bear bond and Ætherbound connection."
A beat of silence. Then I hear quiet agreement all around.
"Then we place accordingly," I say. "Salem stays with Fay, protects our most fragile asset. Raphos's bear can back Lirael and give her a tank. Rōko's free to roam. Her mobility and earth magic make her perfect for adapting. I'll float between zones and reinforce whoever needs it. Raphos can do as he wants just take out a strong enemy."
There's a grunt from Raphos. "Solid."
"Nicely laid out," Lirael says.
"I'm surprised you thought that up so fast," Rōko mutters, but I catch a smile in it.
"She's the blind prodigy," Salem murmurs at my side, and I can feel her pride like heat on my skin.
Then Fay speaks again, hesitation curling her words.
"Okay, great battle strategy and all… but, um. I just realized something."
The flap of fabric, then an incredulous gasp.
"There are sleeping bags. Like, on the floor. There are no beds."
Rōko barks a laugh. "Welcome to war, Princess. These even have our names stitched on so you don't accidentally pick one sized for a bear."
"I've never slept outside of a feather mattress," Fay groans. "Ever."
"And the shower?" she adds. "Where is it?"
"We've got a pond," Raphos says, completely unbothered. "Knowing Lincoln, there's water purification runes in it. Probably cleans off grime the moment you touch it. Efficient."
"No warm water," Fay groans. "No lavender soap. I'm going to die out here."
"You'll survive," I say, grinning. "Your noble-blood spa days are on pause. You're a warrior now."
"Barbarism," she mutters under her breath, but she's smiling too.
"Pick your corners," I say. "Make it your own."
Canvas whispers as everyone drags their bags into place. I walk to the center of the tent and flick a small flame into the stone-ringed hearth. It catches fast, Lincoln enchanted the wood, no doubt. The warmth rolls out in waves.
The fire cracks. Smoke rises. The scent of pine and ozone fills the tent.
We're here. Tent staked. First plan drafted.
Day one — not bad.
Not bad at all
The fabric of the sleeping bag rustles under my hand, rougher than I expected. Not the soft downy layers from back home, but thick and practical, likely rune-lined for warmth.
"Five bags?" Rōko's voice cuts through the shuffling. "Wait, there's only five here."
"There are six of us," Fay says, a little too suspiciously innocent.
"Technically," Salem murmurs beside me, her tone wry, "they still count me as a bond."
"Then why," Rōko cuts in again, "does this one have two names stitched on it?"
There's a pause. I feel Salem lean forward slightly, brushing her hand along the embroidered patch on the bag. Her fingers skim the letters like reading Braille.
"…Annabel and Salem," she confirms, the corners of her voice curling upward.
Rōko breaks first, laughter ringing out sharp and warm. "Lincoln saw right through you two. That smug bastard even had time to embroider it."
Fay lets out a giggle. "It's romantic, honestly. One big bag for the terrifying prodigy couple."
I roll my eyes behind the blindfold. "It's not that deep."
"You literally sleep wrapped around each other every night," Fay counters.
From deeper in the tent, Raphos's heavy steps thud toward the far corner. "I'm more surprised he made mine this big. This thing could fit a war elephant."
Lirael's voice is quiet and amused. "That's… normal. For you at least, you could surely take down an elephant and for your human form you're not that far off."
"Guess being big has its benefits, this thing will keep me so warm," he replies flatly, and I can practically hear the smirk.
Fay, Rōko, and Lirael shuffle toward one side, dragging their bags into a clustered crescent. I hear the soft thump of knees hitting fabric, the hiss of bags unrolling, the small sighs of settling in. Their quiet conversation starts again, hushed and friendly.
Salem and I pull our shared bag toward the tent's front edge, closest to the entrance. The canvas rustles as we spread it out. The cool brush of outside air skims across my cheek — a sunny breeze carrying the scent of pond water and distant pines.
Still midday. But the tent is warm. The hearth crackles behind us, soft and steady, the girls' mana signatures glowing faintly nearby, Salem's presence closest and brightest beside me.
I tilt my head toward the breeze. "Let's take the rest of the day to explore the floor," I say. "Get to know the terrain now that we've got a basic plan."
"I like that," Salem whispers, her arm brushing mine as we settle onto the bag.
"Tomorrow," I say, closing my eyes again, "we start getting stronger."
The cool breeze carries soft rustles of leaves and the occasional splash from the pond. I call everyone over to the wooden bench near the water's edge, my voice steady but carrying.
"Raphos, Lirael, can you please make a list of all fifteen Ætherbound? From strongest to weakest — who'd win in a fight. We need to know what we're really up against."
Lirael adjusts her cloak, sitting cross-legged on the bench. Raphos shifts beside her, his weight heavy but controlled.
"We've tested them already," Raphos starts, voice low and certain. "Number one's Lumos Drossel, no surprise there. His aura alone could crush half a squad."
Lirael nods, eyes narrowed. "Second is Fëanor Einar, brilliant with lighting, but her over confidence and addiction to fighting sometimes slows her down."
"Third is me," Raphos adds with a growl. "I'm no slouch."
"Fourth's Nora Bardot," Lirael continues, "quick with blades and faster than most. She's lethal."
"Sir Myron Aethon takes fifth. Respected by all, but he prefers honor over brute force."
Raphos grumbles. "Thorkell Bloodforge is sixth, brutal dwarf that one."
Augustus Starshield — a cocky noble at seven."
"Shinobu Silva's eighth," Lirael explains, "she's small but deadly."
"Julius Pyrelight is ninth," Raphos adds, "though I think he's a bit overrated."
"Borin Ashen at ten," Lirael continues, "then Saria Crow, "Nerissa Dewsong at twelve," Lirael says softly. "She's the only nymph we have — like Raphos is our only chimera."
Raphos grins. "Can't forget her."
"Victor Hammerhand's thirteen," Raphos says. "Then Lirael herself is fourteenth."
Lirael chuckles. "That's me, unfortunately can't keep up in a fight but im still the best healer around."
"Last is Malenia Mikaelson," Raphos concludes. "She's been kicked out. Lincoln's hunting for a replacement or for her to get stronger."
The quiet hum of mana pulses around us, the silhouettes of trees and water outlined faintly. I lean forward, fingers tracing the wood grain of the bench.
"Julius is lower than I expected," I say, brow furrowed. "That means the challenges ahead are even tougher."
I glance toward Raphos. "Who have you lost to?"
He shrugs but is honest. "Lumos, Fëanor, and Shinobu."
"Shinobu?" I echo, surprised. "She's only ranked eighth."
Lirael nods firmly. "She's the counter to bigger fighters. Fast enough to slip through anyone's grip, almost invisible wires as weapons—mana-enhanced. When Raphos couldn't catch her, he stumbled into her traps, wrapped like a fly in a spider's web."
Rōko laughs softly. "So it is agility that beats strength, huh, big guy?"
Raphos growls but smiles. "Don't get cocky. Shinobu's the biggest menace out there. Small but driven by vengeance , devils killed her brother and mother. Made her watch, she was even forced to fed on her family before she escaped. She's trained non-stop, now a rank 1 mage and Ætherbound."
A hush falls over the group. The weight of her story settles in the quiet.
I stand, the outlines of my friends dimming slightly as I move.
"I'm going to get some dinner from the academy for everyone," I say. "And I'll bring Raphos his mana bear — can't leave the group incomplete."
I feel their eyes on me, expectant and curious.
"Space magic to travel really is a blessing," I add with a small smile. "And I want to hear more about the Ætherbound, over food."
With that, I step away, the soft crunch of grass beneath my feet mingling with the distant call of birds.
——
The Academy kitchen glows with faint residual spells — low pulsing mana woven into the walls and stone beneath my boots. I move by pressure and heat: the sharp cold of frozen meats, the soft hum of mana-warmed fruit crates, the slight crusted aura of fresh bread.
I'm halfway through stuffing the bag when I feel it.
A stillness.
Then… a pulse.
Not large. Not loud.
But precise, like a blade that wants to know where your throat is.
I turn toward it.
The figure that steps out of the mana haze isn't tall. In fact, she's smaller than most. A blur with a jagged aura. The outline of her body hums so tightly it looks like lightning held in by skin.
"Hello there," she says, calm as a breeze. "You're Annabel, right?"
I stiffen. Not in fear — but in… awe?
Her presence alone hits harder than a thrown glaive.
She steps closer. "I'm Shinobu."
Of course she is.
Everything Raphos said clicks into place.
The reason he couldn't catch her.
The reason she's eighth, but feared like she's second.
That aura… it doesn't just radiate power. It cuts.
I don't say anything right away. My breath tightens for a second, but I catch it.
"…Not a big talker, are you?" she adds. "I thought you'd be more social. With how popular you are."
I push forward, steady my voice, and offer my hand.
"Sorry — your mana just caught me off guard. It's… a lot. I heard you were ranked eighth, but honestly, you feel stronger than some of the Ætherbound above you."
She laughs — sharp, fast. Not mocking. Just amused.
"I'm only sixteen," she says simply. "Youngest Ætherbound. Been training maybe three years? I'll get stronger once I have more experience."
I blink.
Sixteen.
Three years of training.
That's it?
I've been training since I was five. I'm not thirteen yet. But this girl — older, yes, but with less than half the experience, radiates pure, honed death.
I think I might've met the only prodigy that actually makes me feel average.
She looks me over, then continues, casually:
"Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Annabel. I hope we can spar sometime. Since we're stuck on these floating floors for a month, might as well keep it interesting."
Then — without a shift in tone, without a breath of warning — her voice hardens like tempered steel:
"I do wish we got to kill some devils sooner. Every one of them deserves to perish in the worst way imaginable."
Her words are plain. But the hatred behind them is glacial. Not loud. Not explosive. Just… final.
I nod slightly, offering her a bow of respect.
"I'm sure we'll see more of each other."
And then, she vanishes.
Gone. No exit spell. No sound.
Just gone.
I breathe once. Then again. Steadier.
Mana pulses in my fingers — I grab the full bag and step through my own rift. The air on Floor 5 is colder, cleaner.
Home.
I land softly. The warmth of the tent hums ahead, and beside me: the slow, even breath of Raphos's bear bond. I brush a hand across its shoulder, thick fur, dense mana. It huffs contentedly.
"I'm back," I say.
Food, and the bear.
Our team is full.
But the battlefield?
Still wide open.
A ring of firelight glows in fuzzy halos around the hearth. Plates clink, bread cracks, and the savory hiss of heating meat rises from a flat skillet Rōko improvised with metal magic. I set the canvas sack on the ground with a heavy thud; half-frozen roasts and fruit roll out in blurs of pale mana.
"I ran into Shinobu down at the kitchen," I announce, lowering myself onto a log stool. "Small outline, terrifying aura. She's sixteen— only three years of training— and already eighth. Honestly? She'll fly up the ranks as soon as she feels like it."
A low rumble from Raphos. "Told you. Girl's a menace."
Lirael nods; her outline pulses in a soft evergreen hue. "If she focuses, she could threaten the top five within a year."
Rōko whistles. "Great. Another overachiever."
Salem drapes an arm behind me; her dark silhouette bends close. "If she scares you, love, we'll tread carefully." She sounds amused but serious.
I shrug. "Not scared—just… impressed. Anyway, tomorrow's for training. Let's talk weapons and synergy before we swing at each other."
⸻
Rōko – Chain & Sickle
Rōko twirls a length of weighted chain; metal rings clack in a bright staccato. "My father put this in my hand when I could barely walk. Reach, bind, tear—good against armor and bigger targets," she says, shooting a glance at Raphos's broad outline. "And the curved blade lets me hook or disarm at odd angles."
Annabel – Bo Staff & Bow
I tap the matte wood staff lying across my knees; its mana signature glitters faintly like iron filings. "Bo staff for close control, bow for distance. With metal magic I can conjure arrows from thin air, then curve them mid-flight using space warps. Works on the fly, never runs out of ammunition."
Fay snorts. "Show-off."
"Efficient," I correct, grinning.
Salem – Weapon of Shadow
Salem raises her right arm; black mana vents outward and hardens into a jagged short-sword before melting into a spear, then a scythe, then nothing. "I shape-shift my shadow arm," she says simply. "No chance of dropping or breaking it."
Raphos mutters, "thats…pretty scary," and she gifts him a razor-smile.
Raphos – Custom Longsword
He hefts his blade— its outline long and thick, edge shimmering. "Normal swords felt like toothpicks," he rumbles. "This was forged for my reach and weight. Longer arc, heavier momentum— strikes hit like falling trees but come in faster than people expect."
Rōko tosses a strip of bacon at him. "Still calling you bear-boy."
Fay – Heirloom Katana
Fay unsheathes a slender curve of steel; the blade's mana sings light and clear. "Family heirloom. Every generation keeps it battle-ready. Balanced, elegant— and it reminds me I'm fighting for more than myself." She slips it back with a quiet click.
Lirael – Spiked Shield
Lirael sets a round shield beside the fire; spines protrude along the rim like orderly thorns. "I'm a healer foremost. This lets me guard an ally while channeling recovery spells. Offensively, a shield-bash or rim-slash can stagger while my vines snare at range."
Raphos sniffs. "Shields are underrated."
"Thank you," Lirael says, sounding pleased.
⸻
I rake a stick through the coals. "All right. Tomorrow we pair up: Salem with Fay for frontline finesse. Raphos anchors Lirael so she can heal under cover. Rōko and I go up, she binds, I finish, or vice versa. We iterate until it feels like muscle memory."
Everyone murmurs assent. A comfortable hush settles; only the pond outside murmurs under the dusk breeze.
"Food's ready," Rōko calls, passing out slabs of sizzling meat.
As we eat, the tent warms and our outlines blur into one shared glow—a small, bright knot on Lincoln's towering battlefield.
Tomorrow, we sharpen together. Tonight, we feed the fire.
The fire's nothing more than a warm pulse now, embers crumbling into a dull haze. Around me, soft sounds, zippers drawn, fabric shifting, the quiet hum of mana settling as everyone winds down for the night.
I crouch and ease into the bag first, the lining cool against my skin until my mana warms it up. The moment Salem slips in behind me, space vanishes entirely. Her outline presses against mine in a dense tangle of soft curves and warm shadow. There's no room to shift, no awkward inch to retreat. And I accidentally—
My face sinks straight into her chest.
I freeze.
"I—I'm sorry," I whisper, barely audible, voice muffled.
Her mana shifts with a slow, relaxed ripple, and then I feel her fingers gently brushing my hair back.
"You can stay there if you want," she murmurs.
A pause.
Then, quietly: "I do."
Her arm wraps around me. No distance. No shame. Only warmth.
I close my eyes, though sight barely matters, and let her breath rise and fall against my cheek.
Outside the tent, the pond trickles, the wind breathes cool through the entrance flap, and far above, mana hums faintly through Floor Six. But here, in the heart of it all, I rest.
Tomorrow, we train.
Tonight, I sleep. In her arms.