Rowan didn't sleep.
He sat hunched in his office, its cracked walls and old dust a quiet cocoon around him. The desk was buried in diagrams—spiraling movement charts, hastily scratched gambit sketches, tactical role overlays cross-referenced with player traits. One candle flickered low in the corner. Its wax pooled over an empty tea mug.
The system HUD glowed, pulsing softly as it processed every idea he fed into it. Combinations. Trigger sequences. Zone collapses. Mana cycle simulations.
He wasn't designing theory—he was building a war plan.
Every player's trait echoed in his mind: Loyal. Mercenary. Trap Sense. Overthinks Big Moments. And he didn't just want to accommodate them—he wanted to weaponize them. Two gambits were his goal. One defensive, one transitional, both bespoke for the squad he had—not the one he wished he did.
At some point, the sky began to lighten. And the first one clicked into place.
A reactive shell-collapse formation using Tenri as a shifting bait vector, drawing opponents inward before triggering Juno's stagger-breaker role. Risky. Sharp. Perfect for survival football.
Three hours later, the second crystallized. Cival and Dara operating in tandem—a feint-and-flux midline setup feeding into Revi's wide disruptions. Aggressive. Adaptive. Redhollow's first real identity.
The HUD pulsed like it was holding its breath. Then the message appeared.
INBOX – New Message [Tactical Evaluation: Redhollow]
Both gambits meet adaptive viability standards. Further training required. Projected ceiling: High, if cohesion builds.
– System Notes: Logged under "Keir's Gambits Alpha & Beta."
He exhaled slowly. Then stood.
The first morning of training began under a bright, biting sun.
Cival, Dara, and Juno showed up first again—bags slung over shoulders, armor mismatched and half-fastened. They froze when they saw Rowan already out on the pitch, sleeves rolled, drawing new formation glyphs by hand into the dirt.
He looked up, smiling faintly.
"You're early. Good. Let's fail fast."
Day 1 was chaos.
The squad gathered by mid-morning. Rowan introduced the gambits with clarity, diagrams, and sharp instruction—but understanding was one thing. Execution another.
Passes went wide. Collapse triggers were missed. Wide overloads fell apart the moment Revi hesitated.
But sparks flickered.
Rowan coached relentlessly. He roamed the pitch, clapping hard for effort, shouting praise when instincts shined.
"Dara! That's the trap angle I want!" "Juno—don't wait! That's your moment, go!"
He corrected Cival's footwork with a shove and a grin. "Smaller steps. You're dancing, not sprinting."
By the end of the day, they were tired, but not defeated. And for the first time in months, Redhollow's players weren't dreading tomorrow.
Day 2 was pressure.
He pushed harder. Formations ran until ankles ached. Reps until mana ran dry.
Older players finally bought in—some grudgingly, others with quiet acceptance. The gambits weren't just clever. They worked. Players began seeing the rhythm, the way their traits slotted like puzzle pieces. Rowan screamed less and smiled more.
And through it all, the same phrase kept cropping up across whispered corners of the academy:
"Three days 'til Deepvault."
That match loomed over everything like a storm cloud. They all knew it. Last season's match had ended in a 5–1 rout.
Redhollow was still a joke in Deepvault's locker room.
Rowan was going to change that.
Day 3 was cohesion.
Mistakes still happened—but players now knew why. Communication clicked. Revi started calling out trap angles before Dara even finished casting. Tenri finally stopped overcommitting her anchor snaps. Juno was yelling encouragement between drills.
And Rowan was everywhere.
Yelling. Laughing. Demanding more.
"Belief, people! That's what wins the fight before it begins!"
He even paused drills mid-run to teach visualization:
"Close your eyes. See the play. Where are your teammates? Who's too far left? You know this now."
By sunset, they weren't just a group of players. They were beginning to look like a team.
That night, Rowan sat in his office again, gazing out over the dimly lit pitch. He hadn't touched his tea. The match against Deepvault was less than a day away.
He closed his eyes, finally, hoping for silence.
But the world had other plans.
The ground trembled.
It came like a tearing of breath—silent, then thunderous.
A sound like a sobbing sky.
A jagged scar cracked the air behind the east wards, just outside the training fields.
The rift opened wide—ribbons of violent light snapping across it like chains made of regret. Magic bled from its edges in churning pulses of violet and sickly green.
Rowan stood slowly, fists tightening.
"Inbox," he said.
INBOX – New Message [Emergency – City Defense Relay]
Low-Grade Rift Tear Detected – Shadestone Sector 3
Estimated threat: Manageable. Manifestation class: Moderate.
Closest emergency tag: Redhollow Academy
Action Required: Immediate response. Delay will be reported to council channels.
He stared at the screen, unmoving. Then his hand clenched.
"The council," he muttered. "The corruption. The doubt. My father."
The mana around him flickered.
"And now the goddamned world wants in as well."
He stood, his voice low, teeth clenched.
"I'll be damned if I let this world too stand in my way."
He threw open the office doors.
"STAFF! TO ME!"
The rift had birthed things.
Creatures with glasslike armor grown from corrupted memories—limbs that bent like broken elbows, faces hidden behind spirals of twitching light. One dragged itself forward on rows of blade-covered arms, each motion scraping sparks from the stone—its body folding and unfolding like a rusted fan.
Another screeched in reverse, its cry unraveling like a melody played backwards—nauseating, wrong, as if time itself rejected its presence.
They were wrong. Alive, but badly.
Rowan didn't hesitate.
He roared, the forge crest on his back igniting like a branding flame. It projected behind him—not summoned, but demanded—a molten memory of purpose.
He struck first.
His mana flared hot, not refined—pure fury given shape. The nearest creature exploded in a howl of white heat. Two more lunged at him—one shrieking with claws made of ruined cathedral stone.
He caught one mid-leap and hurled it into a warded pylon. The other raked his side. Blood splashed down his coat, unnoticed.
"THIS IS MY HOUSE!"
He summoned a spiraling shield of ember-glass and shattered it forward, cutting through three twisted figures with a sound like breaking bells.
The Redhollow staff—what little there was—fought too. Idrin Vale dragged a creature into a stun ward. Mara Kess screamed as she cast a wide concussion burst to scatter the horde.
Guards arrived late, breathless, wide-eyed.
By then, Rowan had cleared the worst of it.
He stood at the field's edge, smoke curling off his coat, breathing like a furnace.
The rift collapsed with a final snap of light.
Later that night, the system pinged gently.
INBOX – New Message [Shadestone Gazette: Breaking Report]
"Unregistered Rift Defenders Hold Line at Redhollow Academy"
Earlier tonight, a low-grade rift rupture occurred near Sector 3. City defense arrived to find Redhollow staff and academy headmaster Rowan Keir already engaged in active defense operations. Sources confirm Rowan neutralized the majority of the threat prior to city arrival.
Witnesses report an "intense magical surge and controlled flame construct."
Council response: Pending.
Community buzz: Growing.
Rowan stared at the screen for a long time.
Then looked around his office—at the broken chair leg, the blood on his coat, the open window where he'd leapt.
And he whispered:
"I need help."
Not just players.
Staff. He needed staff.
Not just bodies. Not just warm desks or council-approved titles.
He needed people who could protect what he was building.
People who could treat injuries before they became regrets.
People who believed, like he did, that this academy could rise from ash.
Redhollow Knights needed more than players.
It needed defenders.
It needed believers.
Redhollow could not rise on passion alone.
And Rowan was done pretending he could carry it all without a proper crew behind him.
"I'll build them. One by one."