Chapter 30
Three days passed since Astern claimed Whispersteel, but the sword had yet to leave his side.
Even while he slept, it rested beside his bed, as if guarding him. And in his dreams, it whispered—fragments of memories too fractured to be real. Or perhaps too real to be remembered.
In class, students had begun giving him more space.
Some watched him in awe. Others avoided his gaze altogether.
"I think I liked it better when no one noticed us," Kaela muttered one afternoon as they walked toward their training slot.
Lunaria gave her a sideways glance. "You didn't. You love attention."
"I like attention on my terms," Kaela replied. "Right now, it's on his."
Astern walked a few steps ahead, silent. He felt the weight of all eyes, not just from students—but from instructors too. Observers. Archivists. Whisperers in robes.
They reached the mirrored field—an arena where combat was projected from the soul into reflection. Here, strength was not just physical but spiritual. Instructors used it to see potential in motion.
Professor Iskrael, a veteran from the border wars, stood at the edge of the field. "Today, we'll test resonance combat. You'll be partnered with another team to simulate a mission engagement. Strategy and cohesion will matter more than brute force."
He gestured to another trio approaching.
Rylen, silver armor gleaming, smirked as he stepped forward. "Well, well. Looks like we're on the same side today."
Beside him, his quiet teammate Faye nodded. The third was a hulking boy with wind-braided gauntlets.
"We'll take lead," Rylen said. "But Astern—you call the strikes. Sound fair?"
Astern hesitated, then nodded. "Fine."
---
The field activated.
A terrain projection unfolded beneath them: crumbling ruins surrounded by aetheric fog. Creatures constructed of light and illusion spawned intermittently. The goal was to retrieve a sealed relic at the center and return it to base. Coordination, awareness, control.
They moved fast.
Kaela darted through the high ground. Lunaria held back, creating frost barriers to manipulate movement. Rylen's team flanked left.
Astern surged ahead.
His sword cut with precision—not wild force. Whispersteel resonated with the energy of the terrain, slipping through projections as though they were fabric.
An ambush triggered. Light-beasts spawned en masse, surrounding Lunaria.
Astern reacted instantly.
His aura flared—not just in defense, but in command. Whispersteel pulsed, and a half-summon formed behind him: the spectral silhouette of the wolf from the grove.
It crashed into the illusions, scattering them.
Rylen shouted, "Where did you learn that?"
Astern didn't answer. He didn't know. It had come instinctively, like drawing breath.
They secured the relic, returned it, and stood before the now-silent instructors.
Iskrael crossed his arms. "Efficient. Unorthodox. Perfect synchronization."
He looked directly at Astern.
"Who trained you?"
Astern lowered his gaze. "No one."
---
Later that night, Lunaria sat with him outside the dorm, the moonlight silver on their skin.
"You didn't lie," she said softly. "No one trained you. But something… someone prepared you."
Astern nodded slowly. "Or maybe I prepared myself… before I was even born."
In the silence that followed, the stars pulsed faintly—like distant drums.
And deep beneath the school, something ancient stirred.
A seal blinked.
Cracks formed.