---
The training grounds were older than the city's confidence.
Stone scarred by decades of steel. Pillars cracked and reforged. The ground itself carried grooves where formations had broken and reformed under pressure. This was not a place meant to inspire—it was meant to expose weakness.
The party stood at the center of it.
Eight figures. Uneven spacing. Uneven breathing.
Not a unit.
Not yet.
Sir Thomas Aurelius watched from the elevated platform above, arms folded behind his back. He had not spoken since dawn. He didn't need to. The constructs arrayed across the field spoke for him.
They were not humanoid.
That was deliberate.
Mana-driven frames of stone and iron stood motionless at the far end of the ground. Their limbs were jointed wrong—too many angles, too much freedom of motion. Crystals embedded in their cores pulsed faintly, adjusting, learning.
Adaptive training constructs.
They didn't simulate enemies.
They simulated failure.
"Positions," Rexor ordered.
His voice carried, but it did not dominate.
Yet.
Robert Alphonse moved immediately, shield forward, sword low. Knight instinct. Good instinct. Sofia shifted behind him without instruction, already preparing her support runes. Eva drifted outward, spacing herself along the flank, eyes half-closed as she read air currents.
Noah remained still.
Watching.
Emilia cracked her neck, fire flickering faintly around her fingers—too much tension, Rexor noted. Addie had already stepped back, her eyes tracing lines between each member, calculating angles and gaps.
Voryn stood apart.
Not in formation.
Not opposing it.
Just… present.
The horn sounded.
The constructs moved.
Not forward.
Sideways.
Two split left, one crouched low and accelerated directly toward Sofia, another vaulted high—too high—coming down toward Eva's flank.
"Left pressure!" Rexor shouted. "Robert—hold center!"
Robert obeyed instantly, shield locking into place as the low construct slammed into him with force meant to test footing, not strength.
Eva raised her hand—
Too slow.
The airborne construct twisted mid-descent, adjusting trajectory. Wind resistance altered its angle—but not enough.
A blade of condensed air struck it late, glancing.
"Too cautious," Voryn said calmly.
The construct hit the ground, rolled, and was already moving again.
"Fall back two steps," Rexor ordered. "Emilia—don't burn it yet!"
Emilia hesitated.
Fire wanted release.
That hesitation cost them.
The leftmost construct surged past Robert's flank, exploiting the gap. Noah moved at last—one hand lifting, spatial sigils blooming mid-air. The space before the construct folded, compressed.
It stumbled.
Rexor took its head cleanly.
Stone cracked. Core dimmed.
"One down," Rexor said. "Reset formation!"
The horn did not stop.
Instead, the ground shifted.
Stone plates rotated. Smoke hissed from vents along the perimeter. Visibility dropped instantly.
"Adaptive phase," Addie said sharply. "They're testing coordination now."
"Eyes open," Rexor said. "Trust voices!"
Something hit him from the side.
Not hard.
Precise.
Rexor twisted just in time to block—wooden blade against metal limb. The impact rattled his arm.
"Rear pressure!" he called.
Robert pivoted too far.
Another gap.
The second construct slammed into Sofia's position—
—and stopped.
A translucent barrier shimmered briefly, runes flaring bright.
Sofia didn't step back.
She held.
"Barrier integrity at seventy percent," she said calmly. "Next hit breaks it."
"Good," Rexor replied. "That means it worked."
They adjusted. Slowly. Imperfectly.
They survived the first round.
Sir Thomas raised one hand.
The constructs reset.
No one relaxed.
"Again," Thomas said.
The second round was worse.
Because now the constructs anticipated.
They targeted transitions. They punished hesitation. They ignored strength and hunted coordination.
Emilia overextended once—fire roaring outward in frustration. The construct adapted instantly, core shifting resonance, dispersing heat.
"Control," Rexor snapped. "You don't fight emotion."
Emilia gritted her teeth, nodding sharply.
Robert absorbed a hit meant for Rexor without thinking. Good loyalty. Poor judgment. His footing slipped.
"Formation collapse imminent," Addie warned.
"Pull back!" Rexor ordered.
The horn sounded.
End of drill.
Breathing was heavy. Sweat dripped. No one smiled.
Sir Thomas's voice carried down like a blade.
"You survived," he said. "That does not mean you succeeded."
Silence.
"Survival without structure is delay," Thomas continued. "Delay without learning is death."
He turned.
"Again."
By midday, exhaustion stripped away pretense.
Mistakes became honest.
And honest mistakes taught faster.
During a brief break, Robert approached Rexor.
Too close.
"You shouldn't be leading," Robert said quietly, voice tight but controlled. "You hesitate too much. Leadership requires decisiveness."
Rexor turned slowly.
Before he could speak—
Steel whispered.
A blade stopped an inch from Robert's throat.
Voryn.
No aggression.
No tension.
Just certainty.
"Mind your own business," Voryn said calmly.
The air froze.
Robert didn't move.
Didn't swallow.
Didn't blink.
Sir Thomas watched from above.
Said nothing.
Rexor raised a hand slightly.
Voryn lowered the sword immediately.
Robert stepped back, face pale—not from fear of death.
From realization.
Rexor met his eyes.
"You're right about one thing," Rexor said. "Leadership requires decisiveness."
Then he turned away.
"And you just learned why it isn't yours."
Robert said nothing.
The afternoon drills focused on roles.
Addie began directing micro-adjustments—three words at a time. Efficient. Sharp. She didn't command. She corrected.
Sofia learned where she needed to stand to keep everyone alive without exhausting herself.
Emilia learned restraint.
Eva learned timing.
Noah learned movement.
Not power—movement.
He appeared where he was needed before anyone asked.
Frontline pressure? Space folded to reinforce Robert's stance.
Flank exposed? Wind redirected into force multipliers.
Rear threatened? Mana lattice stabilized before impact.
Rexor noticed.
Voryn noticed sooner.
As night fell, training ended.
The constructs powered down. Smoke cleared. Lanterns ignited.
The party sat scattered across the stone ground—exhausted, silent, changed.
Rexor sat near the edge, sword resting across his knees.
Voryn stood nearby, eyes on the dark beyond the walls.
"They still don't trust me," Rexor said quietly.
"They don't need to," Voryn replied. "They need to follow."
Rexor exhaled.
A pause.
Then—
"Who do you think is the strongest among them?"
"Noah," Voryn said immediately.
Rexor frowned. "Why?"
"A flexible weapon," Voryn said, "is more dangerous than a straight one."
"But he uses magic."
"I don't mean power," Voryn said. "I mean placement."
He gestured faintly toward the training ground.
"He can be anywhere in the formation. Front, center, rear. He adapts without breaking structure."
A pause.
"That's why," Voryn finished, "he survives."
Rexor smiled faintly.
"Good," he said. "We'll need that."
Voryn's gaze didn't return.
"Yes," he said. "Soon."
Above them, the city slept.
Unaware.
Unready.
And for the first time—
The party was no longer eight individuals.
It was becoming something else.
Something that could move forward.
Together.