The week of mandatory medical leave passed in a blur of quiet research and intense discussion. The Keystone Pact, as Thomas had half-jokingly dubbed their fellowship, had given them a new, shared focus. They were no longer just reacting to events; they were preparing for a war. Their conversations were filled with theories, strategies, and a grim determination that was more powerful than any fear.
When the week was over, they were all officially cleared for active duty. They left the infirmary not as weary survivors, but as soldiers with a clear and terrifying purpose. Their first stop was not the mission board or the training grounds, but the Guildmaster's office.
Astraeus went alone. He needed to set the tone for their future, to manage the Guild's expectations, and to subtly steer their resources towards his own secret war.
"Guildmaster," Astraeus said, standing before Crane's desk. He was fully recovered, his essence pool full, his body thrumming with a quiet, controlled power. "I am requesting a specialized training regimen for my team and myself."
Crane looked up, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Specialized how?"
"The incident at the Valdris ruins proved that we are facing threats that fall outside the standard Guild curriculum," Astraeus explained, his tone respectful but firm. "We need to focus on unconventional warfare, dimensional theory, and rapid response to high-level threats. I am requesting access to the most advanced training facilities, a larger budget for equipment requisitions, and, most importantly, a degree of autonomy in selecting our missions."
It was a bold request. He was essentially asking for the resources and freedom of an elite, independent unit, without the rank or experience to justify it.
Crane was silent for a long moment, his fingers steepled before him. He stared at Astraeus, his gaze piercing, analytical. He was weighing the request, weighing the mage who stood before him. He still didn't know the full truth of what had happened at the ruins, but he knew it was significant. He knew that Astraeus was at the center of something new and dangerous.
"You are asking for a great deal of trust, Apprentice," Crane said finally, his voice low.
"I am offering a great deal of return on that investment," Astraeus countered smoothly. "You know the dimensional crisis is worsening. You need a team that can face the unknown, that can operate on the front lines of this new kind of war. We are that team."
Crane leaned back in his chair, a flicker of something – respect? amusement? – in his eyes. "Your request is granted. On a probationary basis. You will have your access, your budget, and your autonomy. But you will report directly to me. And if you fail to produce results, or if you step too far out of line, I will personally see to it that your 'specialized training' comes to an abrupt and unpleasant end."
"Understood, Guildmaster," Astraeus said with a slight bow. "We will not disappoint you."
He left the office with a new sense of power. He had the Guild's backing, even if they didn't know what they were truly backing. He had the resources he needed to begin forging his team into the weapons they needed to be.
He met the others in the training grounds, a massive, echoing chamber in the Guild's basement. He relayed the news, and a grim sense of satisfaction settled over the group. This was it. The beginning of their true work.
Their new training regimen was brutal and relentless. Mornings were spent in the restricted library, devouring any and all information that might give them an edge. They studied dimensional mechanics, the history of magical disasters, the psychological profiles of cult leaders. They became scholars of the apocalypse.
Afternoons were spent in the crucible of the training grounds. Darius, with his military background, took charge of their physical conditioning and tactical training. He drilled them in formation fighting, in communication under duress, in the brutal, efficient art of killing. They learned to fight not just as mages, but as a single, cohesive unit of soldiers.
Evenings were for individual practice. Lyra worked on large-scale environmental control, learning to shape the battlefield itself. Thomas pushed the limits of his destructive power, his lightning bolts becoming faster, his fire hotter. Kira, in a departure from her traditional healing, began to study combat-oriented life magic – spells that could drain an enemy's vitality or turn their own biology against them. She would be a healer who could also kill.
And Astraeus… Astraeus's training was the most dangerous of all. Under the silent, watchful guidance of Kha'Zul, he began the long, terrifying process of learning to control Chaos.
He did not practice in the training grounds. It was too risky. Instead, he used a private, heavily warded chamber that Crane had granted him access to. It was a simple, stone room, empty of all features.
His first lesson was not to unleash Chaos, but to touch it. To simply reach for that crimson-black energy within him, to feel its terrifying, seductive power, and then to let it go without allowing it to manifest.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done. Every instinct screamed at him to either recoil from the power or to let it surge. To hold it, to feel its raw, unmaking potential, and to remain in control was a monumental act of will.
Good, Kha'Zul's voice would murmur in his mind after a successful attempt. You held it for three seconds. Your focus is improving. Now, do it again.
Day after day, he practiced. He would touch the Chaos, hold it for a few seconds, and then release it. He was building a tolerance, a mental callus. He was teaching the wolf in his basement who was master.
Weeks turned into a month. The team grew stronger, faster, more knowledgeable. The easy camaraderie of their early days was replaced by the quiet, confident professionalism of an elite unit. They were being forged into something new, something harder. They were becoming the weapons their secret war required.
And all the while, the world outside their training bubble continued to turn. The dimensional crisis worsened. Reports of strange creatures and localized reality distortions became more frequent. The storm was gathering. But now, for the first time, there was a shield being forged to meet it.