"Advance! Turn! Force!"

Wallace's voice cracked across the field like a gunshot, each command sharp as a saber's edge. The precision in his tone left no room for interpretation—only action. He wasn't barking orders for volume's sake; every word struck with purpose. Ten and V relayed them in crisp echoes, translating the tempo for the squad Wallace had brought in—grizzled veterans, some mercs, some former royal guards, all marching in lockstep now.

Cordelia stood slightly off to the side, observing, her fingers twitching as she tracked aura synchronization and cohesion. She didn't speak much during drills—her role was to watch and remember.

Fractal and I stood to Wallace's immediate left and right. We weren't participating directly in the formation. Not yet. He was measuring. Studying. Assessing everything from our postures to our potential failures.

"So…" I started, keeping my voice low but not secretive, "why did you assign Fractal as my guard for this evaluation?"

Wallace, still focused ahead, answered without turning. "Simple. She wouldn't follow a direct order if it meant saving her own life—which one day it might, mind you—but the only commands a creature like her understands and trusts are call, return, and guard. So I gave her the one she already knows."

Fractal gave a soft, indignant scoff beside me. "I resent that."

"You should," Wallace replied, finally glancing at her with the faintest smirk under his trimmed beard. "A bird that refuses to flock is only free until the hawks come circling."

"Flattering," she mumbled, wings twitching with amusement and annoyance in equal measure.

I tilted my head. "So the point wasn't to evaluate her, but to let her watch?"

Wallace nodded. "Exactly. If I assigned her into the formation, she'd ignore my drills the moment she felt a 'better' move. You, however, need to learn how she moves when she isn't thinking in battle terms. When her instincts lead."

I let the answer settle as I shifted slightly on the hill where we stood. Below us, the soldiers drilled under Ten's oversight—blocks of movement, paired off by type: shock troopers, ranged, arcane suppression. It was strange to see it all being mine.

Or rather—under mine.

"So," I said again, watching the formations reset, "why the excitement when you learned I was heir to the Sanguine Spear?"

Wallace's demeanor straightened subtly. "Because that means you'll eventually surrender your place in the direct succession line and instead be elevated to the military's Viceroy Admiral. Fifth-highest rank in Bastian command structure."

My brow lifted. "That's… absurd. I'm barely trained. And more importantly, I don't know why Bast clings to naval hierarchy when most of the nation is desert."

Wallace gave a low chuckle, his eyes following a formation shift. "Tradition. Centuries ago, when the First Fleet still ruled the Dust Seas, the founding Dominus decreed that every inch of Bastan land was to be treated as a 'ship of state.' You're not walking across dunes, Your Grace—you're sailing."

"Sailing on sand."

"Sand that swallows cities," he said grimly. "Bast doesn't fear the sea because we are the sea. It's just finer-grained."

I let the thought swirl for a moment. "So you're saying becoming a Viceroy Admiral isn't just ceremonial?"

"No," Wallace replied. "It's doctrinal. If you take up the Spear fully, you won't just inherit a weapon. You'll inherit one of the five military hearts of Bast. Strategy, autonomy, fleet command, and—most importantly—war-time veto over the lesser dukes. You'll no longer be a noble who fights. You'll be a military force entwined with the state."

Fractal gave a low whistle. "So you're a king without a crown. No throne, but a command that moves."

I stared down at the training ground, watching V swap in as a ranged anchor while Ten repositioned with a half-dozen brutes on the front line.

"Seems a lot," I said finally, "for someone who got dragged into this by accident."

"You're not here by accident, Your Grace," Wallace said, and this time he did look at me—his gaze firm, not deferential. "You're here because you survived the Halls. Because you carry something none of the Dukes can claim: earned blood. You've seen what waits beyond the gates. Now your job is to bring that discipline to those beneath you. You aren't supposed to follow legacy. You're meant to forge it."

Fractal tilted her head toward me. "He talks big, but he means well."

"Of course I mean well," Wallace grunted. "I've seen far too many nobles try to buy their way into competence. You didn't. That's why I took the post. I don't serve children who inherit empires. I serve monsters who claw their way to command."

I turned to face him fully, still digesting the weight of what that meant. For once, I didn't know what to say.

Wallace smirked faintly.

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll learn how to give orders. But first—let's see if you can take them."

He turned sharply and descended the slope, barking new commands.

Fractal sighed next to me. "I liked it better when it was just you, me, and books that tried to eat you."

I grinned. "You'll miss these drills when the real fights start."

"No," she said, voice sweet as poison, "I'll just miss watching you complain about them."

Fractal's wings fluttered with feigned innocence as she turned back to the field, watching the organized chaos unfold like a tapestry being stitched mid-storm. Below, Wallace had already begun reforming the squads, his voice a rhythmic counterpoint to the stomping of boots and the clash of practice weapons.

"V! I said feint left, not become the shadow! And Ten, stop using your Arte to intimidate the recruits—most of them are barely holding their bladders together!"

I blinked. "Wait. She's using Weight Manipulation already?"

Fractal gave a devilish smirk. "Only on her ankles. Just enough to cause mini shockwaves when she walks. Honestly, it's almost polite for her."

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"Polite," I echoed, rubbing my temples. "Right. That's her polite."

Wallace's sharp whistle broke through the air again. "Reset! Reset formation Delta—this time with correct spacing or so help me, I'll have V write your obituaries in salt!"

I couldn't help it—I laughed. A short, honest sound, exhausted and real. Fractal looked at me with a sideways glance.

"That laugh," she said. "Haven't heard it in a while."

"Feels out of place here," I admitted. "Laughter, I mean. Things have been moving so fast. The Halls. The Hollow. Becoming a second-shell Walker. This estate. This army. This… role."

"You're adapting," she said simply. "Faster than most would. Doesn't mean it's painless."

"No," I said softly. "It means I don't have the luxury of pain. I have to be functional, or I lose people. Like you. Like the others."

Fractal turned toward me, her expression suddenly more serious. "We're not going anywhere, Alexander."

"I know. But the deeper we go into Otherrealms, the more things we're going to face that weren't meant to be faced. We need to be better. Stronger. Not just trained, but synchronized. Like a labyrinthian team should be."

"I know," she echoed. "Which is why you should probably stop watching and go be in it. They won't follow someone who stands on a hill all day."

I winced. "I was hoping to avoid that."

"Tough," she said, nudging me with a shoulder. "You're the heir of the Sanguine Spear now. Lead."

I looked back down at Wallace. He was standing near the central group again, giving someone—probably a swordsman who forgot to rotate cover—a very precise lecture. His stance was rigid, military to the bone, but his eyes flicked up to me the moment I moved.

He gave me a single nod. Not one of permission.

Expectation.

I took a breath, grounding my thoughts. Then I stepped down the slope, my boots crunching against the sand-pressed grass. As I reached the formation, Ten barked out in laughter.

"Finally coming to sweat with the rest of us, boss?"

"Only if I get to call the next drill," I said, brushing past her with a smirk.

Wallace turned to me as the troops re-centered around the practice field. "Your Grace. Do you intend to issue commands, or absorb more of mine?"

"I intend," I said, stepping forward, "to earn yours."

He gave me a smile that was almost proud—and maybe, just maybe, a little dangerous.

"Then let's make you bleed for it."

I nodded, meeting Wallace's gaze with a quiet determination. This field—these trainees, this ragtag group—were my responsibility now. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I'd face them with resolve. I swallowed hard, letting the weight of leadership settle over me like a cloak.

Wallace motioned toward the line of recruits, their exhalations visible in the chilled evening air. "Formation Alpha, circle left on my count. Ten, you're on flank watch. V, radial intercept. Cordelia—signal reinforcement when I give the hand sign. Fractal, remain at the center. Prince Duarte, with me."

My heart hammered as I brushed past the line, stepping between armored recruits and spear carriers. They shifted, anticipation sparking in their eyes. I'd been preparing for this—training, reading, studying labyrinth tactics—but here, the moment pulsed around me like electricity. I breathed in the scent of effort, warmed by ten torches planted around the field.

"I want movement you can walk into mid-drill," Wallace barked. "Discipline and instinct."

I mirrored his stance, drawing from practiced memory. Grip on the staff loosely—knife-edge forward, knees bent. Even though I'd given up my odachi for this group test, the stance translated. My entire body trembled with adrenaline.

"Begin," both Wallace and I said.

Ten dashed out, voice low and firm: "Alpha, shift left!" The recruits responded, legs moving in unison like cogs in a machine. Sand stirred slightly beneath our feet. I moved in time, matching speed, then deviating—circling around a soldier, counting tics of his footwork, watching for gaps.

"Change!" I called, adopting training voice. "Alpha, split wedge. Two to right flank. Two left."

The line unraveled and reformed. I heard the quiet shred of Cordelia's mental signal turning into a wash of calm in my mind. She caught the shift before I spoke. I remembered the theory: labyrinth fighters used space like terrain, channeled the enemy into chosen places. Here, we were operating the other way—exercising fluid formation. Every motion shaped space, filled gaps, controlled flow.

"Stop!"

Sand kicked, recruits halted. Silence. Ten glanced back and grinned; one of the spear carriers looked exhausted but steady-eyed. Wallace strode over to me, hand resting on my shoulder.

"Your call, Your Grace. Not bad." He offered a nod of approval so subtle I almost missed it. The line straightened as we regrouped.

I swallowed, steadied. "All right. Now let's add a casualty."

Ten stepped back, and one recruit shifted forward, holding his side. "Simulated wound! Carry him out—without breaking formation!"

Chaos rippled as we adjusted. My heart sparked. Within seconds, my mind schemed: place the injured recruit in the middle, rotate squads, let two carry, rotate carries in diamond pattern. I called it, and the line moved like living origami—Five steps forward, then shift outward, then inward again, all while I guided them by voice and hand gesture.

Wallace watched, brow raised. When we completed, he exhaled slowly. "That's the first hesitation choice—the pivot. Without voice commands, that's controlled improvisation. Well done."

My throat tightened. "Thank you, Sir."

He nodded, stepping back. "Prince Duarte. Your turn."

My gaze flicked across the field. Fractal slipped forward like smoke. V stepped up, shifting weight for radial movement. Cordelia gave a mental nod. Ten clicked her tongue. This—I felt it in my bones—was no longer just training. This was me stepping into command.

The second drill came swiftly—flank infiltration. Training swords clashed in distant echoes. The torches dimmed as sunset deepened. I guided each movement with mental precision. I remembered Wallace's words: labyrinth fighting was about seeing space before it existed, guiding others through it while keeping them whole.

When Ten signaled breach, I reversed direction, calling for a shield wall. V dashed forward to intercept the breach. Fractal shifted center to hold cohesion. Cordelia grounded us with mental signals, smooth as breath.

We stalled the breach. The line reclosed. No one yelled or faltered. Even in training, that is rare.

Wallace walked to center field, collected staff. He studied us—Prince Duarte, Fractal, Cordelia, Ten, V, and his recruits. His armor glinted even in torchlight. He finally smiled—just a flicker.

"You've built architecture in motion," he said. "Not perfect. But human. That's all I ask—because perfection is brittle. Function is strong. Prince Duarte... you've earned respect. From me, at least."

I inhaled, eyes stinging. "Thank you."

Wallace straightened. "Now, real test. Tomorrow we take this formation into the orchard—terrain training. But tonight... rest."

Fractal stepped up beside me. "You were spectacular." She brushed my arm. "Even on your last leg."

Cordelia gave me a small nod, and I felt her psychic shield tighten protectively. Ten folded arms, smirking, but her grin was softer. V only gave a curt nod.

The field settled. The recruits reformed to collect their gear. The torches flickered in the breeze.

I looked at Wallace. "Sir... what would you have me do next?"

He gave me that half-smile of his again. Then he rolled his shoulders, loose now. "You did it, Prince Duarte. Now lead."

Night fell fully, but the air buzzed with energy. I walked the boundary of the field with Fractal, Cordelia, Ten, and V trailing behind. I felt exhausted—but alive. More alive than I had felt in weeks.

Fractal broke the silence. "You're changing the estate too—you know."

"A formation on the field is just one part," I admitted. "I'm building something... more. A team. And maybe a guard. And if I'm serious about Otherrealms, I need to build beyond this."

V gave a slow nod. "Strategy without structure is veins without heart."

Cordelia looked at me, face soft. "You have heart."

I swallowed. "I'm trying. I want to lead well... not just command."

Fractal thumbed the edge of her lip. "This 'Viceroy Admiral' business... do you really want that?"

I looked up at the stars, glimmering over Bast's plains. "If it means protecting people, maybe yes. But I don't want titles. I want purpose."

Ten snorted softly. "Spoken like a man who's going to be strangling that purpose with a sword. But I like where you're headed."

I exhaled. "Thank you."

Fractal stepped forward into my shadow. "Whatever happens, we go together—labyrinthians."

The word felt like a promise. I looked at each of them—Ten, Cordelia, V, Fractal—and let the warmth of camaraderie wash over me. The torches sputtered in the night breeze, drawing the line between where training ended and truth began.

I raised my head. "Tomorrow we go deeper," I said. "On the course, on the orchard, and then... maybe into an Otherrealm again."

They all nodded, silent. No fanfare. Just trust.

And as I turned to leave the field—with recruits behind, and guardians at my side—I felt something settle in my chest. My shell wasn't just formed of cubes and mana: it was shaped by trust, by direction, by purpose.

A formation. A family. A future.

I hoped against all odds, nothing would tear it apart.

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