The instructors arrived in the meadow with Lambert in the lead. She looked like she was on a warpath, though her fury was sharpened more by scientific curiosity than by any urge to kill, an outcome the cadets quickly decided was far worse. Her stride was brisk; every step snapping twigs beneath her boots as if the ground itself could not withstand her momentum. The night air was cool and damp, streams whispering nearby and throwing faint curls of mist into the meadow, adding a soft humidity that clung to every breath. Even the stars seemed to draw back, as if giving her room, their pale light shifting in a way that made her presence feel even more imposing.

Lambert surged forward, words spilling in a rapid torrent that battered the cadets like a storm of noise. Her excitement pitched her voice into near-incomprehensible screeching, sentences running into each other so fast that they became one long, fevered rush. Her hands flew in wild gestures, her lab coat flaring as she paced, diagrams and imagined equations flickering through her mind faster than she could speak them. Several cadets leaned back, wide-eyed, their bond humming with bewilderment as they tried and failed to keep up. They glanced at each other as if to confirm they were equally lost, and even the bolder ones dared not interrupt. Imujin raised a hand, cutting the air with practiced calm, his tone steady but edged with mild exasperation. "Emila. Slow down. You're speaking at hyper-speed. I know you're excited, but they can't follow you. Hells, I can barely follow you." His words earned a ripple of nervous relief from the cadets, a small break in the tension that had wound them taut.

Lambert froze mid-step, then inhaled sharply, cheeks flushed from the momentum of her own enthusiasm. She adjusted her glasses, tugged her lab coat straight with both hands, and forced herself into a semblance of composure. Her fingers tapped once against her thigh before she stilled them, exhaling in a hiss. When she spoke again, her voice carried deliberate restraint, the cadence slower, though her hands still twitched with pent-up energy that could not fully be contained. "Let me start over. First: yes, we have always known that armor is related to Soul Skills. That has been true since the very first generation of suits. It is not new knowledge to us in the labs. We never emphasized it because, with the older models, the connection was muted, subtle, and of no real consequence. The reflection of the Soul Skill was faint enough that it looked like coincidence, a curiosity for technicians and archivists, but irrelevant to legionaries in the field. It influenced nothing measurable. So it remained an academic note in our records, something we nodded to in reports but never pressed into doctrine. A curiosity, nothing more."

She began pacing again, her boots striking the damp earth with crisp certainty, and the night seemed to grow sharper with each step. Her eyes cut to Vaeliyan, sharp and gleaming like scalpels catching light, and then flicked briefly to Elian before snapping back. "But your case doesn't fit. We assumed the new sets were simply more expressive versions of the same principle. An evolution on the base model. Take Elian for instance, his armor looks every inch a king's regalia, and his Soul Skill is King's Will. That alignment was perfect, textbook, confirmation of everything we thought we knew. The twins, too, subtle variations on similar Soul Skills, precise but explainable, twin mirrors reflecting one fractured truth. Even Lessa's prosthetics fit, all of them reinforcing the rule we had carved into stone. Thousands of sets, generation after generation, each one echoing the pattern. Every record we had told us we were right."

Her words picked up speed again, though not as wildly as before, the urgency of a mind that could not be throttled forever bleeding through. The cadets leaned forward despite themselves, caught in her momentum, every one of them unwilling to miss the revelation as it unfurled. "So, when I was told your Soul Skill was All Around You, and your armor manifested insectoid traits, I accepted it as logical. Bug-like armor for a Skill that described a presence surrounding, consuming, suffocating. The metaphor fit. A swarm. A hive. A predator's shell. It was coherent, even if not perfect. That was the assumption, what any reasonable scientist in my field would have concluded. We classify, we rationalize, we move on. But now you stand here telling me that neither of your two Soul Skills manifest in the shape your armor has taken. A new expression that should not exist."

She stopped pacing again, planted her feet with a thud that sent a puff of mist curling upward, and folded her arms across her chest. The meadow's hush pressed closer, the streams' soft splashes now loud in the silence, amplified by the absence of other noise. The cadets barely breathed. Lambert's voice dropped lower, slower, but carried a weight that made every one of them straighten their posture instinctively. "Which means you are the anomaly. The one case that disproves the rule. For decades, the armor has been confirmation of our theory. For decades, it aligned, echoing what we already believed about the connection between nanites, fragments, and Soul Skills. And now you break it. Whatever is happening inside you, Vaeliyan, it is not what we thought we understood. You are the exception. Your armor is not a reflection but a contradiction, and that contradiction proves our foundation flawed."

She let the silence linger, eyes sweeping the gathered cadets with a mix of awe and irritation, as if marveling at the discovery while loathing the collapse of certainty. Then she added, her tone quieter but somehow sharper, "This is not a quirk. This is not an error. This is a revelation. And this changes everything we thought we knew."

Velrock stepped forward, his tone calm but probing, though his eyes were sharp with a rare kind of curiosity. "Vaeliyan, what do your Skills look like? What do your Soul Skills actually look like? Give us the shape, not just the name."

Vaeliyan drew in a slow breath, shoulders tensing as he closed his eyes and pulled the images out of memory. His voice was low, deliberate, as though speaking them aloud carried weight. "I'm pretty sure, just based off my own understanding, All Around You sits as a corpse wrapped in gauze. It doesn't move. It doesn't breathe. But inside of that husk sits Rain Dancer, a horror made of storm, twisted in lightning and rain. So no, there's nothing bug-like about my Soul Skills at all. Nothing even close."

Murmurs passed among the cadets nearby, unsettled by the description, their whispers threading into the night air. The firelight flickered across their faces, shadows dancing, but Velrock only tilted his head further. His eyes gleamed as he pressed on. "Yes. That is odd. What does it feel like when you sink past the layer of the Skills?" His question was careful, almost reluctant, as if bracing for something he didn't want to hear but needed to know.

Vaeliyan rubbed the back of his neck, hesitating, the flicker of unease crossing his expression before he forced himself to explain. "It's hard to put into words, but I'll try. First, I feel like I'm falling… endlessly falling down to the layer where my monster lives. When I reach it, I usually greet my monster, and it greets me. It's like passing through a surface, though I don't know if it actually is one. Then I fall past it. Past my own monster. And that's when I lose myself. Varnai and I spoke about this, and the best way I can describe it is that I become a larva. My mind fills with hunger, the need to eat, the sensation of being cared for by something I cannot see. And then came the split. My skin tears apart. I feel every shred of pain and agony. When it ends, I'm not born anew exactly, but I am released, like my body's tight grip has been shed and I am free of its cage. I step into a larger frame. I grow ravenous. And I devour the skin I left behind." He paused, his hands curling into fists, his voice rough. "I don't know why I'm seeing this. Or what it's supposed to mean."

The circle of instructors shifted uneasily, their gazes sharp and measuring. Dr. Wirk crossed his arms, his expression grave, his tone carrying the finality of someone trained to classify anomalies. "Maybe it is due to your aberrant nature. As far as we were aware, Aberrants exhibited abilities that looked like Soul Skills, but they weren't true Soul Skills. Kill an Aberrant, and you don't find a fragment, you find nothing. They are abominations. No offense."

"None taken," Vaeliyan said flatly. His gaze didn't waver. "I understand."

Deck leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a spark of mischief despite the serious air. "Then it seems to me we need to push him further. Push him into… that place below. Should we call it that? The Below?"

Imujin's eyes narrowed as well, his voice dropping into a low rumble. "It's a fitting enough term. But how reckless would it be to force him deeper? What if that's the very reason he hasn't become like the others? What if it's the only thing keeping him from seeing people as prey to be destroyed? What if it's a gateway to something worse? To unknown horrors none of us can control?"

Varnai glanced toward Vaeliyan, then lowered her eyes before speaking on his behalf. "I don't know if it's wise to push him past that point," she admitted, her voice steady but protective. "But he needs to evolve. If you stop him from searching for what he truly is, will his Soul Skill ever advance? Right now, none of us have any understanding. For all we know, if he doesn't do this, it could cripple him, or worse, cripple all of us when we depend on him to grow stronger. And if we're going to believe that the gods are involved with him specifically, then they probably already know what this is. Maybe they even intended it."

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The words hung heavy, sinking into the group like stones dropped into deep water. A faint breeze stirred through the meadow, rustling the grass and carrying the scent of damp earth. Vaeliyan's jaw tightened, then he slapped his forehead suddenly, the realization crashing into him like a blade. "Fuck. I just spoke to Umdar, and I didn't even ask him about it. I wasn't thinking."

Isol's eyes sharpened immediately, his voice laced with tension. "You spoke to a god again?"

"Yes," Vaeliyan said without hesitation. "Umdar came to me. He told me that, when I choose, I can return to Mara as part of the boon I won for completing my task."

"What task was that?" Jim asked, suspicion heavy in his voice.

"I needed to end the reign of Lord Barcus in the ninth layer," Vaeliyan answered simply, as if it were no more than a chore. "And I did."

The instructors exchanged startled looks, disbelief rippling across their faces. Gwen broke the silence first, her voice half incredulous, half reverent. "You… beat Barcus?"

"Yeah," Vaeliyan said, blinking at their reaction. "Did Imujin not tell you? I assumed he would have."

Imujin coughed into his fist, his usual unflappable demeanor bending under the weight of the revelation. "I only heard recently. Ruby came to visit me. I was going to tell everyone so we could congratulate you, but..." He gestured to the circle of instructors, his jaw tightening. "The change of topic you brought in made it slip my mind."

The instructors whispered, their voices buzzing with disbelief, awe, and a hint of fear. Barcus's name alone carried weight, and Vaeliyan's casual claim to have ended his reign rippled through them like shockwaves. They exchanged glances that betrayed the sheer impossibility of it.

Vaeliyan exhaled, then squared his shoulders. His voice cut through the murmurs, calm and certain. "So, yeah. Umdar came to me to tell me that the boon I earned from Steel was ready for me to use whenever I felt it most convenient. Just so you're all aware, the boon is that I can travel to Mara and stay here, so I'll be able to go see my friends and family in Mara while continuing my work here with all of you. I won't lose time." He glanced around the circle, his gaze steady, then added with a wry grin. "And there's another part. This one's good. It involves the industrial building license they gave me as a reward in the ninth layer for ending the reign of Lord Barcus. I now have my own Telia's Loom."

"You what?" Wirk and Theramoor said at the same time, voices overlapping in shock, the words reverberating across the meadow.

Jim barked out a laugh, unable to contain himself. Imujin actually chuckled, shaking his head, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the motion.

"Yeah," Vaeliyan continued, amused by their reactions. "So, I have access to as much power as I want, because they've made my house an industrial complex. Any property I own, as far as I'm aware, is the same. So, I thought, why not get the most powerful and useful crafting tool I could instead of just asking for a basic Skill? How about being able to make as many Skills as I want for my future Citadel?" His words landed like thunder, drawing stunned stares from the cadets.

Wirk stared at him, aghast, his face pale. "Do you have any idea how expensive one of those things is?"

"I assume… stupidly?" Vaeliyan replied dryly, shrugging slightly.

"Beyond stupidly," Wirk snapped. "There are exactly ten in the whole of the Green. Well, there were ten. One was lost when Kavros fell. That's how rare they are. That's how irreplaceable they are."

Vaeliyan tilted his head, curious. "Kavros isn't physically lost though, right? I thought people just didn't go there."

"Yes," Wirk said, voice sharp, "but nobody was willing to reclaim the Loom. The Legion scientists of Kavros were the only ones who could open the storage facility where it was kept. No one else could get in. When Kavros fell, so did access to the Loom."

A silence followed, every ear straining for Vaeliyan's reply. He smiled faintly, a glimmer of something darker passing behind his eyes. "I assume that if someone found a way to access that facility now, they'd find it empty."

Isol walked over, his boots crunching softly against the damp grass, and asked, "May I see the license, please? I'm very curious what it actually says. It is rare we ever see such documents in circulation, let alone in the hands of a cadet."

Vaeliyan nodded, though his expression was taut, and fished the parchment from his pouch. He handed it to Isol with a flat, tired smile, the paper trembling slightly in his fingers. The deed itself was heavy, bound with sigils and wax seals that glimmered faintly under the starlight. Isol took it carefully, scanned the ornate script, and then his composure shattered. He started laughing. It was the kind of ugly, raw laugh that seemed to claw out of his chest, startling the cadets into silence. They shifted uneasily, inching away as the sound grew sharper, more exposed, the kind of laugh that carried danger inside it.

"My boy," he said between gasps, wiping at his mouth as if to steady himself, though the mirth kept bubbling out. "This is exactly what they should never have given you. They had no idea what you are, or what you have already gathered, and they've given you the right to keep it all. They have legally bound their own hands without even taking the time to understand what you hold inside your walls. All they knew was that a ridiculous amount of power flowed into your home and you might need more to be a productive member of this society. That was enough for them to sign away any claim." He tapped the parchment with a finger, the motion both mocking and reverent. "And this doesn't just apply to the house you live in now. It applies to any property you own in the future, even properties they do not yet know you already possess."

He lifted the paper high, then stamped it back down with exaggerated ceremony, bowing with mock gravity as if he stood in the middle of a court session. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your ascension to head of a great house, Lord Smith." His grin widened, teeth flashing, then softened as he added more quietly, "As a humble servant of House Brent, I would like to bind my house to yours as a lifelong ally. Consider this my oath."

"Wait, what's going on?" Lisa demanded, her voice pitching high. Her eyes darted from Isol to Vaeliyan, then back again, confusion and unease clear on her face.

"Vaeliyan here," Isol said, flourishing the parchment like a prize trophy, "has been handed something close to a founding charter, one that rivals those of the Nine. This boy is set not only to become Headmaster of a Citadel, but also the head of a new great house. Probably based out of Mara, though the location matters less in the case of the deed compared to the authority it grants. And more than that, it legitimizes Mara as his. They do not realize what they have signed away: Mara itself, taken by Vaeliyan as a prize of war, is his by right of conquest. The tribes would agree to this, and the citizens of the city would also acknowledge it, even if by coercion, it still stands. By binding this deed into law, they have acknowledged every property of his, and that includes an entire city they did not know he owned. Had they not granted this license, they might have moved to kill him and take it back. But now, by their own hands, they have made it legally near impossible to strip him of that claim without tearing apart their own legitimacy. But I warn you all now, this cannot be announced publicly, not yet. If any of the great houses found out while he was still unable to defend himself, their wrath would fall upon him. And believe me, none of you want to know what that kind of wrath looks like. It is not a place anyone survives, let alone someone still untested."

Imujin's voice cut in, low, steady, and iron hard. "Yes. If one of the great houses learned of this while you were vulnerable, they would move without hesitation. They would strip you bare, take what you hold, and burn the rest just to prove their dominance. They do not forgive weakness. You cannot announce this. Not yet. You would not last the night."

The meadow grew deathly still. The cadets exchanged wary looks, the flickering torchlight painting sharp lines of fear and awe across their faces. Laughter bled away into brittle silence. The parchment itself seemed to radiate heat, lying between them like a live ember, beautiful and dangerous at once, promising both creation and destruction. The air thickened as each person weighed the implications, imagining how quickly such a deed could change the balance of power across the world.

Finally, Isol rolled his shoulders, the laughter dwindling into a rueful, almost admiring smile. He handed the document back to Vaeliyan with deliberate care, as though it were both crown and curse. "Well. Congratulations. I mean it. You've just stepped onto a road that only a handful in history have ever walked. But keep your head down, Lord Smith. Keep it very low. Because the moment they see you raise it too high, the great houses will be there to cut it off."

Lambert finally raised her hand, cutting through the tension that hung over the meadow. "This is all well and good, but I think we're getting a little off-topic here," she said sharply. "We need to return to the matter at hand."

"No," Lisa snapped, her voice rising, raw and desperate. "You're telling me that Vaeliyan is not going to join my house, after all this?"

The air bristled with the weight of her accusation. Imujin leaned forward, his massive frame radiating authority, his tone blunt. "Lisa, we all love you, but you're insane if you think he was ever going to join your house. Nobody here believes any of the Nine are worth following. Not one of us. And I don't believe you truly do either. Deep down, you know they are out for themselves, not for the rest of humanity."

Lisa's eyes burned as she glared at him. "You... this is still hard to take in. The fact is, we're bound to this kid because you chose to bind him to a sacred oath that you can't even explain to us. And now we're supposed to follow him and support him completely? I know that you trust him, but I trust my house. And you're telling me that him going against that, even though he is a Verdance, is not a betrayal? Spare me your false concern. This is a betrayal. I don't know how else I can see it."

Lambert exhaled, her voice calmer but edged with steel. "He's not really of your house, Lisa. He's wearing the body of someone who was, yes. But the true heart of the man is Warren Smith, not Vaeliyan Verdance. And Warren has every right to found his own house, because no house exists that would ever claim Warren Smith. Ryan may try to claim all the orphans he wishes to gather, but it is their right to choose. It has always been their right. Just as any soul may choose to join a house when offered."

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