The wind howled through the camp's canvas, lifting the blue flags that cracked above our heads. Beneath the azure sky, the mountain stretched its stony flanks all the way to the horizon.

Before me, about three hundred students. Three hundred faces bathed in light, three hundred breaths suspended in the cold of morning. Eleven perfectly aligned units. At their head: Ayame, Miyu, Kaelthys, Talyra, Luno, Kairen, Lyss, Rynelle, Erius, Naël… and, at the center, the support unit led by Hikari — my keystone.

To my left, Sylvara, straight as a blade, her gaze grave, almost solemn.

To my right, Reina, motionless, hands clasped behind her back — the coldness of a queen before war.

I took a step. Then another. Each crunch of stone sounded like the beat of a drum. The silence weighed heavy. One could have heard a dragon's scale fall. I let that silence linger — so that each would hold their breath, so that tension would rise in rhythm with my heart.

Then I spoke.

— "I've thought for a long time… about what I should say today."

My voice was briefly lost in the mountain's echo.

I let the wind carry it away, then continued, lower, calmer.

— "I wondered what this exam meant — for me… for you… for all of us. I searched for the right words, the grand phrases, the symbols. And then I realized the answer had been before my eyes since the very first day. Simple. Obvious. Alive."

I slowly lifted my head. Hundreds of eyes fixed on me.

— "You'll ask me: 'What does this exam represent?' And I'll answer: nothing."

A murmur ran through the ranks.

I raised a hand, and silence fell again.

— "Nothing… because our club isn't defined by a grade or by the gaze of others. Nothing, because the Academy can shape us… but never define us. Nothing, because our true victories aren't counted in points, but in bonds. You have become my brothers. My sisters. No result, no victory, no title will ever weigh as much as what we've built together."

I paused for a long time, eyes lost in that sea of faces.

— "Nothing, yes… but also everything."

My voice grew firmer.

— "Because this exam is our first march. Our first step toward the real world. Our first imprint in the memory of the generations to come. It isn't a mere trial — it's the fire that will forge us for good. And if the world must remember us, then let it remember this day, this mountain, and these words."

I began to walk again, slowly, from one end of the line to the other, eyes locked on the unit leaders.

— "Some will say I'm mad. Others, that I'm a dreamer — a lost idealist. But you… you know. You know I don't chase glory, nor power. You know there's only one path that can save this world. One idea strong enough to surpass us all: unity."

I stopped short, facing the first row.

— "You, Larkia!"

A dwarf lifted her head, startled.

— "You came here to take an exam. You shared with us your knowledge — the forge, the enchantments. But tell me… what did you learn in return?"

She hesitated, cheeks flushed with emotion.

— "I learned… the science of humans. The tactics of dragonids. And… the wisdom of elves."

— "And tell me, Larkia, without them… without that blend, without that union, would you have become who you are today?"

— "No, sir."

I narrowed my eyes.

— "I didn't hear you."

— "OF COURSE NOT!"

— "Good."

I resumed walking, my voice growing deeper, broader.

— "Fares! You, the elf. You taught us the secrets of alchemy and herbs. Tell me, did you learn from the other races?"

— "Yes, captain! I learned to understand their strengths — to see what, alone, I refused to admit!"

— "Kaelthys! You, general of flames, master of close combat. Did you learn as well?"

— "Far more than I ever expected, chief!"

I turned toward the entire crowd.

— "And you, did you learn from the others?"

— "YES!"

— "Did you grow thanks to them?"

— "YES!"

— "Are you stronger than ever because of them?"

— "YES!"

The shout made the ground tremble beneath our feet. The mountain answered with a dull echo, as if it were breathing with us.

I raised my fist.

— "Then tell me! Are we mad?"

— "NO!"

— "Are we foolish dreamers?"

— "NO!"

I let silence fall like a sheet of iron. All eyes were on me, faces taut, eyes blazing. Even Miyu, usually mocking, clenched her fists.

I slowly placed my hand over my chest.

— "Then tell me one last time… who are we?"

— "THE AZURE PACT!"

The roar erupted — massive, organic, like a dragon awakening. Armor struck against chests, and the sound rolled through the valley like thunder.

I raised my hand. The uproar ceased at once.

— "Show them," I said in a low voice. "Show them there's only one path. That of faith, of brotherhood, of light. The path of unity."

One last silence.

Then, together, they shouted in unison:

— "FOR THE PACT!"

— "FOR THE TYRANT!"

Their voices merged with the wind. And in that instant, I was certain that if even one benevolent god still remained, he had fallen silent to hear our vow.

I walked toward Reina and Sylvara, my steps heavy after the echo of that cry. They hadn't moved — two statues poised — and I told them:

— "I'll let you handle the rest as agreed."

Reina nodded without breaking her gaze; Sylvara inclined her head slightly, as if a silent accord already sealed the next step. It was simple, human, necessary: they carried the weight of the details, and I remained the axis.

I moved away in silence. The camp stretched before me — tents, cold fires, silhouettes in motion. A fallen tree trunk, laid out as a bench, offered me its rough surface. I lay down upon it, arms spread, neck against the bark. The sky was a perfect disc; sometimes a bird would slice through the air and the whole camp would hold its breath.

I gazed at that blue ceiling as if I were staring at a blank page. Balance. The word returned, an invisible tendon tugging at my thoughts.

I was neither the beginning nor the end. I was the interval.

I was not chaos; I was its antithesis — the framework that keeps the house from collapsing.

For six months I had repeated practices, gestures, made Genesis flare like breath blown into an anvil. But something was missing: the other breath, the dark counterpoint. Oblivion was never meant to be the end, but the counterforce — the equal that maintains. Too much Genesis, too much explosion, and my body reacted: knots, pain, spasms — like a misaligned clock.

Beneath my skin, I could still feel the memory of those crises — the band heating, the golden filaments stinging. I had to stop forcing the flow in one direction. My power was a balance; I had to learn to set Oblivion's plate opposite Genesis's. To measure. To let the two breathe together.

A quiet anger passed through me: why did it feel so close and yet just out of reach? I had the intuition of a hidden meaning, a puzzle piece forgotten at the bottom of a box; I could feel I was almost there, and that nearness made me both impatient and fragile. I extended my hand toward the sky, as if to grasp a fragment of the phrase Lyseria had whispered to me in the dungeon.

I wish I'd had more time with you, I murmured silently. So many times I wanted to return to those words, to understand every nuance.

A voice brought me back to earth — clear and firm.

— "Kaito!"

I lowered my arm, turned. Reina stood there, features drawn, a mix of fatigue and resolve in her eyes.

— "Since that dungeon, you've been drifting further away," she said without reproach, yet without sparing herself. "I know you've been through something — even if you won't tell us — but be careful not to lose yourself in it. Keep your balance."

My body tensed at that word. Balance. Damn it, what did it even mean? The formula spun in my mind: I knew the immediate sense — to balance Genesis and Oblivion — but Reina also meant something else: balance between duty and madness, between solitude and connection. What was I meant to be? Where to go? What course to follow? No map could hold against that question; only one principle remained clear: become stronger, more resilient, and gather allies.

I sat up straight on the trunk, back firm, eyes locked on Reina.

— "Are the units in position?" I asked.

Reina read the list like a composed officer:

— "Yes. The unit with Miyu, Lyss, Talyra, and Naël hold surveillance at the four cardinal points — they're observing. Hikari's unit is placed centrally, equidistant from the five camps, with Ayame and Kairen's units as close-guard. The rest remain here, in reserve."

I nodded, attentive.

— "Communications?"

— "Set. Each section has a relay network. A primary channel, a secondary for backup. We'll be able to track movements almost in real time."

I let the information flow through my mind: pieces on a chessboard, ready to move.

Indeed, we would win this Club War without lifting a finger at first. We'd simply wait for the mistake, the slip, the obsession of one club against another. The keystone was communication. In every unit, someone enabled instant relay: a student commanding messenger beasts, another linking his mind to a companion to transmit thought, a third activating a runic conduit… Taken separately, those gifts seemed trivial. Together, in large-scale war, they formed the backbone of a reaction faster than any rival.

I looked at Reina, and something like a brief, hard smile crossed my face.

— "Keep me updated."

— "Yes, Kaito."

I let myself sink back against the bark, mind already weaving threads of calculation. Wait. Observe. Let the others fight among themselves, then strike when the gold is purest — that was our strategy. And in that tense silence, I understood that balance wasn't just a mystical word. It was a weapon, a method — a way to rule both flow and wave, Genesis and Oblivion together, like two complementary blades. We had only to wait for the error, the misstep, the opening.

The camp exhaled around me. In the distance, the mountain kept its silence. I closed my eyes for a moment, ready to do what I had always done: hold the central point — to be, as they sometimes call it in the old songs, the stone that does not move while the world dances around it.

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