Two days after the Summit’s conclusion, a meeting in a dim, windowless conference hall buried deep inside the Alliance Headquarters began. More than fifty men and women sat around a single oblong table that dominated the chamber, its dark wooden surface crowded with maps, sealed reports, mana stes, and a host of other items whose importance varied by the hand that had pced them there.

  High Generals occupied the near fnks. Nobles and delegates filled the outer arcs. Dozens more stood behind their seated superiors or lined the thick, unadorned stone walls. Walls that shed their vanity in order to swallow any hint of sound, secrecy, or dissent that threatened to escape..

  Military uniforms and noble attire shared the space without hierarchy. Rank meant little here. Authority was reputation, precedent, and results earned in blood.

  The earlier chatter died down to paper rustling and restrained breathing. What remained was a room simmering with contained egos and unspoken rivalry. This gathering was rare—not because the Alliance cked councils, but rather because the individuals present were seldom meant to occupy the same space at the same time.

  But the annual Apex Bde Summit was different. It was special. Important.

  The rge double doors at the far end parted without ceremony.

  Garreth, King of Cydos and elected leader of the Valorian Alliance, entered with an assistant trailing close behind. He crossed the length of the hall without pause and took the seat at the head of the table. Only then did the room fully still.

  “Let’s begin.”

  The assistant pced a thick binder before him.

  “The first discussion topic,” Garreth’s eyes scanned the document, “is Hytul.”

  Every head focused on him after hearing the name.

  “Countess Zahrasia,” he said, lifting his gaze. “Go ahead and give your report.”

  Scarlette Zahrasia quickly looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing her features as though she’d been pulled from her own thoughts. She pushed herself to her feet and snapped into rigid formality as every gaze turned toward her. “Er—Yes. Of course.”

  The silence stretched a fraction too long as the council fell into anticipatory stillness.

  She steadied her breathing, kneading the top edge of the report between her fingers. “The research fortress Hytul was abandoned approximately ninety-six hours ago,” she began, steadying herself. “General Hadrun issued the evacuation order and was killed in battle shortly thereafter.”

  Whispers spread. Expressions darkened. And several attendees immediately seized their own binders, eyes racing across the pages as the gravity of the news settled over them.

  “Total casualties—including confirmed dead, missing, and critical injuries sustained during the engagement and subsequent retreat—currently stand at nine thousand three hundred and eighty-four. Surviving personnel have already been reassigned to southern border formations.”

  Garreth leaned forward, pnted his elbows on the table, and locked his hands together. “I see.” He gnced down, skimmed his notes, then lifted his eyes back to Scarlette. “Can you summarize the events leading up to and during the engagement? I’ve read the report, but a firsthand account would aid us all greatly.”

  Scarlette nodded and complied. “In the twelve hours preceding the attack, no scouts reported any unusual movement,” she said. “Roaming Corrupted presence was, if anything, lower than average. Patrol commanders noted the absence but found nothing actionable.”

  Officers around the room traded uneasy gnces.

  “Then, without warning, an overwhelming force that we estimated to be over eighty thousand Corrupted emerged from the eastern sectors.” She paused. “Scouts assigned to that region had reported clear conditions only hours prior.”

  Scarlette continued as a faint sheen gathered at her hairline. She kept her voice steady, but her fingers gradually tightened around the edges of the report as she pressed on. “So General Hadrun ordered an external infantry defense to prevent structural damage to the fortress. The engagement initially followed expected patterns.”

  She lifted her eyes briefly. “Until a Corrupted Elder Dragon appeared.”

  The stillness broke—chairs creaking, bodies shifting, note-taking, curses slipping.

  “The creature’s breath struck the barrier multiple times. The resulting impact destabilized it, allowing Corrupted forces to breach and engage Hadrun’s units at close range.”

  “And the dragon?” Garreth asked.

  “Hadrun personally led his elite unit in the counter-engagement. His intent was to neutralize the threat quickly and preserve the integrity of the fortress. Which he succeeded in doing.”

  A few expressions softened. Respect, however brief.

  “The battle was prolonged. General Hadrun expended the majority of his Aura reserves attempting to contain the dragon and preserve the breach.”

  She stared down at the page, hesitating as she vividly recalled the scene. “Two unidentified Pureborn then appeared in the aftermath and struck while his reserves were depleted.”

  The chamber froze.

  “T-They bypassed the remaining perimeter defenses and assassinated General Hadrun in a coordinated strike. His depleted Aura rendered the wounds fatal without immediate intervention. The Pureborn disengaged immediately afterward.”

  Not a single voice rose to fill the void; even the mana mps seemed to dim in the hush that followed.

  “With the barrier compromised, command decapitated, and frontline units overwhelmed,” Scarlette concluded, “General Hadrun issued a full retreat and abandonment order prior to his death.”

  Her hands squeezed into a tight ball atop the report. “He then... overloaded his core.”

  The statement was impossible to ignore.

  “The resulting detonation eliminated a significant portion of the Corrupted vanguard,” she said quietly. “It bought the retreating forces enough time to withdraw. Hytul was lost because the enemy demonstrated behavior beyond all prior observation.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  Scarlette imperceptibly flinched when she heard the voice.

  High General Darius Deylin smmed his broad hands against the table. “You expect us to believe that a pair of lowly beasts gained tactical intelligence, bypassed defenses, assassinated an exceptionally skilled General, and then disengaged?”

  His gaze flicked briefly toward Scarlette, dismissive. “That is not an enemy evolution. That is a failure somewhere in the chain of command.”

  “Agreed,” one of the High Generals said. “Pureborn do not retreat unless forced. That alone contradicts a decade of observation.”

  “A decade of assumptions,” another voice countered. “Built on enemies that never learned.”

  “Specution,” Darius snapped. “We do not rewrite doctrine because a fortress fell under irregur circumstances. Hadrun fought an Elder Dragon. His Aura was depleted. Coincidental opportunistic strikes do not equate to intelligence.”

  Scarlette tightened her grip on the report. Then she lifted her chin and met his gaze, glowering back at him. “They didn’t strike during the chaos. They waited.”

  Darius smmed a fist. “Enough. We lost a fortress. That warrants accountability.”

  The dissent fractured further—voices rising, fists shaking, several officials arguing differing opinions at once.

  “If this is intelligence, then where are the formations? Where are the supply lines? Where is the coordination beyond two assassins? And where,” Darius demanded, raising his voice to reassert control, “is the proof that this wasn’t an isoted anomaly?”

  No one answered.

  Then, a chuckle.

  High General Kane Vagandir leaned back, hands csped behind his head, eyes on the report id before him. “My guys have seen changes,” he said.

  The room shifted toward him.

  Darius turned and gred. “Your legion hunts beasts. Not fortresses.”

  Kane shrugged without looking up. “We hunt the beasts your legion fails to.”

  Darius kept staring, but Kane ignored him, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the table.

  “For the st six months, we’ve seen a few of the high-priority Pureborn we target exhibiting new behaviors. Instead of rushing, they circle and probe. One even broke off when the fight turned against it. Patrols have seen them abandon wounded targets to reposition. Watching and waiting.”

  Darius grumbled. “That’s instinct. I’ve said as much. They are mimics after all, why would they not behave like the very predators they copy?”

  “That’s true, but then can you expin why it has only begun happening now?” Kane spat back. “These beasts are learning. Open your eyes for once, Darius.”

  “How dare—”

  Kane cut him off and turned to face the far end of the table. “What about you? Bishop.”

  Every attendee followed his gaze to the bulbous man in white and silver robes.

  He calmly raised his head. “Yes. We have noted changes as well,” the bishop answered in a voice that carried despite its softness. “While our Tridecadic Empire is distant from your Alliance, separated by ocean and doctrine, these abominations affect us all the same.”

  “You’ve seen intelligence in Pureborn, too?” someone asked.

  “Yes. As on your continent, ours faces the same danger.”

  “And?” Kane prompted.

  “They behave differently than when they first appeared,” the bishop said. “Less feral. More selective. And yet... we have not lost an entire region to it.”

  “Who is this bastard to talk like that to us?” someone hissed.

  “Does the Church think we’ve forgotten how to fight?” another added.

  Several voices rose in outrage.

  The bishop ignored the onsught. “We have endured breaches. We have endured loss. But not colpse. Which suggests,” he said gently, “that the question is not whether the Corruption has changed.” He folded his hands. “It is whether humanity has grown compcent in the way it responds.”

  The debate eventually burned itself out. Voices fell silent one by one, repced by clerks’ murmurs and reshuffled papers as the council turned to lesser matters.

  Garreth did not intervene once during that time.

  He only watched.

  As the meeting began to wind down, Garreth spoke up again. “Alright everyone. Before we adjourn, let’s turn to something less dire.”

  “About time,” Kane grumbled.

  Garreth closed his binder. “Despite recent developments, this year’s Apex Bde Summit served its purpose splendidly. We tested combat ability, adaptability, and leadership in our new officers.”

  Acknowledgement swept through the room.

  “It revealed some strengths,” he continued. “And it also revealed some limitations.”

  “Some more than others,” Darius said.

  Garreth ignored him. “Several cadet groups far exceeded our expectations.”

  “The rounds were altered this year, but they still felt artificial,” a general said.

  “Like every exercise,” Garreth replied. “What matters is whether the information we gathered is usable. And whether this new year’s crop of cadets has any potential. And to that, I say they are the best group we’ve seen since the Summit was founded.”

  No one had any reason to argue against him. They all agreed. The newest group of cadets were vastly superior to previous years by a particurly wide margin.

  Garreth continued. “Mixed-discipline teams, led by Aegis and Astaria, performed better overall. They recovered faster after losses, and they had broader strategies. Specialist teams struggled once pns broke down, although Tidesword performed well prior to the dueling rounds.”

  “Expected,” a general said. “Flexibility always wins in contained environments.”

  “And loses in sustained engagements,” Darius replied.

  “Which is why this wasn’t a war simution. It was an evaluation.” Garreth didn’t let it become another argument and moved on. “There were five cadets whose performance consistently stood out.”

  “Asher Deylin. Victoria Velstrad. Rheya. Vernon. And—Luna.”

  No one disputed the list itself. Garreth crified that it wasn’t a ranking, merely an identification, and they accepted that without fuss.

  The conversation naturally moved to the least contentious names first.

  Vernon was described as technically sound and reliable under pressure, a cadet who followed instructions and executed cleanly. Rheya drew more mixed commentary—her output was impressive and her growth obvious, but several officers noted her tendency to overcommit.

  Darius dismissed that as a correctable fw. Kane muttered that correction often came at a cost.

  No one pressed him.

  Victoria Velstrad was the next topic of discussion. Her name carried weight, but the discussion stayed focused on her performance rather than her lineage. Garreth noted her situational awareness and sense for positioning, and others added that she rarely forced exchanges and never seemed out of pce on the field.

  Asher followed without ceremony. His execution aligned precisely with Academy doctrine—controlled, efficient, and composed under pressure. Several voices echoed the assessment. He did exactly what he was trained to do, and he did it well.

  Darius leaned into that point, framing Asher as proof that instruction worked, that excellence could be produced and replicated.

  No one could challenge Asher’s results.

  “—and that brings us to Luna.”

  The room stalled in a way it hadn’t for the others.

  Darius scoffed before anyone else could speak. “An uncontrolled asset,” he said bluntly. “No better than the beasts she’s meant to fight. Power without discipline is liability, not strength. She’s not fit to be a soldier.”

  A few heads turned. No one rushed to contradict him.

  Then a defting ughter rolled through the chamber. Deep. Boisterous. Completely out of pce.

  Duke Lucian Sostus ughed from the end of the table, opposite Garreth. It took several seconds before he stopped to catch a breath, though the grin never left his face.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was rich with amusement. “You seem rather peeved,” he said, eyes settling on Darius, “for a man whose son performed so admirably.”

  Darius stiffened from the man’s taunt.

  Lucian tilted his head, grin widening so as to infuriate Darius. “Or is it that the young girl thoroughly embarrassed him on such a rge stage?”

  “That is not what happened,” Darius said coldly.

  Lucian chuckled again. “Isn’t it?” He leaned forward slightly. “They fought, and she won. And so, here we are, debating her instead of praising him.”

  “Careful,” Darius warned. “This is not a tavern.”

  “No,” Lucian agreed with him. “It’s worse. Here, you people like to pretend that absolute strength isn’t what decides the outcome of wars.” He looked across toward Garreth, amusement still pstered over his face. “You don’t call something uncontrolled when it consistently produces results.”

  Garreth said nothing but still smiled back.

  Kane snorted from further down the table. “He’s not wrong,” he said. “Strength matters more than half the things we dress it up with. The beasts don’t care about doctrine. They care about who walks away. That girl’s got guts.”

  “That’s an awfully convenient stance,” one of the generals replied. “Especially when that strength comes with recklessness. She impaled herself in the final bout. Took a hit she didn’t need to take. Against Asher, no less.”

  “Fatal, if the angle was off by a hair,” another added. “That kind of margin doesn’t exist on a real battlefield.”

  “And yet she adapted,” Kane said. “Every fight, she looked different. Faster. Cleaner. That girl was clearly unable to control her Aura during the initial rounds—” he paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “And yet, after only a few days of bouts, she managed to come up with a technique I’ve never seen before.”

  Several heads nodded at that.

  “You’re right. That explosion—she learned it in the middle of her fights. You could see the difference. The first fight was sloppy, and by the next fight she’d refined it.” Another official agreed with Kane.

  “That’s exactly the problem,” Darius snapped. “Improvisation born from ignorance. You don’t reward that.”

  “You don’t punish it either,” Kane shot back. “Not when it works.”

  “She’s sixteen,” another voice cut in. “And already a second-year cadet. She should still be in foundational training.”

  “And already at Gravity stage,” someone else said quietly. “At that age.”

  “Unheard of,” a general said. “Not even the best prodigies reach that level so young without consequences.”

  “Which raises the real concern,” another continued. “Not her strength, but her judgment. Mental maturity matters. She might have been better suited to a junior academy instead of being thrown onto a stage this early.”

  Several gazes shifted, subtly but unmistakably, toward the end of the table.

  “Commandant,” one of them said. “You pced her there.”

  Gideon finally looked up. “You’re suggesting I exercised poor judgment?”

  “I’m suggesting,” the general replied, choosing his words carefully, “that a sixteen-year-old with that level of power is not equipped to understand the consequences of using it. Exceptional talent does not equate to readiness.”

  Gideon folded his hands. “And yet you were content to measure her alongside graduating adults.”

  “Yes, but—.”

  “No,” Gideon cut in. “She is only immature because she is inexperienced. Something that can be addressed by exposure.”

  “And if exposure gets her killed?” Darius demanded.

  “Then we will have failed her,” Gideon replied. “But caging her would fail her just as surely.”

  His answer did nothing to quiet the questions pressing against him. It wasn’t meant to.

  “Then what do you suggest, Gideon?” someone asked.

  “I suggest we open her cage.” Gideon continued, his tone unchanged. “She is used to routine, structure, instruction yered so thickly around her that nothing meaningful reaches her.”

  “That is called training,” Darius said.

  “It is,” Gideon agreed. “Yet, training has little effect on her. All of her instructors at my Academy report the same thing. She is inattentive, combative, and unwilling to learn through traditional methods. She fights against instruction and refuses drills unless she sees an immediate purpose.

  “That’s not the impression I got when watching her,” Kane said quietly, “she keeps improving.”

  “Exactly,” Gideon replied. “Just not when we force it. Every attempt to shape her through structure has produced stagnation. Every instance where she has been forced outside it has produced growth.”

  Gideon spoke again before anyone could seize the opening. “You are all speaking as though this began at the Summit. It didn’t.”

  The atmosphere stilled as everyone focused their attention.

  Gideon resumed. “That girl was at the bottom of the Nebu stage when I informed her she would be participating six months ago. One duel. A single exchange with a more powerful cssmate—Victoria Velstrad—and she crossed into Gravity stage.”

  “Six months?” someone asked. “That child?

  “That’s impossible,” another said.

  “It’s improbable,” Gideon corrected. “There’s a difference.”

  Darius leaned forward. “You’re saying her advancement was spontaneous?”

  “No,” Gideon replied. “I’m saying it was inevitable. Pressure simply revealed it.” He paused, then finished quietly. “This is not a girl failing to learn. This is a system failing to keep up.”

  “Get to the point, Gideon,” Lucian spoke up again.

  “She must be developed. Not for her sake alone, but for the future of the Alliance. And if that means removing her from the illusion of safety we’ve wrapped around her, then so be it. We will remove her from the standard educational path and assign her to live exercises under controlled oversight.”

  Gideon understood the truth of it even as he spoke.

  A cage thrown open, not into open sky, but into a wider enclosure. The bars are farther apart. The walls are less visible. Freedom offered, yet still measured. Still watched. Still owned.