Theon’s gaze met Aaron’s. “Cousin Aaron, with all respect due a divine champion, your actions have not been the best for the clan. The Matriarch wants me by your side to prevent incidents like today.”

  “Incidents? You keep pulling strings behind my back—deciding who I talk to and how I act. Erai, the attendant, the amphitheater—you’ve made my choices yours.” Aarons voice sped up as heat rose in his chest.

  “It is my duty!” Theon's voice grew louder. “As it should be your duty to put the clan before your selfish desires. Control your beast! Do not let strangers like Bug dictate my actions. Be rational first and social second!”

  Aaron furrowed his eyebrows as his throat grew tight. Clan and duty? Is he manipulating me, or does he actually believe that?

  Aaron spoke, his voice carefully steady. “You act to satisfy your desire for pettiness and revenge. Yet, you think my desire for freedom from your interference is selfish?”

  “I act for the clan’s honor by treating threats as threats—something you failed to consider when making your squadmates our rivals. Do you even—”

  “No, he doesn’t. He thinks rain falls straight down—how could he possibly understand clan politics?” Aaron opened his mouth, but Reha's finger shot toward him, cutting him off. “And your paranoia, your second-guessing? That will get you killed.” Her expression darkened. “And I have failed to explain what being family and squadmates truly means.”

  Both men sat like scolded children. Reha let out a breath. “Theon, explain to him which duties bind you to him. Don’t assume anything.”

  Aaron and Theon locked gazes. Theon cleared his throat. “I am of the Hellinios Leukos, you are of the Hellinios Ultima. As a lesser noble, my duty is to serve the higher bloodlines for the good of the clan and Polis.” Theon tilted his head, waiting for a reaction. Aaron pressed his lips together. This sounds like mafia movie nonsense. You’re the boss’s kid, so I take the bullet. For the family. Maybe it’s just a collectivist thing. But still…

  Their gazes remained locked. I could ask, but I can also make him wait.

  Reha shook her head. Theon inclined his head after a long moment.

  “Furthermore, our clan belongs to the ruling Conservationist faction. We honor the gods, the polis, and moderation. The Matriarch leads the radical party.”

  Radical conservatives. The irony stung. ‘Reform through purity,’ that old trick again.

  Reha clicked her tongue. “Does ‘Radical’ and ‘Pragmatist’ even mean the same thing to you?”

  Aaron tilted his head, thinking it through. “So, one side follows ideals, no matter the cost. The other side… works with whatever’s available to get things done?”

  Theon nodded. “Close enough, but do not say that in statecraft class, Cousin Ultima.” He spat out the last word. Before Aaron could shoot back, he continued. “We honor the gods and thus we honor you. It is my holy obligation to act in your interest.”

  Aaron looked at him. No prophet would be welcomed by his own church. I am a symbol, not a person here. So if I act like a person, it causes friction. But the politics…

  “Tell me about the other factions. So I don’t make any more mistakes.” He smiled sweetly.

  Theon glared daggers. He understands. Good.

  "Each faction has radicals and pragmatists. We Conservationists defend the polis. The Expansionists want to tear down borders for power. The Abolitionists? Fanatics. They’d topple the League—and everything with it. Destabilization is their shared sickness." Theon paused deliberately. Aaron gestured sharply.

  Theon closed his eyes and continued. “Then there are the cabals—shadow factions with their own agendas. Some act as enforcers for the factions; others operate across borders, loyal to no one but their own cause—” Theon gasped, his face losing color as he turned to Aaron. Aaron merely raised an eyebrow, watching the realization settle over him.

  Theon stiffened. “Bug—” He caught himself, eyes narrowing. His fingers twitched at his sides, fists half-formed, before he exhaled through his nose. “What have you done? Which cabal—”

  Aaron exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. No need to stroke his ego. And probably the wrong time to tell him that the Watcher told us to work together.

  Theon’s lips parted slightly, his mind catching up to the implications. His breath quickened. “No. It had to be during the trials.” His hands shot to his temples, pressing against his skull as if to physically stop the realization. His voice came out thin. “The Matriarch will kill me."

  Aaron stared at his companion, a strange weight settling in his chest. I should feel guilty. Maybe I do. But guilt is sluggish, slow—it can’t keep up with the sheer, sick weight in my stomach. I didn’t think. I just reacted. The wrong move at the wrong moment, and now? Now, I’ve given my faith to strangers in the dark. If I had known them all—Theon, Reha, the cabals—who would I have chosen?

  No one. That’s the truth. I was drowning, and I grabbed the first hand offered. And now I can’t let go. Fuck.

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  Reha simply shrugged helplessly at his look. Right, this is above her pay grade. Do I tell them? Do I recruit them? Could I even? My god asserting its dominance over the leader should give me some latitude.

  The next thought made Aaron’s blood freeze. Am I willing to cross that line? Would I tell Bug to have them both mind-whipped? Could the master even do that?

  He exhaled slowly. Fuck it.

  “What do you know about the Preservationists?” he asked slowly. Theon sighed and relaxed while Reha’s face remained neutral.

  Theon rubbed the bridge of his nose. “A cult believing in an apocalyptic vision. The last three prophets talked about a dragon and a white sphere that will bring doom. That happens when religious metaphors are taken literally.”

  Aaron’s breath quickened. He recalled the vision the watcher had shown him after he arrived. The images buried again in his eyes as if painted with molten steel.

  A burning city. Chained women. A spire guarded by angels. A dragon circling a glass cylinder with a snowball inside. Beyond a mountain pass—wasteland. Silence. Skyscraper-trees stretching into the sky.

  Aaron opened his eyes and looked at both of the others. Each of his words fell like the pronouncement of judgment. “The watcher showed me the same scene. The next image—” Aaron gulped as he remembered the sky over the city. The desert. The Peninsula. The Archipelago. “The next image was worse. A sky of black holes and ash storms. The oceans—gone. Only dust and silence.”

  Theon shook his head vigorously. “Those are metaphors, Aaron. The dragon is nature and barbarians. The pearl is civilization. The wasteland is what happens if civilization falls.”

  Aaron let out a sharp, bitter laugh. Denial. Of course, that would be the first reaction. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He needed to find a way to make them understand before it was too late.

  Theon’s eyes were a mixture of defiance, denial, and dread. “The watcher is painfully literal. I asked if I ‘get fired’ if I fail, and it took that to mean that I want to be executed by incineration.” Aaron shook his head. “I don’t even know if the thing can use metaphors.”

  Reha cleared her throat loudly. “So, how do we prevent this apocalypse of yours, assuming the watcher didn’t show it to you just to torture you with dread?”

  Aaron’s mind flicked back to the laughter of Psyche’s watcher. The staccato waves of fractals in its iris of fire. Maybe my watcher has a very dry sense of humor? He shook his head. Too dangerous of an assumption. Occam’s razor. The simpler hypothesis is more likely.

  Theon shook his head vigorously. "Do you even know what the Preservationists stand for? No?" Theon’s gaze hit him like a particle beam. "They want to raise the prophets and chosen above all others—to rule as tyrants over the Polis. They would rewrite the laws of class and power entirely. They believe our divisions will doom us when the end comes, and that anything is justified to prevent their so-called apocalypse." He took a breath, the matter in a lower tone. "The last prophet created an edict zone, where there was once the capital of the League of Crafters. Tebass took over after a bloody civil war. The people suffer for such fanaticism."

  Aaron closed his eyes. I need to talk to the mind mage. Bug will know how to set that up. Get their side of this story. Do they really want me to become an emperor? Does the watcher want that?

  Aaron let go of the tension in his face and chest. "I don’t know enough," Aaron admitted, voice steady despite the sharp pulse behind his ribs. "Barely anything, really. And that’s a problem." He exhaled slowly, letting the words settle between them. "For now, I focus on the academy. I learn. I watch. Then, when the next move comes—I make sure it’s mine to play."Aaron raised a finger into the air. “And I have a quest. It mentions you two, I believe.”

  Reha leaned forward, while Theon slumped. Aaron tipped his chin. “If I remember correctly, it was about performing well in the academy and understanding slavery. I will get another audience and ‘my companions will be acknowledged.’” Aaron shrugged as Theon straightened up. He looked at Reha, and excitement tinged his voice.

  “I think this is a party boon,” he grinned. “And we are in it.” With tightly pressed lips, he looked at Aaron. “If that is what the Champion wishes.”

  Reha smiled broadly and leaned towards Aaron. “You have no idea again, right?” Aaron chuckled.

  Theon lifted his chin, fingers brushing his jaw as if stroking a nonexistent beard. A mask. He was clinging to routine, to knowledge—anything to push aside the fear. Aaron grimaced. Theon isn’t fine. He is distracting himself to cope. Desperately clinging to something familiar.

  “Parties are rare. Normally only Credomancers—those who channel faith into force— get them. Some boons or artifacts can also create them.” He looked both Aaron and Reha in the eyes with a hint of uncertainty. Aaron smiled. “Parties allow sharing of boons and faster level growth. Or that spells work better or at all. The Matriarch has a party, and it is the basis of her power.”

  Aaron grinned. Now that sounds useful. Divine guides? Learning bonuses? The extra stat points? What exactly could I give—and what would it cost?

  Theon pressed on before someone could interject. “As for your quest, we already talked about slavery. So that might be finished.” He tipped his chin vigorously. “And performing well probably means winning the tournament at the end of the year. Or being high in the true ranks. Probably both.”

  Reha shook her head. “Many will seek to defeat the champion. It would bring tremendous prestige.” She tilted her head. “How do you think they ranked the debate on his true skill?”

  Aaron raised his hands. “What tournament? And what’s this ‘true rank’?”

  Theon latched onto the change in subject, seizing it like a lifeline. “The tournaments are the tests in the first three years of the academy. All our skills will be tested individually this year. You might fight, debate, or compete in natural philosophy quizzes.”

  Aaron poured himself a drink with hands that didn’t quite shake. He needed one normal thing. One normal conversation.

  Aaron nodded with pressed-together lips. “That seems reasonable. As long as it isn’t like the trials.”

  Reha shook her head. “Only in the last two years, you’ll lead troops outside the academy.”

  Aaron stared at her. I am going to learn to command troops? It makes sense for their society, but… I thought I was going to mage school.

  Theon jumped back in. “Yes, but those years are unwritten Archives. The true ranks,” he adjusted his clothes carefully, “is how your performances are seen in relation to how you should have performed. Exceed expectations and rise, fail them and fall. I’ll show the ranking in the Fire’s Hall later.”

  Theon's smile shattered. His gaze locked onto Aaron's, the look of a man staring death in the face. His voice was steady, measured. "But before that—You, Champion of the Weaver, high noble of Hellinios, and now, it seems, a Cabalist of the Preservers—must decide." Theon’s voice was steady, too steady. His chin lifted in forced composure, but his hands curled against his sides. "Are we to serve, cousin? “...Or has our loyalty already been… weighed and found lacking?”

  Aaron couldn’t answer. Not yet. Not truthfully.

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