Kayden waited until the door sealed behind him before he spoke.

  Xyrion stood at the projection wall, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the after-action display as it cycled through terrain resets and casualty markers. The simulated forest had already erased itself—broken bark restored, mana residue scrubbed clean, as if nothing had gone wrong.

  As if that were ever the point.

  “Field rotation stabilized,” Kayden said. “Mana surges stayed within projection limits. No serious injuries.”

  “Expected.”

  Kayden stepped closer, boots quiet against the stone. He didn’t reach for notes. He never did. Xyrion noticed when people needed them.

  “Selections?”

  Kayden exhaled once and began.

  “Two knights worth advancing. One for endurance, one for adaptability. Both hold formation under pressure.”

  He shifted his weight. “Support casters are adequate. One overextends.”

  “And the mages?”

  “Mixed. High output across the board. Low restraint.”

  Xyrion turned slightly, just enough for the sword at his side to catch the light.

  Kayden’s gaze flicked to it without conscious thought.

  “Tessa,” he continued. “Mage track. Fast recovery. Good battlefield awareness.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Con?”

  “She pushes past her limits when left alone.”

  Xyrion inclined his head once.

  “Lysara.”

  Kayden felt the subtle narrowing of his focus as he assessed her. How she fit.

  “Strengths,” he said. “Situational awareness that doesn’t rely on mana output. Strong plant knowledge. Reads environments faster than most.”

  He paused, deliberate.

  “Con: self-reliant to the point of isolation.”

  Silence followed.

  “You included her anyway,” Xyrion said at last, voice even.

  “She fills a gap,” Kayden replied. “And she doesn’t freeze when things go wrong.”

  Xyrion’s fingers brushed the faint scar along his cheekbone, the motion absent, habitual.

  Kayden had learned to read that moment.

  They had been fourteen, fifteen and barely seasoned enough to know when the forest was wrong.

  The ground tightened around them. Sightlines broke. The mercenaries slowed without anyone calling it, spacing collapsing as the trees pressed in.

  Then the beasts showed themselves.

  Not charging. Circling.

  Kayden’s attention snapped to Xyrion immediately.

  The boy didn’t look for anyone. Didn’t check spacing. Didn’t wait.

  He tore backward out of the forming ring, boots skidding as he claimed open ground—space no one else occupied. No shield, no cover. Just distance.

  Then he cast.

  Ice exploded outward in a violent surge—fast, wide, indiscriminate. Frost ripped up trunks and stone alike, slamming into the pack hard enough to stagger it and drop two outright.

  Too much.

  Kayden saw the cost the instant it landed. Xyrion’s stance wavered. His follow-through broke. The power bled out of him unevenly, leaving an opening anyone watching would have noticed.

  The beasts did.

  They pivoted toward him as one.

  Kayden moved without thinking.

  Shield up. Blade forward. He stepped into the space Xyrion had cleared, took the first hit full on. Pain flared as something tore across his side, hot and immediate—but he held.

  Others followed. Fighters closing in. Steel answering steel. The ring collapsed inward, pressure reversing until the beasts broke and fled.

  When it was over, ice cracked and sloughed off the ground in sheets. Steam rose where blood hit frost.

  Kayden’s mouth twitched despite himself.

  If he had to name it later, that had been the beginning. Not trust—just proximity forced by blood and bad terrain.

  Xyrion hadn’t thanked him. Hadn’t apologized either.

  He’d learned the sword after that.

  Not to replace the spell.

  To make sure it was never the only thing standing.

  “She’ll resist integration,”

  Kayden didn’t move.

  “Then she’ll need to adapt,” he replied. “Or she won’t belong.”