Two weeks passed.
The sun broke over the canyon rim, casting pink light across the valley floor. Cane and his team jogged easily along the perimeter, their pace steady, breathing controlled.
Behind them thundered the sound of boots—Fury Company, in perfect unison, the fire of purpose burning in their eyes.
At first, only the platoon sergeants had joined the morning run. Then a few soldiers. Then more. Now? The tents stood empty every morning.
The cadets missed the Academy, but Telamon made sure Ignatius received regular updates through official bulletins.
They read them at breakfast.
"I miss HOM class," Clara muttered, pushing scrambled eggs in circles. "And naps. And food that isn't bacon, eggs, and bread."
Dhalia nodded slightly—living with soldiers had been educational. The war no longer felt like a story. It felt close. Real.
Cane sat quietly, reading a letter from Sophie.
"She still at the estate?" Fergis asked, sipping cider.
"Yeah. Tor brought the Shadow Wolves and Pudding back too," Cane replied. "Sounds like we're missing a party."
Fergis leaned in, solemn. "Brother... I think you should take me with you."
"To my village?" Cane raised a brow. "No. This one's personal. Something I have to do on my own."
"We could all go," Clara offered.
Dhalia nodded in agreement.
Cane chuckled, folding the letter. "Is this a conspiracy? Thanks, but no. It's not dangerous. Just... discovery."
A rift opened near the command tent.
Not unusual.
But the man who stepped through was.
Short white hair. Clean-shaven. Eyes like calm water—nothing rattled him. He walked with quiet gravity.
Telamon.
At first, no one moved. Then one soldier bowed.
The others followed.
The Archmage gave a polite nod and walked into the tent.
"YOU BETTER MAKE IT HAPPEN IN TWO WEEKS OR I FIND A REPLACEMENT!" Field Commander Terok Begile barked into a battalion leader's face—until the sharp tap of a cane cut through the noise.
Silence.
"Archmage..." Terok straightened instantly.
"It's time. Follow me." Telamon's tone brooked no argument. "Bring them."
A small rift opened.
He stepped through.
Terok stared for a moment, then waved his officers forward.
The rift opened near Fury Company's training field.
Soldiers were lined up, uniforms neat, faces focused. Dozens of new training dummies waited, along with hay bale walls, crawl pits, and other obstacles.
Cane stood before his company, calm and ready.
Terok took it all in—he recognized the uniforms. They were fresh recruits. But their eyes... their eyes were dangerous. Controlled. Sharp.
"Let's see what they've learned," Terok murmured.
"Indeed," Telamon replied.
He led the group of commanders to where Cane waited.
"You're looking well, nephew."
Cane smiled. "Thank you, Uncle. We're ready."
Brows raised at the familiar address—but no one questioned it.
Ignatius stepped forward. "Come—best view is from here."
The officers followed.
Cane turned to his company.
"Time to show what you've learned. Line up. One per target. Standard formation."
As they moved, Ignatius gave a subtle nod.
Cane raised his hand.
"BEGIN!"
The first ten surged forward.
Blades out, they struck—clean, deadly. Necks. Chests. Legs. Each soldier flowed through their movement, ducking and rolling past the dummy to the next. Crisp, disciplined.
The officers nodded—impressed, but not stunned.
They'd seen training before.
Then—
As the soldiers stepped past the first row of dummies, their swords burst into flame in unison.
"FURY!"
A single shout echoed.
Flame roared from their blades—ten jets, slamming into the next row of dummies.
Silence.
No one in the command group spoke.
The soldiers flowed forward again—striking, rolling, advancing. Fire trailing every motion. Clean. Coordinated. Lethal.
"T... they're casting," Terok stammered. "They're... fire users."
His battalion leaders stood frozen, jaws slack.
The second line moved forward. Their blades lit.
"FURY!"
Another synchronized volley of flame.
The ground blackened.
Targets ignited.
"Two weeks," Telamon said quietly. "In two weeks, we trained a company. A month from now? A battalion. After that... a legion."
The leadership watched in stunned silence until the final shout of FURY echoed across the field and faded. Cane dismissed the troops, ordering light exercise and blade work.
Then he turned and walked back toward the cluster of senior officers.
They stood silently around his workbench, where a single sword and a ring rested in the sunlight.
"What exactly are we looking at?" Terok asked, voice low.
Cane lifted the ring first.
"This is an attunement ring. It gives the wearer a natural affinity for the Fire Element."
Then he picked up the sword.
"This is a standard-issue blade. But through a metallurgical process, I've turned it into a focal."
He placed it back down.
"Those two items, plus structured training, are all that's needed to replicate what you just witnessed."
A battalion leader, a tall woman with storm-gray eyes, stepped closer. "How many of the rings do we have?"
"Thousands," Cane replied. "I've been making them since I arrived."
He paused, glancing at Telamon. "Give me a few hours, and I can turn every sword in the Legion into a fire focal."
Telamon nodded. "Cane is the only one capable of making either piece. But I'll only let you keep him one more day."
Cane exhaled—half relief, half fatigue.
Less than an hour later, Cane sat behind a small table. His sleeves rolled. His hands ready.
The line stretched endlessly—soldiers from every corner of the Legion, their standard-issue swords carried respectfully in hand.
Terok and his battalion commanders stood at the front.
Overhead, stars bloomed—white and blue, even in daylight.
Cane touched each sword, activating the red node with a thought. His movements were efficient. Rhythmic. Nearly automatic.
He didn't speak.
He just worked.
Word spread. Later, people would speak in hushed tones about the line that reached the horizon. And the young man at the center of it all. Sitting calmly beneath the sky. Stars burning over his head, changing the world one blade at a time.
Even though each attunement was simple, the sheer volume wore him down.
By the time the last sword was handed back, Cane could barely stand.
He made it to his tent.
Collapsed.
And dreamed.
In the dream, the world shimmered green—a realm Cane had never seen.
An old man watched silently as a middle-aged woman with two visible aspects shaped glowing metal into a sword with her bare hands.
Her aspects floated behind her—two sickles, one white, the other green.
But Cane's attention locked onto the reddish cloud at her center.
Just like his.
"You've learned to brighten or dim your aspects to work with basic elements," the old man said. "But if you wish to master more, you must engage your aspect core."
The woman focused.
Suddenly, both sickles dimmed—and the red core flared brighter.
"I see more nodes," she whispered, awestruck. "That must be air... and that one—ice? Why is it two-toned?"
"A hybrid," the old man replied. "Water and air."
She squinted, pointing to something deeper.
"There's one more. It's... black."
The old man went still.
"You found that one, did you?" His voice dropped, solemn. "Use it at your own risk. That is the psi element."
The group was all smiles. With the platoon sergeants and troops crowded around the mess tent, they enjoyed one final meal together.
Morning had come—no drills, no commands, no training. Ignatius and Fury Company would remain to continue training three more companies, while the cadets were scheduled to return to the capital, en route to the Academy.
Teek had one arm draped around Fergis, smiling sweetly as she tried to persuade him to stay.
"Come on, Firekiss, where else are you going to meet such wonderful, interesting people?"
She leaned in, her grin turning wicked.
"I'm talking about myself, obviously."
Fergis laughed, his freckled face turning crimson.
"I'm a student. I can't just drop out of the Academy. My family would disown me."
A few steps away, Cane spoke quietly with Davon, their voices low despite the laughter and clatter inside the tent.
"I've given you a wood ring and a water ring. When your company's assigned a healer, just find out their element. One of those should help."
Davon nodded firmly.
"I will. Wish you were coming with us."
"Me too," Cane admitted. "But if you end this war before I graduate... I won't complain."
Davon chuckled.
"Fair deal."
A rift opened in the courtyard of the Ironheart estate. The entire staff stood waiting in pressed uniforms, with Relen front and center.
"Welcome home, Young Master—and friends," Relen said with a bow.
He barely had time to step aside before Sophie sprinted from the doorway and leapt into Cane's arms. He caught her effortlessly, spinning her once—twice—before setting her down. Their kiss was long and full of quiet relief. The rest of the group found interesting clouds and architectural details to study until it ended a respectful moment later.
HOOOACH!
Pudding swooped low, landing on Cane's shoulder and warbling with excitement.
"I know," Cane laughed, stroking the falcon-owl hybrid. "That was a long time."
"Young Master," Relen intoned politely, "dinner will be served in two hours."
"Perfect." Cane turned, squeezing Sophie's hand gently. "Give me a minute?"
He walked with Relen to the edge of the grounds, where the small caretaker's cottage now stood—complete, elegant, and far ahead of schedule.
"Are they early?" Cane asked, eyeing the clean lines and polished windows.
"They've been working overtime to finish before your return," Relen replied. "Would you like a tour?"
"Let's take a look."
The entry was warm and welcoming—double doors matching the estate's main hall. Cream-colored tile led into a high-ceilinged foyer with a large coat closet. The dining room followed, cozy but sophisticated, anchored by a beautiful stained-glass window.
"This looks like the one I kicked an assassin through," Cane noted. "Let's hope that doesn't happen again."
"Quite," Relen said evenly, but with a faint smile.
The kitchen was modern and spacious, with a generous pantry. The first floor held a master bedroom and bath. Upstairs, two smaller rooms overlooked the garden path.
"It's perfect," Cane said, voice quiet. "Good bones. Feels like a home for a small family."
He glanced over at Relen. "What do you think?"
Relen nodded, composed as ever.
"It's a beautiful home."
He handed over a small set of brass keys.
Cane didn't take them.
"Keep those," he said instead. "I want you to move your family in immediately."
Relen's eyes widened. For a man who rarely showed emotion, the stunned silence was louder than words.
"Sir?"
"I've made my share of enemies," Cane said, gently but firmly. "You're my number one, Relen. I want to make sure your wife and daughter are safe. This is how we do that."
"Sir, I cannot acc—"
Cane raised a hand.
"It's not a request. If you're still under contract with a landlord, we'll pay it out. Bring them here. They'll love it."
Relen swallowed hard, nodding once. No further words. None were needed.