The sky above Vel'Thara was a tapestry of stars. The Shepherd's fissure pulsed faintly in the daylight. A jagged seam of violet light that oozed like an infected wound, dribbling motes of corrupted Ki that dissolved before touching the earth.
Below, the academy clawed its way back from ruin, stone by stone, oath by oath. But the air still tasted of ash and iron, and the shadows pooled too thickly in corners where spiral fractures had once bloomed.
Kael stood on the south rampart, watching dawn bleed over the blackened forests. The wind carried whispers from the training fields. Wooden staves cracking. Claire's voice sharp as a whetstone, recruits gasping through drills meant to harden bodies and numb minds.
"Faster! The Spiral doesn't care if you're tired!"
He recognized the recruit Claire berated: a girl named Esra, her left arm still bandaged from a shattered shoulder. She fought like cornered prey, all teeth and desperation. Kael turned away. Survivors made the sharpest blades, but he wondered what they'd cut when the war ended.
The Infirmary Sanctum
Lorr floated in the heart of the Sanctum, ensnared in a Ki-cocoon that glowed like drowned moonlight. His face was serene, but his hands twitched occasionally. Small, frantic motions, as if he were still fighting.
Master Selk stood guard, his bulk blocking the doorway. "He's deeper than most," Selk rumbled when Kael visited. "The Spiral tried to claim him, but he held. Eight hours. Eight hours of that."
Kael said nothing. What could he say? Lorr had bought them time with his sanity. A fair trade, according to the judge.
"Will he wake?"
Selk's silence was answer enough.
The Heartfire
At dusk, students gathered around the new Heartfire brazier, its flame burning low over the Spiral Seed's tomb. They tossed in fragments of broken weapons, locks of hair, and whispered names. Offerings to the dead. Promises to the living.
A boy with a melted cheek pressed a charred locket into the flames. "For my sister," he murmured. "She liked the stars."
Kael watched from the shadows. He'd stopped counting the lost. Numbers were kinder than names.
The War Room
The judge's summons came on a night thick with static. Storm clouds churned around the Shepherd's fissure, and the air smelled of ozone and burnt sugar.
They gathered in the war room: Kael, Claire, Lira, Sylva, Tiv, Jace, Coren, and Silver Lance Eirien. A transmission relay hovered at the table's center, its crystal core pulsing with Kaelen's faint Ki signature. A heartbeat trapped in glass.
The judge's voice was a rasp, but his remaining eye blazed. "Vel'Thara stands. But wounded. We must stand where it cannot."
Eirien stepped forward, her armor etched with fresh spiral scars. "South Wilds nests are multiplying. Outpost defenses are threadbare. Recruits are green. Leadership must rise from the survivors."
Claire's gaze cut to Kael. Don't you dare, it warned.
"Assign me," Kael said.
The judge's lips twitched. "Good."
The Leashed Flame
Eirien's orders were merciless:
1. Suppress Eastern Rift fractures.
2. Rebuild Vel'Thara's defense grid.
3. Integrate Kaelen Velrin—monitored, muzzled, but operational.
Claire's dagger thudded into the map, pinning Kaelen's sector. "If he survives that," she sneered, "maybe I'll stop spitting at his name."
"You'll still spit," Tiv muttered. "It's your love language."
Lira's glaive hummed as she polished it. "We need every weapon. Even broken ones."
"He burned three ambush squads to cinders," Eirien said flatly. "The Spiral tried to reclaim him. He refused."
Sylva crossed her arms. "Forgiveness isn't a mission parameter."
Kael's voice silenced them. "We watch. We judge actions, not pasts."
Actions like yours? Claire's glare asked. He had no answer.
The Unseen Roads
That night, Kael sat alone by the Heartfire. Ash swirled in the wind, carrying echoes of Raka's exile. Footsteps in the dark, a voice pleading, "Papa, come on!"
Far to the east, Kaelen fought in his name. Closer, Lorr dreamed in his prison of light.
Above them all, the wounded sky wept static, new stars gathering in the cracks.
Not stars.
Eyes.