CHAPTER 37: BUILD, REPLAY, BREATHE

Morning came wet and gray. I liked it that way. Quiet days let you do clean work.

I started with the list. Bursar first. The last line on the repayment slip took six coins and a signature. The clerk counted. I left with the receipt pinned to Ariadne’s folder. Ethics office next. I signed for the first ten hours, took two assignments—filing field notes and restocking bandage drawers—and picked a time block that didn’t touch drills. No grand promises. Just hours, done when they said.

Ariadne met me outside the ledger room. She didn’t ask if I had paid. She looked at the receipt, looked at me, and nodded. "Mentorship candidates," she said, and handed me two names with dorm numbers. "They asked for structure. They didn’t ask for a speech."

"I’ll give them the first," I said.

"Good," she said, and moved on to a warden already waiting with a question about permits.

Liora’s audit came before noon. Small room. Window high. Table clear. "Summons out," she said.

I let Marrow step from Shade and took Hollow from the window bar. She moved around them without fuss. Checked bindings, touched knots, watched their response when I said here, stay, shade, out. Her bands clicked once when I rotated commands with a half-beat between.

"Bone Lantern?" she asked.

I set it on the table. Cold light made the grain on the wood stand out. "No heat. No spark," I said.

"Approved," she said. "Use it where wards are sensitive. No flashing in people’s faces."

"Yes, Saintess."

"New chassis?" she asked.

"Thinking about a boar base," I said. "Heavy. Low center. Useful for cover."

"You can try," she said. "If you keep your commands clean and your thread doesn’t fuzz, I mark it lawful. If you clip ankles or show off, I cut it."

"Understood."

She looked at me for a beat. "Keep your edges dull when you don’t need them. That includes your mouth."

"I’m working on both," I said.

"Good," she said, and stamped the page.

The yard opened after lunch. Cael waited by the east wall. He had a fresh wrap at one wrist. He saw me looking and shook his head. "Floor drills," he said. "Not a story."

We ran a simple ladder. One minute light. One minute medium. One minute hard. No tricks. He kept time. I kept breath honest and pulses short. On the third round he drove a straight line. I shifted and let it miss.

He won. He should. But when he set his guard at the end, he wasn’t bored. "You’re spending less," he said. "That’s good math."

"I don’t have to be exciting," I said. "I have to be there on the last bell."

"You will be," he said. "Keep this pace and you’ll be knocking at the next rung for control. Power comes slower. Don’t chase it."

"I won’t."

He tapped my shoulder. "You’re closing," he said again. Then he left for his own drills.

Lyra came by the far gate to check Refuge bins. She had a list and a small hammer. I helped lift a crate and stood back while she stacked the rolls by size and mark.

"I had a question," I said when she finished. "Your chord wall—the one you built in the square. Would you show me the setup, not the song?"

She looked at me over the rim of the crate, wary on reflex. Then she nodded. "You don’t hum this without a ward band," she said. "But the geometry is simple. Four points. Low line. Keep it tight."

We marked four chalk dots in the dirt. She set her palm at each dot, then drew a shallow line between them. "When I hum, the wardline fills the frame," she said. "If you pulse, you pulse into the posts, not the lines."

"Into the posts," I said. "Not the lines."

She watched me repeat the motion without humming. "That’s fine," she said. "Don’t turn it into a trick with a name."

"I won’t," I said.

I took an hour at the west shed and built the new chassis. Boar bones from stores. I cleaned joints, set ribs, and fit the plate across the shoulder where it would take the most push. I tied the ligatures tight and neat. When I drew the mark, I kept the stroke steady and used only one breath. "Here," I said.

The boar rose. Heavy, quiet, patient. It stood like a door with good hinges. I walked it ten paces, turned it, and stopped it. No wobble. I let it stand and watched the thread in my chest. No fuzz. Good.

Pelham drifted in and watched from the door, not stepping on the lines. "You built that fast," he said.

"I built it careful," I said.

He nodded. He didn’t ask to ride it or to name it. That counted.

The announcement came near evening. Pierce stood on the balcony and read. "Evaluation Two: Outpost Convoy. Teams will escort three wagons along the windbreak pines trail to South Watch. No night run. Crosswinds and sound lures simulated. Light use penalized. Unsafe discharges fail your team. Civilians are dummies, rules are real. Captains will be posted at dawn."

I made a list.

Lantern for dark patches, used low. Bird for wind shifts, used short. Boar for cover and pushes. Marrow for set and brace. Simple commands. Rotation with a half-beat. Hands steady.

I found Ariadne after supper and showed her the signed receipts and the ethics schedule. She checked the numbers and the dates. "Good," she said. "You will mentor on even days. I told the two who asked. They expect tasks, not speeches."

"I’ll have tasks," I said. "Footing first. Writing second."

Her mouth almost softened. "Footing first," she said. "That will save them before any theory does."

She left before the moment could get heavy.

Night came wet. I walked the northern wall and cooled down.

Back in the room, I checked gear: rope, cloth, hooks, bone shims, kit. I sharpened nothing. This would be a day for set, not cut.

I wrote a line on a scrap and tucked it in the folder: Be useful. Don’t admire it.

At dawn a runner knocked and handed me a strip with my name and a role: Captain. Team list: Gareth, Lyra, Pelham, Rooke. One rune-tech on loan. Meet at the wagons in twenty minutes.

I washed, buttoned my coat, and stood in the doorway. The air smelled like wet pine and new canvas. Good signs. The day would carry its own weight. My job was to help it land on the feet of people who needed to make it across.

I picked up the folder, slid it under my arm, and went to the yard. The wagons waited with wheels greased and dummies seated. Students clustered. Some wanted a stage. Some wanted a score. I wanted a straight line from gate to outpost with no one falling off a bridge.

"Captain," Gareth said, lifting a hand.

"Positions in one minute," I said. "We’ll make this simple and then keep it that way." Ready.