CHAPTER 37: THE FRACTURED SQUAD

Kairen stared at the small, obedient wisp of starlight swirling in his palm. It pulsed in time with his own heartbeat, a tiny, cool, and controlled drop of the Cosmic Essence. The awe from his breakthrough in the previous Chapter still hummed in his chest, a feeling more potent and real than any victory in the Gauntlet.

At last, he really had started.

Sage Vanamali, who had watched from the edge of the waterfall platform, glided forward. A very rare, deep smile of approval touched his ancient features, crinkling the skin around his eyes.

"You have taken the first step," Vanamali said, his voice a low rumble beneath the roar of the waterfall. "You invited the Essence, and it answered. You have held a single drop." He nodded once. "It is a start."

Kairen let his concentration lapse, and the connection broke. The beautiful wisp of light dissolved, flowing harmlessly back into the invisible "web" of the world. He felt a pang of loss as it vanished.

"It’s. not much," Kairen said, his voice quiet, almost disappointed. The power he’d felt on the island had been an inferno that shattered reality. This was a candle flame.

"A drop is not a stream," Vanamali agreed, his smile fading as he turned serious. "And a stream is not the river. You have learned to ask for the power, and it has granted you a moment. You have not yet learned to hold it."

He motioned back to the platform, the thunder of the falling water a constant reminder of true, untamed force. "Your next task is far more difficult. You will not just summon a drop. You will draw forth a continuous thread of Essence. You must maintain it, stabilize it, and in time, learn to move with it. This," Vanamali said, his gaze sharpening, "is where your true training in control begins."

Kairen’s confidence of a moment before faltered, replaced by a familiar flicker of doubt. This felt like going from lifting a pebble to lifting a mountain. But he nodded, a determination settling into his jaw.

He centered himself, closing his eyes to sink deep into the "Inner Sanctum" of his mind as he had been taught. He found his anchor-the memory of his mother’s smile, Dain’s boisterous laugh, Lia’s quiet kindness, Ilya’s sharp, perceptive gaze. He built his fortress of stillness from those memories.

Safe behind his mental walls, he reached past the cold, intricate presence of the Seal and gently invited the Essence to flow.

It came. A thin, shimmering, blue-white thread, cool and beautiful, extended from his palm, connected to his core. He held it. One second. Two. Triumphant, he tried to draw more.

And the "Sorrow" echo struck.

"Help me.!"

The scream inside his mind was instant, violent, seemingly issuing right from the very thread itself. The vision of crimson eyes and a falling axe smashed into his mental fortress. His concentration shattered.

The thread of Essence in his hand didn’t just vanish-it snapped.

Kairen had cried out, a sharp gasp of pain that was more psychic than it was physical. A wave of agonizing, unnatural cold lashed back up his arm and struck his core. It felt like being plunged into a void. Collapsing, he fell to one knee, clutching his chest, his arm numb and tingling.

Vanamali was at his side in an instant, but his face did not show pity-merely understanding. "You see?" the Sage said, his tone firm. "To channel the Essence is to invite its echoes. The power and the sorrow are bound together. Your ’Inner Sanctum’ can withstand a passive assault, but it is not yet strong enough to anchor you while you are actively using the power."

He helped Kairen to his feet. "Your mental and physical training must now become one. You will not master the thread until your mind is strong enough to hold the fortress while the storm of the Essence flows through it. You must learn to do both, Kairen. Or the echo will consume you every time."

As Kairen wrestled with the echoes of the past, Azurefall Academy was wrestling with the harsh realities of the future.

The "Wartime Protocol" assembly from the day before had left the entire student body in a state of grim, anxious shock. The casual academy rivalries, the petty competitions, the focus on individual grades-all of it had evaporated, replaced by the dawning, collective fear of a real war.

Now, hundreds of students huddled around the main notice board in the Grand Hall, their voices a low, nervous buzz. The official, finalized squad rosters had been posted.

Dain Ragnor pushed his massive frame through the crowd, his heart pounding a heavy, nervous rhythm. He’d accepted the new reality, but this was the moment it got personal. He found the list for Vanguard-led squads and scanned down, his finger tracing the names.

His gaze fell upon SQUAD 7 (Designated: "Aegis").

Vanguard-Lead (Berserker): Dain Ragnor

A heavy, cold weight settled on his shoulders: lead. Vorlag was testing him already, trusting him to be the shield he’d vowed to become. He took another deep breath and read out the next name.

Arcane (Shadow): Ilya Veyne

"Gods, you’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath. Ilya was brilliant, a true prodigy, but her grief had forged her into something cold, sharp, and dangerously solitary. How was he supposed to lead someone who wouldn’t listen? He scanned down, his dread growing.

Arcane (Elementalist): Kaelan Brightblade

Dain’s jaws clenched hard enough that a muscle pulsed. Him. Of all the students in the academy, it had to be him. The one who had tormented Kairen. The one whose arrogant pride was, to Dain, at the root of the whole terrible disaster.

This wasn’t a squad. It was a cruel joke. It was a punishment.

He almost turned away in disgust, convinced he would decline the assignment, but the fourth name on the list caught his eye. His anger instantly evaporated, replaced by a wave of disbelief and profound, protective worry.

Support (Healer): Lia (Status: Medical Recovery - Inactive)

"Lia." he whispered. He hadn’t known her status. He hadn’t even known if. He had to find her. He had to know she was okay. He shoved his way back out of the crowd, his mission clear.

Lia took a shaky, tentative step out of the infirmary’s main doors and onto the campus beyond. The morning sunlight felt alien: painfully bright against her pale skin. A senior healer had just discharged her, signing off on her physical recovery. Her body was mended, the terrible wound on her chest now a puckered, silver-white scar, but her magical reserves were dangerously low, and her mind felt. fragile. Brittle.

The Academy felt wrong. It was loud, but the sounds were different. Students didn’t laugh; they rushed past in newly formed groups, faces grim, voices hushed and serious. The world she remembered was gone, the world of simple classes and nervously watching Kairen from afar, laughing with Dain, admiring Ilya. It was gray, sharp, and terrifying.

She made her way to the notice board, a small, frail figure in the anxious crowd, wondering where she could possibly fit in this new, harsh reality. She found her name under Squad 7.

Lia’s eyes stayed fixed on the names as her blood turned to ice. Dain, her protector. Ilya, her friend. And Kaelan. the boy whose arrogance had led them from the path, who had brought her the news of Kairen’s death.

And her: listed as their healer.

Her knees were trembling violently. They were forcing her back into a combat squad, back into the chaos, the explosions, the screaming, the sound of tearing flesh. Instinctively, her hand went to the faint, puckered scar on her chest and right over her heart. She couldn’t. She couldn’t go through that again. She just couldn’t.

Dain’s first action as squad leader was to check in with his team. He knew where Ilya was; the rumors of her backlash in the training chamber had spread like wildfire. She was confined to the high-magic recovery ward, unconscious and under Instructor Serena’s strict, private care.

That left Lia and Kaelan. He couldn’t face Kaelan yet. Not without seeing Lia first.

He found her standing alone in the middle of a connecting hallway, her small frame trembling, staring at the squad assignment notice in her hand as if it were a death sentence.

"Lia?" Dain’s voice came out softer than he meant, husky with emotion.

She looked up, her eyes wide with a familiar, haunted terror he’d last seen on the Isle of Whispers, just before the Hellhounds attacked. "Dain," she whispered, her voice cracking. "They’re. they’re putting me back out there. On a combat squad." Her gaze darted to the name on the list. "With him."

Dain’s heart broke. He stepped forward, his large form instinctively trying to shield her from the world. "It’s okay, Lia. I’m the squad lead. See?" He pointed to his own name. "It says you’re ’Inactive.’ Vorlag will put you on the reserve list, at least until you’re ready. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll protect you."

"How can I ever be ready?" she cried, the tears she’d held back in the infirmary finally spilling over. "How can I heal anyone when the sound of. of explosive magic makes me... I." She buried her face in her hands. "I just want Kairen back."

Dain pulled her into a hug, and she wept, his own grief a raw, open wound. He held her, his massive arms a protective wall, his eyes burning as he stared over her head at cold stone. "I know," he rumbled, his voice thick with helplessness. "I know. Me too."

"A-am I interrupting?

The voice was hesitant, quiet, and saturated with a profound, aching shame.

Dain spun, his whole body tightening, his defensive instincts flaring like a physical shield. Kaelan Brightblade stood ten feet down the hall, his own squad roster clutched in his hand. He wasn’t sneering. He wasn’t the arrogant prince. He just looked. broken.

Lia flinched, a small, terrified sound, hiding her face against Dain’s chest.

Kaelan looked from Lia’s quaking form to the furious, protective glare of Dain, and took an involuntary step backward, as though he’d been struck. He couldn’t meet their eyes.

"I. I was just assigned," he stammered, holding the paper up like a white flag. "To Squad 7. I. I came to find Lia. To. to see if she was."

"To see if she was what?" Dain growled, his voice low, a rumble, stepping partially in front of Lia. "Still alive? No thanks to you."

"Dain, don’t," Lia said in a whisper against his tunic, tugging at his arm.

"It’s true," Kaelan said, his voice hollow, desolate. He finally forced himself to look up, his golden eyes filled not with pride, but with a deep, abiding guilt. "It’s my fault. All of it."

He looked at Lia; his expression was anguished.

"Lia. I. I am so sorry. For what I did. For Kairen." Dain said nothing, his burning rage warring with the undeniable, pathetic misery radiating from his former rival.

The three of them stood there in the empty hallway, a fractured, broken parody of a squad: the shield consumed by a need to protect; the healer consumed by trauma; the prodigy consumed by guilt.

And in the infirmary, miles across campus, their fourth member, the shadow, was lying unconscious, consumed by her own desperate quest for power.

Dain looked at the miserable face of Kaelan, at Lia’s tears, and then thought of Ilya, alone and broken. "This isn’t a squad," he muttered, "it’s a disaster."