The training yard stretched before them like an open wound cut into the academy's stone.
Kai stood at the edge with the rest of the Support Track students, his boots planted on packed dirt that had been churned by thousands of feet before his. The morning sun hadn't reached this part of the yard yet—shadows still clung to the walls, cold and patient, waiting for light that wouldn't warm them.
His ribs ached.
Not badly. Just enough to remind him that the carving practice had cost something. Hours of hunched concentration, fingers cramped around tools, pressure applied and released and applied again. His hand still trembled slightly when he held it still.
He pressed his palm against his side through his uniform. Felt the dull throb beneath.
Still healing, he thought. Still not fast enough.
The hum behind his ribs stirred, faint and questioning.
I'm fine, he told it. Be quiet.
The hum settled, but the presence didn't retreat entirely. It lingered, watchful, like it was learning what "fine" meant to him.
Milo stood beside him, bouncing on his heels with nervous energy. His eyes darted across the yard—taking in the Combat students on one side, the General students on the other, the instructors standing at the center like generals surveying troops.
"This is Combat Foundations," Milo whispered. "Why do we have to do Combat Foundations?"
"Because the academy doesn't want us to die," Kai said quietly.
Milo swallowed. "That's... not comforting."
"It's accurate."
A whistle cut through the morning air—sharp, brutal, the kind of sound that didn't ask for attention but took it.
"Support Track!" a voice bellowed from the center of the yard. "Form up! Now, not later!"
Students scrambled. Kai moved with them, slotting into a line beside Milo. Around them, Combat students stretched and cracked their knuckles, grinning at the Support students like wolves eyeing sheep. General students stood apart, watching everything with neutral expressions.
At the front of the yard, a woman stood with her arms crossed and her weight balanced like she expected someone to attack her at any moment. She was built differently than Holt—broader shoulders, thicker arms, a face that looked like it had been carved from the same stone as the wall.
Her voice carried without effort.
"I am Instructor Veyra Stone. I teach Combat Foundations to every track—Combat, Support, General. I don't care which one you came in wearing. In this yard, you're all the same."
She paused, letting her eyes sweep across the lines of students.
"Soft."
A few Combat students near the back smirked. Stone's gaze found them instantly.
"You think I'm joking?" she asked. "You've been here weeks. You've done drills. You've held rhythms. You've measured resin and threaded Aether through rings. That's practice. This is foundation. And your foundation is soft."
The smirks faded.
Stone pointed at the dirt between her and the first row.
"Sit."
They sat. Kai lowered himself carefully, feeling his ribs complain, keeping his face blank.
Stone began to walk along the line, slow and deliberate.
"Combat Foundations is not about fighting. It's about not dying while you fight. There's a difference, and most of you will learn it the hard way."
She stopped in front of a General Track student—thin, pale, already sweating.
"What's the first rule of not dying?"
The student's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
Stone waited.
"Don't... get hit?" the student tried.
Stone stared at him for a long beat. Then she moved on.
"Wrong. The first rule is know what can hit you. If you don't see it coming, you can't dodge it. If you don't sense it, you can't block it. If you don't understand it, you can't survive it."
Kai's attention sharpened.
Know what can hit you.
That was exactly what the Signal Gnat did. What the ping-map showed him—points in space, threats before they arrived, danger measured in pulses and distances.
He kept his face still.
Stone continued walking.
"The second rule is move before you think. Your mind is slow. Your body, trained properly, is faster. If you wait to decide what to do, you're already dead."
She stopped near the Combat side.
"The third rule is pain is information. It tells you where you're weak. It tells you what you did wrong. It tells you you're still alive to feel it."
A Combat student—Rafe Calder, Kai noted—shifted like he wanted to say something. Stone's eyes landed on him.
"Problem?"
Rafe's jaw tightened. "No, Instructor."
"Good. Because the fourth rule is pride gets you killed. The yard doesn't care about your family name. The wall doesn't care about your track. And whatever you think you're worth, the Aetherkin will find a price you can't pay."
She turned and walked back to the center.
"Today, you learn the first rule. You learn to see."
Stone gestured, and a team of older students—purple lining on their cuffs, moving with the kind of ease that came from doing this a hundred times—carried out racks of wooden spheres. Each sphere was about fist-sized, painted in dull colors that would blend into the yard's shadows.
"These are training orbs," Stone said. "They're filled with marked sand. When they hit you, they leave a stain. When they hit you enough times, you fail this block."
She picked one up, tossed it lightly, caught it.
"Your job is simple. Stand in the circle. Don't get hit. The orbs come from everywhere—front, sides, above, blind spots. You'll learn to track them, to feel them, to know where they are without looking."
A Support student raised a hand. "Instructor, how are we supposed to—"
"You use your senses," Stone cut in. "All of them. Sight. Sound. Air movement. The weight of someone's gaze. Aether resonance if you have it. You learn to read the space around you like a map."
Kai's chest tightened.
Like a map.
That was exactly what the Signal Gnat gave him. Exactly what he'd been afraid to use in public.
Stone pointed to the first circle marked in the dirt. "Support Track. First group. Now."
Kai rose with the others. His ribs complained. He ignored them.
The circle was wide enough for ten students, spaced so they couldn't touch each other. Kai found a spot near the edge, where he could see more of the yard.
The older students with the purple linings took positions around the circle, each holding a rack of orbs.
Stone raised her hand.
"Remember. See before you move. Feel before you react. Pain is information."
Her hand dropped.
The first orb flew.
Kai saw it coming—not with the ping-map, not with the gnat's layered awareness, but with his own eyes. A dark blur from the left. He shifted his weight, let it pass.
Behind him, someone yelped. A stain bloomed on a girl's shoulder.
More orbs came. Faster now. From different angles. Kai tracked them with his eyes, with his ears, with the subtle shifts of air that told him where the next one would come from.
He dodged. Weaved. Stepped.
His ribs burned. His breath came harder than it should.
But he wasn't getting hit.
See before you move, he thought, and something in the rhythm of it matched the metronome from Holt's drills. The same patience. The same waiting.
Another orb. He leaned back, felt it graze his sleeve but not strike.
Then—a flicker at the edge of his awareness.
Not sight. Not sound.
Something else.
He turned without thinking, and an orb that would have hit his spine passed inches from his chest.
Kai's heart slammed.
What was that?
He hadn't used the ping-map. He hadn't summoned the gnat. But something had told him—a whisper of pressure, a ghost of direction.
The hum behind his ribs pulsed once, satisfied.
You, Kai thought. That was you.
The drill ended. Students staggered out of the circle, some stained, some clean. Kai was clean.
Stone's eyes found him as he walked past.
"Entoma," she said.
He stopped. "Yes, Instructor."
She studied him for a moment—not hostile, just assessing.
"You saw the last one before it came."
It wasn't a question.
Kai kept his face still. "Yes, Instructor."
Stone nodded once. "Good. Keep doing that."
She moved on to the next group.
Kai walked back to the line, his pulse still too fast, his mind still racing.
She noticed.
She didn't ask how.
But she'd noticed. And in an academy full of observers, noticing was enough.
The drill continued for the rest of the Support group. One by one, they entered the circle. One by one, they got hit. Some lasted longer than others. None lasted as long as Kai.
When the last Support student stumbled out, stained and defeated, Stone called the Combat group forward.
Kai watched them from the sidelines. They were faster, stronger, more aggressive. They dodged with ease, weaved through the orbs like they'd been doing this their whole lives. Rafe Calder lasted the entire drill without a single hit.
But Kai noticed something.
They're using their bodies. Their instincts. Their training. But they don't have anything to help them see. They're relying on eyes and ears alone.
He thought about his ping-map. About the gnat's ability. About the way it had shown him threats before they arrived.
If I could give them that... if I could build something that shared what I see...
The Pingband. It was supposed to be for his family. But maybe—maybe it could be for more.
After the drill, students milled about, comparing stains and bruises. Milo found Kai, his uniform marked in three places.
"I got hit," Milo said miserably. "A lot."
Kai nodded. "I saw."
"You didn't get hit at all. How?"
Kai shrugged. "Luck."
Milo gave him a look. "That's not luck."
Kai didn't answer.
Across the yard, Rafe Calder was surrounded by other Combat students, laughing about something. His eyes flicked toward Kai—just for a moment—and then away.
Kai filed that away.
He's watching me now. Good. Let him watch.
Stone's voice cut through the noise. "Dismissed. Same time tomorrow. Support Track—bring something useful next time, or don't bother coming."
Kai understood.
Without items, we're useless. With items, we're valuable.
He walked back toward the Support wing, mind already turning.
I need to build something. Not just for me. For all of us.
The Pingband was a start. But it wouldn't be enough.
He needed more.