The return to the surface was a blur of exhaustion and damp stone. When the trio finally crawled out of a hidden drainage grate near the forest edge, they were met not with cheers, but with a wall of silver-clad Sun-Guards.
The "Combined Field Exercise" had been halted. Two teams had been injured by the sudden mana-vein ruptures, but Team 7 was the only one that had been listed as "Missing in Action."
"Status!" Master Alicia barked, stepping through the line of guards. Her eyes swept over Andre's cracked goggles, Lyra's soot-stained face, and finally, Matthew.
Matthew stood at the back, his hood pulled low. The purple glow in his eyes had receded to a faint, bruised violet ring around his pupils, but he felt different. He felt heavier, as if he were carrying the weight of the Blight-Walker he had just erased from existence.
"We fell," Lyra said, her voice steady and commanding. She stepped forward, effectively shielding Matthew from the Inquisitors' prying eyes. "We encountered a Grade-C corruption. We neutralized it and navigated the sub-strata back to the perimeter."
"A Grade-C?" Alicia's brow furrowed. "That should have been impossible for three first-years. Who delivered the killing blow?"
The silence stretched for a heartbeat. Andre looked at Matthew, then at the dirt.
"I did," Lyra lied. She didn't blink. "I used a high-output Ignis flare at close range. The creature's core was unstable due to the rupture; it collapsed easily."
Alicia stared at Lyra for a long moment. She knew Lyra was capable, but she also knew the atmospheric dampening of the caverns should have made a high-output flare suicidal. Yet, looking at the noble girl's unyielding expression, she simply nodded.
"Report to the infirmary. All of you."
Later that evening, after the healers had cleared them, Matthew found Lyra standing on the balcony of the Obsidian Spire's middle tier. She was looking out toward the distant mountains, the wind whipping her crimson hair across her face.
"Why did you lie?" Matthew asked, stepping into the moonlight.
Lyra didn't turn around. "Because if I told them the truth—that an F-Class Zero ate a Blight-Walker for breakfast—they wouldn't give you a medal, Matthew. They would give you an autopsy. The Academy isn't ready for what you're becoming. And neither are you."
Matthew walked up beside her. For the first time, he didn't feel the need to keep his distance. The "Null" in him and the "Flame" in her seemed to have reached a silent truce after the fight in the dark.
"You saved my life down there," she said, her voice softening. "Most people see my fire and think I'm invincible. You saw me being pushed back and you jumped in. No one has ever done that for an Ignis."
"I didn't do it because you're an Ignis," Matthew said simply. "I did it because we're a team."
Lyra finally looked at him. A small, genuine smile touched her lips—a rare sight that transformed her intense face into something almost gentle. "A team. The prodigy, the genius, and the void. It's a ridiculous combination."
She reached out and briefly squeezed his forearm. Her skin was warm, but it no longer felt like it was trying to burn him. "Go see your sister, Matthew. You smell like rot and damp earth. You need to remember what you're fighting for before the hunger takes over your head."
The Convent of the Silver Lily was located on the quietest edge of the Citadel, a place of white stone and flowing water where the orphans of the war were kept safe.
Matthew felt out of place as he walked through the gates in his tattered Academy uniform. He looked like a soldier returned from a front line that didn't officially exist.
"Matthew!"
A small, familiar blur of blue fabric slammed into his waist. Emily, his seven-year-old sister, clung to him with a strength that made his bruised ribs ache. She smelled of soap and sunshine—a world away from the copper taste of the caverns.
"You're back! The Sisters said you were learning to be a Great Knight like Papa," she said, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
Matthew knelt, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his tired eyes. He brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "I'm trying, Em. I'm learning a lot."
"Are you eating enough? You look skinny," she fretted, mimicking their mother's tone so perfectly it made Matthew's heart twist.
"I'm eating fine," he lied gently.
He sat with her in the garden for an hour, listening to her talk about her lessons and the new friends she had made. For that one hour, the violet spark in his chest was quiet. He wasn't a weapon; he wasn't a "variable" in the Dean's game. He was just a brother.
But as he stood to leave, Emily grabbed his hand. Her small brow furrowed.
"Matthew... your hand is cold," she whispered. "Like ice."
Matthew gently pulled his hand away, tucking it into his sleeve. The Null Core was starting to affect his very physiology, draining the heat from his extremities.
"It's just the evening air, Em," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'll be back soon. I promise."
As he walked back toward the looming spires of the Academy, the warmth of the visit began to fade, replaced by the familiar, cold resolve. He had 37 more chapters of this "peace" before the true war began, and he knew he had to get stronger. Not for the Dean, and not for the Academy.
For the little girl who still thought their father was a hero.