Cael and Evan left the mission hall, stepping into the late afternoon sunlight that painted the academy courtyard in amber hues. Students hurried between buildings, their chatter creating a low hum of activity.
"Gate Seven's on the eastern perimeter," Evan said, adjusting the strap of his weapon case. "Takes about fifteen minutes to reach from the Ranker Tower."
Cael nodded, his mind already shifting into mission mode. A B-rank dungeon meant C to B-rank monsters, environmental hazards, and potential surprises the initial survey team missed. Undead dungeons carried additional complications—necromantic energy interfered with standard detection abilities, and higher-tier undead possessed tactical intelligence that caught unprepared teams off-guard.
His spatial sense pulsed outward, mapping the surrounding area in expanding rings. Students moved through his awareness like bright points of energy, each one carrying their own distinct mana signature.
Evan glanced at him. "You nervous?"
"Should I be?"
"Nah." Evan's grin returned. "Just making conversation. You seem like the type who overthinks things."
Cael almost laughed. If Evan only knew how much overthinking actually went into every decision.
"I'm good."
"Right. Meet you at Gate Seven in twenty-five."
Evan split off toward the dorms whilst Cael turned in the opposite direction, making his way toward the training facilities. Twenty-five minutes gave him enough time for a quick session.
The facility entrance loomed ahead, its reinforced doors humming with protective enchantments. Cael stepped inside, the familiar scent of ozone and sweat hitting him immediately. A handful of students occupied various chambers, their mana signatures flaring as they practiced.
He claimed an empty room, sealing the door behind him.
His spatial sense expanded, filling the chamber. The bare walls offered no distractions—perfect for testing coordination between his copied abilities and spatial manipulation.
Cael activated Enhanced Speed, feeling the gift settle into his muscles. His body responded instantly, movements becoming fluid and precise. He dashed forward, then triggered Void Step mid-stride.
The transition jarred him. His momentum carried awkwardly through the spatial tear, forcing him to stumble on exit.
"Too much overlap," he muttered.
He tried again, this time using Enhanced Speed to position himself before activating Void Step. The teleport executed cleanly, depositing him exactly where intended.
Better.
Cael raised his hand, pulling earth from the reinforced floor with Terra Form whilst maintaining his distortion field.
The earth responded sluggishly, fighting against the chamber's reinforcements, but a jagged pillar eventually erupted upward. His distortion field flickered, struggling to maintain cohesion whilst directing mana to the copied gift.
Cael released both abilities, breathing steady. The coordination wasn't seamless yet, but improvement showed.
He checked his smartwatch. Eighteen minutes remained.
"Alright, let's up it a bit."
His voice echoed in the empty chamber. Cael walked to the control panel embedded in the wall, fingers hovering over the holographic interface.
"Training room AI, activate multiple dummies. Five targets."
The mechanical voice responded instantly. "Acknowledged. Specify difficulty parameters."
"Level five. C-rank equivalents for strength and speed."
"Warning: recommended party size for level five difficulty is three combatants. Proceed?"
Cael's lips curved. "Proceed."
The chamber hummed, mana concentrations spiking as five humanoid constructs materialized in strategic positions. Their forms solidified—sleek metallic bodies designed to mimic human combat patterns, each one radiating power that made the air vibrate.
One lunged immediately.
Cael's spatial sense caught the movement before it happened, tracking the displacement the dummy's advance created. He sidestepped, activating Enhanced Speed to blur sideways as a second construct attacked from his blind spot.
The fist whistled past his ear.
Too close.
A third dummy came from above, dropping like a hammer. Cael compressed space around himself, creating a distortion pocket that deflected the strike. The construct's hand glanced off the invisible barrier, momentum carrying it past him.
Four and five moved in tandem, coordinating their assault with mechanical precision.
Cael triggered Void Step, teleporting behind the airborne dummy. His fist shot forward, wrapped in raw crimson energy from his Eye of Power. The impact sent the construct skidding across the floor, its chest plate cracking.
One down.
The remaining four adjusted instantly, spreading to prevent another teleport ambush. Their tactical response impressed him—level five training dummies possessed genuine combat intelligence.
The nearest construct rushed forward, impossibly fast. Cael raised his hand, pulling earth from the reinforced floor. A defensive wall erupted between them, buying him a fraction of a second.
Not enough.
The dummy smashed through, fist already mid-swing.
Cael ducked, feeling displaced air ruffle his hair. He twisted, spatial manipulation guiding his counter. His palm strike connected with the construct's torso, space warping on impact to amplify the force.
The dummy flew backward, crashing into its companion.
Two constructs remained standing. They circled him, patient now, probing for weaknesses.
Cael's spatial sense tracked their positioning, reading the minute shifts in their stance. His Enhanced Speed kept his reactions sharp, but fatigue crept into his muscles. The rapid ability cycling drained him faster than expected.
Both dummies attacked simultaneously.
Cael expanded his distortion field, creating overlapping layers of warped space. The first construct's punch slowed as it entered the field, momentum bleeding away. He sidestepped the sluggish strike and grabbed its arm, using Terra Form to anchor his feet.
The ground beneath him solidified into stone, providing leverage.
Cael twisted hard, spatial manipulation enhancing his torque. The construct spun through the air, colliding with its partner. Metal shrieked on metal.
He didn't hesitate. His fist blazed crimson as the Eye of Power flared. The impact caved in both dummies' chests simultaneously, sending them crashing against the far wall.
Silence settled over the chamber.
"Training session complete," the AI announced. "Time elapsed: four minutes, seventeen seconds."
Cael exhaled slowly, dismissing his abilities. His smartwatch read seven minutes until rendezvous.
Time to go.
* * *
The commander's office door shut with a heavy thud behind them. Marcus Dray's jaw clenched as they walked down the polished corridor of the Heroic Corps headquarters, his boots hitting marble with sharp, irritated strikes.
"Another mission," he growled. "The tournament's in two weeks and they're sending us to clear a damn A-rank rift."
Lucas Blackthorne walked beside him, hands tucked casually in his pockets. His deep blue hair caught the light streaming through the tall windows, expression calm despite Marcus's simmering frustration.
"It's just one more," Lucas said evenly. "We handle it, then we're back at the academy."
"Just one more." Marcus's voice dripped with sarcasm. "That's what they said last time. And the time before that."
They passed several Corps members who immediately straightened, offering sharp salutes. Lucas nodded acknowledgment whilst Marcus ignored them entirely, his yellow eyes fixed straight ahead.
"Being heirs comes with expectations," Lucas continued. "The commander wouldn't ask if it wasn't—"
"I don't care about expectations." Marcus cut him off.
Lucas's lips curved slightly, that familiar knowing smile that always preceded something Marcus wouldn't like.
"I know you're looking forward to seeing Selene again, right?"
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks.
"What?"
"Selene Halix." Lucas turned to face him, grin widening. "You've been unusually focused on returning to the academy. Can't imagine why."
Heat crawled up Marcus's neck, though whether from anger or embarrassment remained unclear.
"You've lost your mind."
"Have I?" Lucas tilted his head, grey eyes glinting with amusement. "Because I distinctly remember you asking about her class schedule before we left. And checking if she'd registered for any ranking duels."
"That's—" Marcus's fists clenched. "That's tactical awareness. Knowing who's moving in the rankings."
"Right. Tactical awareness." Lucas started walking again, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "My mistake."
Marcus caught up in two long strides, glaring at his best friend's profile.
"Shut up, Blackthorne."
"Just saying, if we handle this mission efficiently, you'll have plenty of time to strategically observe her tactical positioning."
"I'm going to kill you."
Lucas's laughter echoed down the corridor as they headed toward the transport bay, Marcus's scowl deepening with every step.
Marcus's scowl lingered as they descended the stairs toward the transport level, but his pace slowed slightly. The teasing edge faded from the air between them.
"Anyways, don't you think these rifts are popping up more and more?" Marcus's tone shifted, sharper now. More serious. "Has your dad said anything about it?"
Lucas's expression sobered. His hands dropped from his pockets as they reached the landing, grey eyes distant.
"He has."
The admission hung heavy between them. Marcus waited, knowing Lucas wouldn't elaborate unless he chose to.
"Three months ago, we averaged four B-rank rifts per week across the kingdom." Lucas kept his voice low despite the empty corridor. "Last week alone? Seventeen. And that's not counting C-rank or lower."
"Seventeen." Marcus exhaled slowly. "That's not random fluctuation."
"No. It's not." Lucas paused at a window overlooking the city. Valefort stretched before them, towers and spires glittering in afternoon light. "The Corps has been pulling double shifts. Triple in some districts. They're stretched thin."
Marcus moved beside him, following his gaze.
"Which is why they keep dragging us out."
"We're A-rank Awakeners." Lucas's reflection showed no pride, only steady acknowledgment. "Father said the number of active A-ranks hasn't increased in six years. But rift frequency has tripled."
The math wasn't encouraging.
"So what's causing it?" Marcus crossed his arms. "Rifts don't just multiply because they feel like it."
"Father didn't say. Or couldn't." Lucas turned from the window. "But he's been in more emergency council meetings in the past month than in the entire year before."
They resumed walking, boots echoing in tandem now.
"Think it's connected to the northern territories?" Marcus asked. "Those reports about spatial distortions near the border?"
"Maybe." Lucas's jaw tightened. "Or it could be something deeper. Something systemic."
Marcus snorted despite the grim topic.
"Perfect. Mystery apocalypse scenario right before tournament season."
"Your priorities remain consistent."
"Someone has to care about the rankings." Marcus's grin returned, though tension still lined his shoulders. "Can't let the position go soft just because reality's falling apart."
Lucas shook his head, but warmth touched his expression again.
"Fair enough."
They reached the transport bay doors. Beyond waited another mission, another rift, another piece of a pattern neither fully understood yet.
Marcus's expression shifted, jaw tightening in a way Lucas recognized immediately. The cocky edge vanished, replaced by something harder.
"My old man's been breathing down my neck more than usual." Marcus stared at the transport bay doors, yellow eyes distant. "Every mission report gets dissected. Every technique analyzed. He wants perfection."
Lucas waited, knowing there was more.
"The guild's expanding operations into the eastern territories." Marcus's voice flattened. "Dad expects me to take command of the new branch after graduation. Wants House Dray's influence spreading faster."
"And you?"
"I want to prove I'm stronger than him first." The admission came out sharp, edged with frustration. "Can't build an empire if everyone thinks I'm riding his coattails."
Lucas nodded slowly. He understood that particular burden—the weight of legacy wrapped around expectations neither of them asked for.
"Your strength's your own, Marcus."
"Easy for you to say. You're already prophesied to be the next Number One." Marcus's grin returned, though bitter. "Meanwhile, I'm just the hothead trying to match his father's shadow."
"You will.""Damn right I will." Marcus's voice carried absolute conviction despite the frustration bleeding through.
Lucas clapped a hand on his shoulder, grip firm.
"Then let's finish this mission and get back. The rankings won't sort themselves."
Marcus's trademark grin returned, sharper now.
"Finally speaking my language."
They pushed through the transport bay doors, stepping into controlled chaos. Corps members rushed between terminals, coordinating deployments across multiple districts. The spatial gate hummed at the far end, energy crackling across its surface.
A transport officer approached with datapads, mission parameters already loaded.
"Blackthorne. Dray. Your rift coordinates are locked. Estimated threat level: A-rank, primary entity classification unknown. Spatial readings suggest—"
"We'll handle it." Marcus snatched his datapad without reading. "How long until gate activation?"
"Five minutes."
"Good."
They moved toward the preparation area, checking equipment with practiced efficiency. Lucas adjusted the tactical jacket over his chest, fingers brushing the Blackthorne sigil. Marcus rolled his shoulders, fire already flickering at his fingertips.
Lucas strapped his sword across his back, fingers lingering on the hilt as Marcus ignited small flames around his knuckles—habit more than preparation.
The spatial gate flared brighter, coordinates locked and stable.
"Ready?" Marcus's grin widened, anticipation bleeding through every word.
"Always."
They moved toward the gate together, but Lucas paused at the threshold, grey eyes distant for a breath.
"Wonder what's happening at the academy right now."
***
to be continued