Chapter 8: The Equation of Power
The sun bled gold over the academy walls, casting long shadows across the silent courtyard. While most students trained in the coliseum under the watchful eyes of instructors, Team 17 moved through a forgotten stretch of the northern training field—a cracked stone lot fenced in by ivy and ruin.
No instructors. No crowds.
Just four students no one expected anything from.
Cael Valeon stood at the center, breath steady, mana pulsing faintly beneath his skin. Logic flickered behind his eyes, not emotionless, but honed. He scanned the others:
Tobin Crake—broad-shouldered, arms crossed, shifting like he wasn't sure if he belonged. Earth affinity. Strong. Cautious.
Jorvan Lyle—thin, nervous, clutching a scroll like it might protect him. Mind magic. Quick, but scattered.
Nia Ferrel—red hair tucked behind her ear, mana bleeding off her like mist from a cracked crystal. Illusions. Fragile, but sharper than she knew.
"Again," Cael said.
Jorvan winced. "We're not exactly combat mages, Valeon. What are we doing out here?"
Tobin raised a rock with a grunt. "Is this... sparring?"
"No," Cael replied, stepping aside. "It's a simulation."
He flicked two fingers. A sharp current of telekinetic force curved Tobin's raised rock, flipping it mid-air. Nia flinched as the boulder halted, suspended in shimmering lines of invisible force—before disintegrating into dust.
Jorvan nearly dropped his scroll.
"You just... rewrote the spell arc mid-flight?" he whispered.
Cael didn't answer. He was already adjusting the variables.
He wasn't strong. He wasn't flashy. But the world ran on systems—and systems could be solved.
***
Elsewhere, the academy pulsed with noise.
"The Ascension Trial's madness this year," someone muttered over breakfast. "Solo eliminations first, then team dungeons. And it's being broadcast empire-wide."
"Northland Dominion's elite trio is coming."
"Cyrus Emberlain is back too. Space affinity. They say he can fold a battlefield in under three seconds."
Between the names, the stats, and the rumors, one name never came up.
Team 17.
***
Back in the ruined lot, Cael studied old glyphs etched into the courtyard wall. His eyes tracked angles, heat differentials, subtle mana decay. Everything around them was data.
"Nia," he said, turning. "Use your illusion. Not to hide. To mislead."
She hesitated, then blurred. Her image split in two, then three. Tobin raised an arm in reflex. Jorvan stumbled back.
"Jorvan, support with pressure scrolls," Cael added. "Amplify our presence. Make us look stronger."
"That's... technically bluffing."
"It's not bluffing if they act on it."
Tobin exhaled. "Why us, Cael? You could've joined a top-tier team."
Cael gave a faint smile. "Because no one watches the forgotten."
He turned to face them fully.
"Now hit me. All of you. Try."
***
Far above, in the shadowed western tower, a boy with crimson eyes stared down through glass.
A voice behind him murmured, "The elves will leave their rune unguarded during the Trial. Take it. Let them burn."
The boy smiled lazily. "And the interference?"
"Kill anyone who asks questions."
***
Back on the field, Team 17 moved.
Tobin stomped—stone surged.
Nia fractured the air—mirrors everywhere.
Jorvan activated his scroll—a concussive blast roared out.
Cael didn't move.
The boulder curved, redirected. Illusions split—then collapsed. Scroll magic inverted.
Dust settled.
Cael remained standing.
Tobin blinked. "That's not magic. That's cheating."
"No," Cael said quietly. "It's math."
***
The world never said their names.
But beneath the noise, while nobles dueled and elites basked in borrowed glory, something else was taking shape.
A new kind of warfare.
And when the Ascension Trial began, they wouldn't see it coming.
***
A breeze stirred ivy across the broken stone.
Cael stood still, breathing in rhythms no one else noticed. His fingers traced invisible calculations in the air.
Behind him, Jorvan groaned, rubbing his arms. "You know we're going to get destroyed, right?"
Tobin shrugged. "Not if he keeps doing that."
Nia stayed quiet. But her projection flickered—three versions of herself, offset by milliseconds. The air shimmered.
Cael turned. "You're over-layering your illusion. The core thread can't sustain it."
She blinked. "How do you even know that?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he knelt beside a cracked wall segment. Fingers brushed against ancient spell-marks—older than the academy. Glyphs, faded almost to nothing, pulsed faintly under his touch.
Residual mana.
Not just a forgotten field.
A hidden one.
Cael rose. "We train here. Every day."
Tobin raised a brow. "In this wreck?"
"This wreck is shielded," Cael said. "Low interference. No surveillance. Perfect conditions."
"For what?" Jorvan asked.
Cael looked to the western sky. The sun dipped behind the towers.
"For strategies," he said. "Equations."
Then, quietly, as if answering a question only he heard:
"For answers."
***
Let the empire watch their stars.
Let them count prodigies and preen over rankings.
Team 17 didn't need to shine.
They just needed to survive round one.
After that?
The stars would be counting them.
Cael remained behind as the others gathered their gear. The wind had grown colder, strange for this hour.
He knelt again beside the wall, fingers hovering just above the glyphs. The pulse was still there. Not mana exactly. Not magic in the traditional sense.
Information.
Something was logging their movements. Their formations.
He stood slowly, gaze scanning the edges of the courtyard.
And then,
A flicker. Just beyond the ivy. A shimmer, like heat distortion, vanishing before his eyes could confirm it.
Not illusion. Not miscast mana.
Surveillance.
"We're not the only ones watching the map anymore," he murmured.
Behind him, the air settled.
But the unease did not.
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