Ashen Guards training area

The training yard was empty when they arrived.

That should have been the first clue that something was different. Usually, at this hour, the yard was crowded with second-year hunters running drills or third-years showing off for the rookies. But today, the mats were rolled up, the dummies were pushed against the walls, and the only light came from the grey sky filtering through the high windows.

Alistair stood in the center, arms crossed, waiting.

Ashen Dawn filed in—Cora first, still stretching her arms from their morning run; Mason next, his gauntlets already strapped on; Sera behind him, phone in hand but eyes alert; Derek last, staff tapping nervously against the floor. Lucian brought up the rear, quiet as always, his eyes scanning the empty yard.

Alistair waited until they formed a loose semicircle around him. Then he spoke.

"In two months, the inter-academy tournament begins."

Cora’s eyebrows shot up. "The tournament? The one with all the hunter academies?"

"The same."

Derek’s staff stopped tapping. "That’s... that’s a big deal."

"It’s the biggest deal for rookies," Alistair said. "Every academy in Verland sends their best team. Ashford hasn’t won in five years. The Council expects that to change."

Mason cracked his neck. "And we’re the team?"

"You’re the team."

Silence.

Sera looked up from her phone. "No pressure."

Cora’s grin was wide enough to split her face. "This is amazing. This is huge. We’re going to crush them."

"We’re going to try not to die," Derek muttered.

"Same thing."

"Not the same thing."

Alistair raised a hand, and the chatter died. "The tournament is two months away. That gives us eight weeks to prepare. Eight weeks to turn you from a team that survived its first mission into a team that can stand against the best in the country."

He looked at each of them in turn.

"Silver Falcons will be there. Iron Vanguard. The Thornwick Academy runners-up. And a half-dozen others you’ve never heard of. They’ve been training for this for years. You’ve been training for months."

Cora’s grin didn’t falter. "So we train harder."

"So you train smarter." Alistair’s gaze settled on Mason. "Mason?"

Mason rolled his shoulders. "We train every day until then. No days off. No excuses."

Sera sighed. It was a long, theatrical sigh, the kind that said I’m going to complain about this but I’ll do it anyway. "There goes my social life."

"You have a social life?" Derek asked.

"I have a phone. That’s basically a social life."

"It’s really not."

"Shut up, Derek."

Alistair let them bicker for a moment, then turned to Lucian. The others fell quiet, following his gaze.

Lucian stood apart from the group, his arms loose at his sides, his face unreadable. He didn’t look excited. He didn’t look nervous. He looked like a man who had already run the calculations and found the answer waiting.

"Lucian," Alistair said. "A word."

They walked to the edge of the yard, near the window where the grey light fell in slanted lines. The others pretended not to watch.

Alistair kept his voice low.

"The tournament is a chance to prove yourself. To the other academies. To the Council. To your team." He paused. "Don’t hold back."

Lucian’s eyes flickered. "You told me to keep a low profile."

"That was before. Now, people are watching. The Council sent me a message—they want to know what you’re capable of." Alistair’s jaw tightened. "I burned it. But that doesn’t mean they’ll stop watching."

"So you want me to show them."

"I want you to show them enough. Enough to earn respect. Enough to keep them curious but not suspicious." Alistair met his gaze. "They need to see what you can do. Just not everything."

Lucian was quiet for a moment. Then: "And if they push for more?"

"Then we deal with that when it comes." Alistair’s voice was steady. "For now, focus on the tournament. Focus on your team. The rest can wait."

Lucian nodded. Slow. Deliberate. "Okay."

Alistair studied his face for a moment longer, then turned back to the group.

"Ashen Dawn. Two months. Every morning, six AM. Every evening, six PM. I expect you to be here before I am, and I expect you to leave after I do. This isn’t a request."

Cora pumped her fist. "Finally. Something worth training for."

Derek groaned. "My body is going to hate me."

"Your body already hates you," Sera said. "This is just revenge."

Mason cracked his knuckles. "Let’s start now."

"Tomorrow," Alistair said. "Get some rest. Eat something that isn’t cafeteria slop. And for the love of the Veil, Derek, get more than four hours of sleep."

Derek blinked. "How did you know I only got four hours?"

"Dr. Blackwood told me."

The ghost materialized beside Derek, his translucent face smug. "I am nothing if not informative."

"You’re a snitch."

"I prefer ’concerned consultant.’"

Derek groaned again.

Lucian watched them—Cora already running through combat scenarios in her head, Mason checking his gauntlets, Sera typing something on her phone, Derek arguing with a ghost. They were loud. Messy. Imperfect.

They were his team.

And for the first time, he thought maybe the tournament wasn’t just about proving himself. Maybe it was about proving them.

Alistair dismissed them with a wave.

As they filed out of the training yard, Cora fell into step beside Lucian.

"Two months," she said.

"Two months."

"We’re going to win."

"We’re going to try."

She bumped her shoulder against his. "Same thing."

He didn’t argue.

The grey light followed them out, and somewhere in the distance, the bells of Ashford’s clock tower struck noon.

Two months.

Eight weeks.

Fifty-six days.

The countdown had begun.

A/N

Thank you for reading this far, I’m trying my best to make this novel worth it and make sure you all enjoy your read, so please a little power stone, golden tickets, and gifts would help me in the long run.

Also purchase my premium to read ahead, your satisfaction is my top priority.