Three weeks later

The training yard had become their second home.

It had been three weeks since Alistair announced the tournament, and the grey morning light had become as familiar as the walls of their dorm rooms. Every day, six AM. Every evening, six PM. The mats were worn where they’d dragged their feet across them. The dummies were cracked from repeated impacts. The air smelled like sweat and determination.

Cora was in the corner, weaving between swinging pendulum weights that Alistair had hung from the ceiling. Each weight moved at a different speed, on a different arc, and she phased through them at the last possible moment—her body flickering between solid and ethereal, her short sword striking targets on the far wall with every pass.

"Mason!" she called out, not breaking stride. "Heat check!"

Mason stood twenty feet away, his gauntlets raised. He focused on the space between them, drawing heat from the air itself. Wisps of steam rose from the floor. A small flame flickered to life in his palm, then died. He frowned.

"Still flickering," he said.

"You’re thinking too much," Cora said, dodging a weight. "Just feel it."

"Feel it," he muttered. "Right."

Sera was at the far end of the yard, crouched over an old piece of cloth—a rag that had been soaked in blood three days ago and left to dry. Her eyes were closed, her fingers hovering over the fabric. Her blood sense stretched thin, searching for a trail that should have been dead.

She’d been at it for an hour.

"Nothing," she said, opening her eyes. "It’s too old."

"How old?" Alistair asked from the sidelines.

"Three days, maybe four. The blood is cold. The signature is fading."

"Then push harder."

Sera’s jaw tightened. She closed her eyes again.

Derek stood apart from the others, his staff in his hands, his face pale. Two ghosts hovered in front of him—one was Dr. Blackwood, his translucent form patient and waiting. The other was a young woman they’d encountered in Greyhollow, a lingering spirit who had agreed to help Derek train.

"Both at once," Dr. Blackwood said. "You’ve done it before."

"For three seconds," Derek said. "And then I passed out."

"Then hold for four."

Derek took a breath. He raised his staff.

The young woman drifted to his left. Dr. Blackwood to his right. Derek’s hands trembled, but his grip on the staff was steady.

"Move," he whispered.

The ghosts moved.

The young woman glided forward, her form flickering. Dr. Blackwood circled behind Derek, his presence a cold weight at his back. Derek tried to track both of them, his head swiveling, his staff raised to block attacks that weren’t coming.

"This isn’t combat," Dr. Blackwood said. "This is awareness. You don’t need to see them. You need to feel them."

"I can’t—"

"You can. Stop thinking. Start feeling."

Derek closed his eyes.

The ghosts shifted. He felt their cold presence—the young woman’s grief, Dr. Blackwood’s patience. He didn’t need to see them. He just needed to know where they were.

"Left," he said.

The young woman was there.

"Behind."

Dr. Blackwood was there.

Derek opened his eyes. "I did it."

"For three seconds," Dr. Blackwood said. "But it’s progress."

"It’s something," Derek said, almost smiling.

---

Lucian watched from the edge of the yard.

He’d been watching for days, studying his teammates, noting their weaknesses. Cora was fast but reckless. Mason was powerful but hesitant. Sera was precise but lacked range. And Derek...

Derek was afraid.

Not of the ghosts—he’d gotten used to them. He was afraid of himself. Of what he could become if he stopped holding back.

Lucian walked toward him.

Derek looked up, startled. "Lucian? I thought you were sparring with Mason."

"Later." Lucian stopped in front of him. "We need to talk."

Derek’s grip tightened on his staff. "About what?"

"About you holding yourself back."

Derek’s face flushed. "I’m not—"

"You are." Lucian’s voice wasn’t harsh. It was calm. Measured. "You have one of the most powerful abilities in this team, and you use it like a shield instead of a weapon."

Derek looked away. "I don’t want to hurt anyone."

"Hurting isn’t the same as controlling." Lucian stepped closer. "The Glimmertongue used voices to manipulate. The witch used grief. You’ve seen what happens when power is left untamed. You’re not untamed, Derek. You’re just scared."

"Of course I’m scared," Derek said, his voice cracking. "I have ghosts inside my head. They could take over at any moment. They could—"

"They won’t." Lucian’s hand rested on Derek’s shoulder. "Because you’re stronger than them. You just don’t believe it yet."

Derek stared at him.

Lucian sighed and decided to try something. He is a teacher with a level of 99, he believes he can bring out the best out of Derek.

"Let’s try something," Lucian said. "Just you and me. No ghosts. No staff."

"What are we going to do?"

"Breathe."

Derek blinked. "Breathe?"

"Close your eyes."

Derek hesitated. Then closed them.

"Feel the cold," Lucian said. "The ghosts are cold. You can feel them even when they’re not here. That’s your connection. That’s your power."

Derek’s breathing slowed.

"I feel it," he whispered.

"Good. Now imagine pushing them away. Not banishing them—just... moving them. Like water. Like air."

Derek’s brow furrowed. His hands relaxed at his sides.

"Together," Lucian said. "You and them. Not master and servant. Partners."

The air around Derek shimmered.

Dr. Blackwood appeared beside him, his eyes wide. The young woman materialized on his other side, her face soft with wonder.

"What did you do?" Derek asked, opening his eyes.

"Nothing," Lucian said. "You did it."

Derek looked at the ghosts, then at Lucian. "They feel... different. Lighter."

"You stopped fighting them," Lucian said. "You started trusting them."

Dr. Blackwood’s voice was quiet. "Remarkable."

Derek stood taller. His staff, still in his hand, seemed to hum with energy.

"Again," he said. "Let’s do it again."

---

Alistair watched from the sidelines.

He’d seen a lot of trainers in his years. He’d seen the harsh ones, the gentle ones, the ones who broke their students down and built them back up. But he’d never seen anyone do what Lucian had just done.

A few words. A hand on the shoulder. And Derek, the most timid member of the team, had transformed.

Alistair walked toward Lucian as the others returned to their drills.

"That was impressive," he said.

Lucian turned. "He had it in him. He just needed a push."

"He needed someone who could see past his fear." Alistair paused. "I’ve been leading this team since day one. But you’ve been leading them in ways I can’t."

Lucian’s expression didn’t change. "I just want us to win."

"You want them to be better." Alistair looked at the team—Cora phasing through obstacles, Mason’s flames steadier than before, Sera tracking older blood, Derek commanding two ghosts with growing confidence. "And you’re the one who can make that happen."

He turned to Lucian.

"Until the tournament, you’re in command. Lead them. Train them. Bring out their potential."

Lucian’s eyes narrowed. "And you?"

"I’ll be watching. Advising. But the team is yours." Alistair’s voice was firm. "Don’t make me regret this."

Lucian looked at the team—at Cora’s sweat-soaked hair, at Mason’s focused expression, at Sera’s stubborn scowl, at Derek’s trembling but steady hands.

"I won’t," he said.

He walked back to the yard.

"Again," he called out. "Cora, focus on your exits. Mason, less power, more precision. Sera, older blood—push harder. Derek, two ghosts, one minute."

They straightened.

Derek’s voice was steady. "Two ghosts. One minute. Got it."

Lucian drew his blades, the twins catching the grey light.

"Now let’s see what you can do."