Sage’s ears flattened.

"You’re shitting me."

"Yes," Kael said, adjusting his collar.

Rue’s tails drooped, wrapping around herself like a cocoon. "But we registered the mission together. The northern forests. Three days. You promised—"

"I didn’t promise anything." Kael checked his reflection in the window. "I said I’d consider it. Circumstances changed."

Sage stepped closer, golden eyes narrowing. "What circumstances?"

"Classified ones."

Then Sage exhaled. The tension bled out of her shoulders. Her lips curved—not warm, but sharp. "Fine. But you’re missing out."

"Am I?"

Kael’s mouth twitched. A genuine flicker of amusement crossed his features before he suppressed it. "Tragic. Truly."

"I thought so." Sage folded her arms. "Have fun with your classified bullshit."

"Oh, I will." Kael stepped past her, shoulder brushing hers. He paused at the door without looking back. "Don’t wait up."

He left.

Behind him, Rue buried her face in her tails, mortified. Sage watched the doorway with an unreadable expression.

"That bastard," she murmured.

But she was smiling.

The shuttle descended through pale violet clouds.

Planet Morir revealed itself in pieces—rust-colored plains, jagged mountain ranges cutting across the horizon, scattered settlements. Two moons hung low, one crimson, one bone-white.

Kael pressed his forehead against the viewport, watching the landscape scroll beneath them. Beside him, Yenna Frostveil sat perfectly still, her white hair cascading past her shoulders. Across the aisle, Cassian Vale leaned back with his eyes closed, his silver hair falling over the frames of his dark sunglasses, pocket watch ticking softly in his hand.

None of them had spoken to each other since boarding.

Smoke’s coordinates had led them to a transport hub on the academy’s outer ring. The flight had taken four hours.

Yenna broke the silence first.

"Planet Morir." Her voice was cool, measured. "It is an unaligned territory. No major faction claims jurisdiction. Heavy merchant traffic, light enforcement." She paused.

Cassian didn’t open his eyes. "You read the briefing packet."

"Didn’t you?"

"I didn’t need to."

Kael smirked. "Of course you didn’t."

The shuttle touched down at a modest docking platform—nothing like the academy’s gleaming spires. Concrete and steel. Other vessels parked in neat rows. Workers hauling crates. A customs checkpoint in the distance, understaffed and half-asleep.

They disembarked.

Smoke’s coordinates pointed toward a squat, unremarkable building near the platform’s edge. Gray walls, tinted windows, a sign above the door that read "Morir Import-Export" in three languages. The kind of place you’d walk past a hundred times without a second glance.

They approached.

Kael pushed through the front door—

And stopped.

The interior didn’t match the exterior.

Where the building should have been maybe thirty feet deep, the space stretched outward in every direction. High vaulted ceilings with crystalline light fixtures. Polished obsidian floors that reflected movement like water. People moved through the space—humans, elves, a hulking figure with stone-like skin and so on. The reception area alone was larger than the entire building should have been.

A young elf man materialized before them as if he’d been waiting for them. Sharp features, pointed ears, sandy brown hair pulled back in a neat tail. He wore a simple dark uniform with a silver insignia on the collar—a shield crossed with a sword, wreathed in stars.

His smile was professional.

"Welcome, new recruits to the Guardians."

Yenna’s brow furrowed. "New recruits? I believe you’re mistaken. We were sent here for—"

"My name is George Gibson." The elf extended a hand that nobody took. "Receptionist of the Guardians and also a four-star hunter." He lowered his hand without awkwardness. "And I assure you, lady Frostveil, there is no mistake."

He turned his gaze to each of them in sequence.

"You must be Lady Yenna Frostveil of the Sterling branch family. Distinguished combat record. Rank 1 in your sector. Ice manipulation with suspected Domain seed development." He shifted. "Cassian Vale. Heir to the Vale family. Time manipulation. Rank 3. Your pocket watch has been noted as a B-rank temporal artifact by our analysts."

Cassian still hadn’t opened his eyes.

George’s attention landed on Kael.

"And lastly." A hint of something—amusement? respect?—flickered across his features. "Kael Vorn. The hidden prodigy. Complemented by Lady Lyra herself as possessing ’potential that borders on unreasonable.’" He tilted his head. "Though I believe her exact words were somewhat less diplomatic in private."

Kael said nothing.

His smirk spoke for him.

George clasped his hands behind his back. The professional smile widened by a fraction. "Once again, you are welcome to the Guardians."

Silence.

Kael’s mana sense swept outward—subtle, practiced, undetectable to anyone without similar perception. It brushed against George’s cultivation base and recoiled.

Late Mana Heart. Rank 7. Possibly 8. Not really sure.

Yenna’s frown deepened. Her ice-blue eyes darted around the impossible interior, calculating. She didn’t like surprises. She liked them even less when she wasn’t the one creating them.

Cassian...

Cassian hadn’t reacted at all.

His posture remained relaxed, leaning slightly as if he’d known exactly what they were walking into before the shuttle ever landed.

Because he had.

Bastard probably saw this coming miles away.

"So," George said, clasping his hands. "Shall we begin?"

Yenna stepped forward. Ice crackled at her fingertips.

"I want answers," she said. "Now. No riddles and no theatrical reveals. What is this place? Who are the Guardians? And why were we pulled from academy jurisdiction without consent?"

George’s smile didn’t waver. "All excellent questions."

"Then answer them."

"In time."

Yenna’s eyes narrowed. The temperature around her dropped two degrees. Condensation formed on the obsidian floor beneath her boots.

"Where is Lyra?" Kael cut in.

George’s professional mask flickered—just for an instant—something knowing passing behind his eyes.

"Lady Lyra is otherwise occupied. She will—"

Pressure.

It came from behind Kael like a physical weight, slamming down on his shoulders, his skull, his spine. The air itself grew heavy. His knees buckled an inch before he locked them.

A shadow fell over him.

" You will address THE Lady with formalities."

The voice was strong and cold. Kael turned his head slowly.