The hallway outside Silas’s office felt lighter than it had in years. Grace led Caleb toward the training grounds, her steps buoyed by a nervous, kinetic energy. As they rounded the corner into the Cinder Yard, Sasha, Valin, Rose, and Fin were already gathered, leaning against the equipment crates.

  They didn't act like strangers. To the Forge crew, Caleb was a living comrade —Grace always spoke of.

  "So, this is the Caleb?" Sasha asked, stepping forward with a smirk. She sized up Caleb’s heavy Bastion plate. "I expected someone tall, but you’re built like a literal fortress."

  "He is a fortress," Grace bragged, punching Caleb’s armored shoulder. "Caleb, this is Sasha—don't let the sniper rifle fool you, she’s actually meaner than she looks. That’s Valin, our lead scout, and Rose and Fin. Guys, this is Caleb. Try not to break him; I need him for later."

  Caleb offered a steady, grounded nod. "Nice to meet you. Grace’s letters mentioned a 'grouchy sniper' and a 'noble with a bow.' I assume that's you two?"

  The group erupted into laughter, the tension of the upcoming trials momentarily forgotten. Grace hopped onto a bench, grabbing her water bottle. "I just need to finish my final set of training , then we're hitting the canteen. I want to hear everything about the Jungle. Did you really fight a Luma-panther with just a knife?"

  As Grace moved through her forms, Caleb watched her with a quiet intensity. He saw the way her movements had changed—no longer just raw speed, but a calculated, lethal precision. During breaks, their conversation inevitably drifted toward the one person missing from their circle.

  "Have you heard from Mable?" Grace asked, her voice dropping an octave, the violet fire in her eyes dimming.

  Caleb shook his head, his expression grim. "The Sanctum is isolated, nothing. It’s like the Sanctum just swallowed her whole."

  The next day was May 20th—Grace’s fifteenth birthday.

  She spent the morning near the mail-drone docks, her eyes tracking every silver mechanical bird that crested the horizon. She waited until the sun began to dip behind the spires, hoping, praying for a flicker of gold or a familiar elegant script. But nothing came.

  Are you that busy? Grace’s thoughts spiraled into a dark, familiar place. Or did you find someone else to be your person? Someone who isn’t a 'noisy brat'?

  A cold, hollow ache settled in her chest, heavier than any gravity-well training. She wasn't angry; she was exhausted. For the first time, Grace felt like she was losing a fight she couldn't even see—a fight against time and distance.

  "Grace? We're heading to the mess hall. Rose managed to sneak in some actual cake," Valin said, standing at the door of her dorm.

  Grace looked at him, her movements sluggish and drained. "I'm coming. Just... give me a minute."

  Sasha and Caleb were waiting in the hall, their faces etched with a forced cheerfulness that Grace appreciated but couldn't mirror. They tried to distract her with stories and jokes, but the silence from the East felt like a deafening roar.

  In the Sanctum, Heat from the sun lashed against the ivory windows. Mable sat in her small, sterile room, a letter. Today was Grace’s birthday.

  "She's probably furious with me," Mable whispered, a faint, sad chuckle escaping her lips. She could feel the frantic, desperate energy radiating from the parchment beneath her fingers—Grace’s spirit, trapped in ink.

  She stood up, her jaw setting in a line that mirrored Grace’s own stubbornness. She marched toward the Chancellor’s wing, her footsteps echoing like drumbeats. The heavy oak doors of the office thudded shut behind her.

  Sophia looked up from her scrolls, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "Mable? It’s late. You should be resting for the resonance trials."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "I want to enter the Isolation Chamber," Mable said.

  Her voice was flat, devoid of the hesitation that usually accompanied such a terrifying request. Sophia froze, the fountain pen in her hand snapping with a sharp crack, ink staining her fingers.

  "No. Absolutely not. Mable, do you even understand what you’re asking for? The Void isn't a classroom. It’s a sensory deprivation chamber fueled by the Sanctum’s core. It mimics the state of total cellular collapse. It is the most effective way to master the 'Root Heal,' but it is torture."

  "I know the risks," Mable replied, stepping into the light of the desk lamp.

  "Do you?" Sophia stood, walking around her desk. "Once you enter that room, the seal is absolute. You cannot leave until you achieve the goal—complete resonance—or you give up on being a healer entirely. Most people take years. You are not even sixteen."

  "I don't have years, Chancellor," Mable said, her eyes suddenly flashing with a golden light that seemed to pierce the Chancellor’s mask. "The world is changing. Grace is becoming a weapon. Put me in the dark."

  Sophia looked at the girl she had claimed was her own. She saw the same stubborn, self-sacrificing streak that had defined the people she had lost at Heaven Heights. She wanted to protect Mable, to keep her in the sun, but she realized that Mable had already chosen the shadow.

  "If you fail," Sophia whispered, "you will never be allowed to touch Luma again. You will be cast out."

  "I won't fail," Mable said.

  Back in Silas’s office, the two Commanders remained in the shadows. Kael leaned against the stone wall, his arms crossed over his massive chest. "What do you think, Silas?

  Glacio really requested that!" Silas exclaimed.

  "He’s been pushing for it in the Council notes," “I got the news from WindSurge. He’s been keeping an ear to the ground in the Central City.”

  Silas gave Kael a pointed look. It was a well-known secret among the high-ranking officers that the legendary healer WindSurge and the immovable Commander Kael were a pair, though they rarely had time for more than coded messages.

  "So, healers on the front lines, huh?" Silas asked. "Is it official?"

  "Not this year, maybe next," Kael added. "He said Glacio and Sophia are in a deadlock. Glacio wants the elite healers pulled out of the Sanctum. He wants them to learn alongside the attackers and defenders so they can actually survive a real fight. He calls the Sanctum a 'glass cage.' But Sophia... she’s hesitating. She thinks it’ll break them."

  "If Glacio is that desperate and willing to argue with Sophia, then he’s seen something we haven't," Silas said, his voice dropping. "That guy doesn't move unless he knows exactly where the edge is."

  Kael looked toward the door where the two teenagers had just exited. "Things are changing, Silas. The 'Slaughterhouse' is getting bigger. I just hope those kids are ready for when the glass finally shatters."

  The atmosphere in the Forge’s canteen was uncharacteristically gentle. The "Hurricane" was quiet, and the entire squad felt the vacuum.

  Caleb sat down across from Grace, sliding a plate of extra-thick protein cakes toward her. "Eat, Grace. You’re starting to look like a ghost."

  "I'm fine," Grace muttered, staring at the table.

  "You're not fine," Valin said, pulling up a chair on her other side. "Is it the letters again? Look, the Sanctum is impenetrable. Maybe the mail is just... slow."

  "A year slow?" Grace snapped, then immediately softened. "Sorry. I just... I thought we were….. a team"

  "You still are," a deep, rumbling voice said behind them.

  Silas stood there, his arms crossed. He didn't offer a hug or a soft word—that wasn't his way—but he didn't bark at her either. He looked at the group: Caleb, Sasha, Valin, Rose, and Fin. They were all there, hovering around the girl who had become the heart of their unit.

  "If she’s not writing, it’s because she’s fighting her own war, Grace," Silas said, his eyes meeting Grace’s. "You want to be upset? Fine. Be upset. But do it while you're moving. The Dominance League doesn't care about your feelings. If you want to see her again, you have to be the one who breaks down the door."

  Grace looked up at Silas, then at the faces of her friends. Caleb offered a small, supportive nod, and Sasha actually cracked a joke about how Grace’s "pouty face" was scaring the first-years.

  A small, jagged spark flickered in Grace’s chest. She took a bite of the cake, the sugar hit finally clearing some of the fog. Silas was right. Mable was a genius; if she wasn't writing, there was a reason.

  "Okay," Grace said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Valin, get your bow. We’re going to the Gravity Well. I want to practice the kunai-split again."

  Silas watched them go, a faint, almost invisible smile touching his lips.

  Deep within the Sanctum, the heavy lead doors of the Isolation Void hissed shut, plunging Mable into a darkness so absolute that even her own breath was a deafening roar. She sat in the center of the cold stone, the silence pressing against her eardrums like a physical weight.

  She couldn't be just a healer. She had to be the best.