Chapter 23: Flightpath
Kael didn't sleep. He hadn't planned to.
After leaving the research department, after Iris , his feet had carried him through the silent halls of Centralis like a ghost. Each torch-lit corridor echoed back at him like it didn't want him there. Like the Academy itself knew what was coming.
He passed the same window twice. Maybe three times. It didn't matter.
His thoughts looped.
He had to prepare.
He couldn't fail.
He had to prepare.
He couldn't fail.
Not just for himself. Not for glory. But because failure meant being devoured by something no one understood — and worse, being remembered as weak. A flickerhead with a forgotten name, just another speck among the dead.
He lied to himself, making himself believe that this was his true cause as his true one was more harrowing.
He stared into the night sky once before he returned to his dorm and sat silently until the chime rang again through his Crownband.
"All squads to Docking Platform 7. Report for transport. Deathzone Deployment in three hours."
Dawn came not with sunlight, but with movement.
Docking Platform 7 was a sprawling aerial cathedral, carved from obsidian stone and laced with spiralling lines of runes that pulsed dimly beneath the feet of Crowned students. Elevated on a massive scaffold above the north-eastern cliffs of Centralis, it oversaw the silver expanse of the Dawnreach Valley.
Crowncarriages hovered in perfect alignment, enormous glass-backed constructs powered not by wheels, but by suspended wings. Each one pulsed with steady Crownlight — and at the helm of each was a designated Mentarchs, a specialized pilot whose entire Crown was devoted to complex mathematical computation. Their foreheads were marked with sigil-etchings, and their eyes were completely white stuck in a trance of perpetual calculations.
The Crowncarriages themselves were elegant — half-gilded transport, half-floating fortress. Their hulls shimmered with warded glass and robust alloy, and each had a name engraved into its spine like a warship from another era.
Kael arrived early.
Sol and Veyna were already standing near their assigned Crowncarriage — Veyna adjusting her boots, Sol tightening the forearm segments of his new gear. Around them, squads formed slowly, most still half-asleep, others already twitching with nerves.
But Kael barely registered them. His eyes were pulled toward the sea of armour and intent that was gathering around the platform.
It was like a parade of futures colliding.
The combat gear issued for the trial came in two forms. First: the standard Aegis exoskeleton — a metaphysical armour set laced into the user's Crownlight, activated with a gesture and mental trigger. It formed over the body like a living construct, sleek and reactive, each one shaped by the user's affinity and nature. Some were plated and jagged, others barely visible save for spectral outlines — but all of them thrummed with restrained power.
Some students hadn't yet activated theirs. Others wore them proudly, practicing limb movements in slow martial arcs, sparks trailing from elbow or heel.
But then came the personal armour.
Custom sets worn over or instead of the Aegis — inspired by cultures, family lines, or years of private craftsmanship. One student wore lacquered plates in layered crimson, a nod to eastern dynasties long gone. Another had blackened leather armour studded with glowing runes that looked half-Nordic, half-nomadic. There were wolf helms, fur-trimmed collars, capes that trailed sigil-scented vapor behind them.
The Great Clans, though — they stood apart.
The Crimson Veil entered in a line of five, robes of flame-dyed silk trailing behind them. Each fold shimmered with ancient Avestan runes, burning faintly — wards against corruption, memory rot, and soul sickness. Their sleeves billowed like fire banners, embroidered with feathers and lined with gold.
Beneath the robes, sigil laced lamellar armour clung to them like scales. Sandals hovered inches off the ground, as if the earth itself dared not touch them. Their veils, deep red and fastened with winged Faravahar pins, concealed eyes said to glow with ancestral Crownlight.
At the front of them walked a girl with bronze eyes and golden pupils — her presence like a desert sun.
Then came the Verdant reign.
Robes of living moss and ivy cascaded in flowing layers, winding around bodies clad in nature's own hanfu. Their silk-like bark panels moved like breathing fabric, rising and falling with each breath, while their sleeves grew wide and graceful as unfurling ferns. Instead of traditional caps, crowns of woven branches and leaves adorned their heads, shaped like the elegant guan of ancient scholars but alive with tiny buds.
The one leading them, a boy with grey-green eyes and silvered hair, left a trail of blossoms with every measured step. His changshan robe was crafted from interwoven vines that shimmered like the finest silk, its high collar formed from delicate enchanted petals that moved with his breathing . Wide sleeves flowed like water, their edges trimmed with morning glory vines that bloomed and closed in gentle rhythm.
No metal. No steel. They had chosen the fluid grace of nature over rigid protection.
Sol exhaled quietly. "Doesn't feel like school anymore."
"No," Kael said. "It doesn't."
A sharp cry sounded to the left — one of the newer squads fumbling with their gear. An instructor reprimanded them harshly, reminding them that no protection was permanent if the wielder lacked clarity.
Veyna smirked slightly. "They'll last twenty minutes. Maybe less."
The sky above rumbled A deep sound — a low bass tone made from runes — rolled across the air like thunder trapped in a bell. It was the signal.
The Mentarchs were ready.
One by one, squads began filing into the Crowncarriages, each one chosen based on alignment, terrain compatibility, or prior performance. They would be dropped at random coordinates along the Deathzone's perimeter.
Kael felt the charge in his chest build.
Every step forward now was a step toward something that might never be walked back from.
He caught his reflection briefly in the silver plating of the Aegis casing.
For a second — just a second — he looked like someone else. Someone almost certain.
Then the feeling passed.
"Mount up," came Ulreth's voice, distorted slightly through the broadcast runes. "Crowncarriages are lifting in ten minutes. Make sure to go over every single emergency procedure"
Sol cracked his neck. "Guess this is it."
Kael said nothing.
The Crowncarriage opened before them — stairs unfolding with a hiss of pressure and songsteel.
He stepped up without hesitation.
And as he entered, he whispered once to himself.
Fear is a weight. Let it go or be buried.