Vaeliyan opened the comm line, his voice steady but edged with urgency, as though every word carried the weight of a decision too long delayed. “I need you. If you can, et us at your sanctum. If not, I’ll have to bring my class there without you. So, can you give us access?” He lingered on the word sanctum, as if he already knew he was pressing against boundaries that were not lightly crossed.
For a long mont there was only silence, the faint static of the line carrying the distance between them, stretching so thin it almost humd in Vaeliyan’s skull. He thought Imujin might refuse entirely. Then the reply ca, calm and unshaken, like stone carved into patience. “That’s fine. I needed to speak with you all anyway. But why are you bringing them all?”
Vaeliyan’s shoulders tightened. He had rehearsed the words a dozen tis in his head while pacing the length of his manor, but speaking them aloud made the weight settle in his chest like iron. “Because I think it’s ti. I’m going to tell them about Warren. I hope I’ve earned enough of their trust.”
The silence stretched again, heavier this ti, swollen with things unsaid. He could almost imagine Imujin’s eyes narrowing, his fingers steepled as he considered. When he finally answered, his tone turned sly, almost mocking. “Are you sure this is the right ti? Don’t you want to get to know them a little more first?”
Vaeliyan’s jaw clenched. His patience thinned. “This isn’t a joke.”
But Imujin’s low laugh cut across the channel, dry and sharp, a knife scraping across stone. “Of course not. I’m surprised you hadn’t told them already. I’m pretty sure Elian suspects.”
The words landed like a blade drawn in the dark. Vaeliyan stiffened, his eyes narrowing as if the distance between them could be cut through sheer will. “What do you an he suspects?”
Imujin leaned back in his chair, though Vaeliyan couldn’t see it. The grin in his voice was unmistakable, carrying the weight of soone who already had the answer tucked neatly in his pocket. “After the Julian incident, I’ve been monitoring all of you more closely. And your house slipped. When you ca back from the Ninth Layer, it called you Warren. Elian heard it. He didn’t make a scene, but he carried that word like a coin in his hand.”
The na twisted in the air, heavy with its own gravity. Warren. It dragged at Vaeliyan’s chest, tugging him back toward the face he had tried to bury beneath the mask. Imujin didn’t give him ti to answer.
“And don’t forget who he is. He is heir to House Sarn. They’re the information brokers of the Legion. You think he wasn’t trained to notice? That boy was raised to catch details others miss, to see the cracks in every wall, to taste the difference in the air when soone lies. If you thought he’d overlook sothing like that, then you’ve underestimated him.”
Vaeliyan’s thoughts churned. Elian had been watching, listening, perhaps even testing the edges of his story. He had noticed more than Vaeliyan intended. He had probably catalogued gestures, tones, even the slip of a single na. And now the quiet realization that soone else carried a piece of his secret pressed against his ribs like a blade.
Imujin’s voice sharpened, no longer playful but blunt with certainty. “He’s been muttering to himself about joining you on whatever insanity you’re planning, even if he doesn’t know the truth. That’s loyalty born from instinct, not proof. For a Sarn, he’s far too trusting of Legion-built housing. Either he believes in you, or he believes in the madness you carry. Maybe both. And either way, that makes him trustworthy enough, because he will follow you even if he doesn’t understand what he’s following.”
The pounding in his skull had never left him, and now it pressed harder, as though every word Imujin spoke was another hamr strike inside his skull. Trust, suspicion, loyalty, betrayal, they spun together into a knot that threatened to choke him. He had planned to reveal Warren on his own terms, when the mont suited him, but Imujin’s words made it clear: the decision was no longer his alone. The truth was already leaking through the cracks, and the longer he held it, the sharper it would cut when it finally tore free.
They all stepped off the pad into Imujin's sanctum. Only Jurpat had been here with Vaeliyan before. For the rest, it was their first glimpse of the place. The air shifted around them as the pad’s glow faded, and imdiately they knew they had stepped sowhere different, sowhere that resisted the Citadel’s polished image. It was the closest thing to the opposite of the Green any of them had ever experienced inside these walls, and the contrast hit them like a wave.
Imujin’s Sanctum was almost exactly the sa as Velrock’s Garden, but where Velrock’s Garden was green-perfected, sculpted into an ideal that could have been pressed into glass, Imujin’s Sanctum was real. Twigs lay scattered on the uneven ground, crunching under boots. Debris and detritus drifted lazily in the stream that cut through the adow, clogging eddies and catching on rocks. The water burbled anyway, its song uneven, but alive. It slled of wet earth and rotting leaves, not of flowers bred for symtry or carefully placed incense. This place was not curated, not hamred into obedient shapes by the Green’s ideals. It was a living, breathing piece of wilderness, flawed and raw, its imperfections carried like badges. In that rawness, it was beautiful, untad, unconcerned, and absolutely real. For cadets used to walking paths designed for them, this felt like stepping into sothing that had never been built with them in mind at all.
Chi wrinkled her nose, glancing around the sanctum with suspicion. “What is this place?” Her voice held both awe and discomfort, as if she couldn’t decide whether to trust what her eyes told her.
Jurpat stretched, rubbing at his eyes, his voice flat with exhaustion. “This is, uh… Headmaster Imujin’s private sanctum.” He gave Vaeliyan a grimace that deepened into a scowl. “Vael, is he going to be a while, or are we going to have to tell them? Because I am a little too tired for this. You didn’t let sleep yesterday, and now you’re not letting sleep today. And, dear gods, we have class in like an hour.”
Several of the cadets let out quiet groans of agreent. Ramis rubbed at his temples, muttering sothing inaudible. The twins yawned side by side, one leaning on the other in casual support.
Imujin stepped off the pad almost imdiately after Jurpat finished his complaint. His towering fra seed to fill the glade, blotting out the adow’s serenity with sheer presence. “No need to worry, I’m here.” His voice carried easily, calm yet commanding. “It’s good to see you again, all of you.” His eyes flicked across the group, lingering on each face, asuring them in silence before landing on Vaeliyan. “We’re going to… well, Vaeliyan, how would you like to do this? Do you want the whole storm and thunder treatnt, Want to make a dramatic announcent? Or sothing quieter? Or maybe we just tell them.”
Elian’s gaze sharpened instantly, eyes narrowing into suspicion. “Tell us what exactly?” His tone carried both challenge and curiosity, sharp as a knife held behind his back.
Sylen and Rokhan exchanged uneasy looks, their brows furrowed. Even they could feel the weight in the air, sothing looming just beneath the surface. The twins shifted their stance slightly, arms crossed, still steady even as they helped Ramis stay upright. None of them liked being left out of answers, but none dared to break the silence further.
anwhile, Styll and Bastard padded in a lazy circle around the glade. Bastard’s heavy paws made barely a sound, his glowing eyes scanning the shadows, while Styll darted from one patch of grass to the next, nose twitching. She finally craned her small head up toward Imujin, blinking her bright eyes at the massive headmaster. Raising one tiny paw in a wave, she chirped, “Mujin, nice to ets you. Warn says you is master? Stylls don’t know what that ans, but he says you’re a nice guy. Um… can Stylls go play now? I slls yummy buggsies.”
A ripple of laughter almost broke from so of the cadets, but it caught in their throats when they saw Imujin’s unreadable face.
Vaeliyan crouched slightly, his voice gentle but firm as he addressed her. “No, Styll, I’m sorry. You can’t go play right now. But I promise I’ll let you co back and play as much as you want later.” His words carried a strange tenderness, the kind of promise rarely spoken aloud in the Citadel.
Imujin gave a small, amused rumble at that, the faintest smile crossing his usually stern features. It was fleeting, but enough to ease the suffocating weight of the sanctum, if only for a heartbeat.
Imujin looked at Vaeliyan, his expression unreadable, and said, “We should go to the adow. If they freak out… well, there are fewer rocks and sticks for them to throw at you there.”
Vaeliyan let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Huh. That’s actually a good idea.”
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“Everyone follow , ” Imujin said as he turned, striding toward the tree line. Bastard padded forward in silence, his powerful fra cutting a path through the brush, while Styll perched happily on his head as if he were her personal war mount. The rest of the cadets trudged along behind them, their boots crunching over twigs and grass, their eyes darting nervously across the sanctum’s wild terrain. Most of them had never been sowhere so raw within the Citadel walls, and the imperfections left them uneasy. By the ti they reached the open adow at the sanctum’s center, tension was running high.
“Alright, we’re here, ” Imujin said at last, gesturing toward the open space. His voice carried the weight of finality, as though the adow itself had been chosen for this mont. “This should do.”
Vaeliyan shifted uneasily, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes scanned the cadets—faces taut with curiosity, suspicion, and fatigue. “So… should I just do this, or what?” he asked, the question falling heavier than he intended.
Jurpat rubbed his face, stifling a yawn. His hair was a ss, his eyes bloodshot, and his voice was flat with exhaustion. “Maybe do it a little more subtly. Or… no. Yeah, no, none of that. You know what I’m talking about. Don’t make it a whole production. Just… maybe start with the body mod first. That’d probably be smarter.”
A murmur of uncertainty passed through the cadets. So crossed their arms, so exchanged wary glances. Elian, however, stood with arms folded, his sharp eyes locked on Vaeliyan as if he were piecing a puzzle together.
Vaeliyan sighed, then activated his body mod. The features of Vaeliyan Verdance shimred, blurred, and shifted until the guise of Warren stood before them. He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “So… this is going to seem strange. Maybe not. I don’t know. But this, this is . Or at least the you can et without calling a storm down on your heads.”
Elian spoke imdiately, his voice sharp enough to cut through the adow’s quiet. “That’s the real you. And Vaeliyan’s the mod.”
“Not quite, ” Warren said, scratching the back of his neck. “Think of it this way: Vaeliyan is . This Warren you’re looking at now, that’s also , but it’s a mask. The real Warren is… behind the living real body of Vaeliyan Verdance. It’s harder to show without summoning more than I want to. This version is safer. Easier.”
A ripple ran through the group. Chi frowned deeply. Ramis blinked as if trying to clear sleep from his eyes but looked unsettled all the sa. Wesley’s jaw tightened while Torn muttered sothing under his breath. Lessa and Xera leaned together, steadying each other, and whispered a few words too quiet for the others to catch.
Warren ran a hand through his hair and gave a crooked smile that did little to soften the tension. “Alright, let’s do this. This is what I look like, more or less. So slight differences, nothing major.”
“The real Warren is a lot shorter, ” Jurpat muttered, unable to resist.
“Bastard, ” Warren snapped, only to realize Bastard’s ears flicked at the sound of his na. “No, not you. Jurpat is being an asshole.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Yes, fine, the real is shorter. Vaeliyan’s fra is sothing like a body mod. But this face you’re seeing now, this is what Warren looks like. It’s just the part I can show without risking everything shaking apart.”
“Why didn’t you just ask Isol to help explain this?” Imujin asked, his voice dry with amusent. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he left the words hanging like a challenge.
“I don’t know, ” Warren muttered, his tone raw. “I was in a hurry. There’s so much happening right now. My plan worked, sure, but I didn’t think about what would happen after we actually won. I knew we’d probably win, but this… this is more confusing than I thought. I figured I had four years to ease into this. Four years to convince you all to follow .”
The cadets stirred at that, muttering among themselves, voices a mix of disbelief and sharp-edged questions that none dared to speak fully. The adow’s uneven air seed heavier, pressing in on them.
“Can you stop talking about us like we’re not here?” Sylen cut in sharply. Her voice cracked with emotion, the words slicing through the noise. “Are you telling you’re not my cousin? Because I liked you as family. I hate our family, but you… if you’re not part of us, then there’s nothing good left in House Verdance.”
Her words silenced the group. Every cadet turned toward her, watching the storm building in her expression.
Warren looked at her, the weight of her words pressing heavy against his chest. His voice ca out softer, burdened. “Cousin, I… technically, yes. Vaeliyan is still your cousin. I am Vaeliyan. But I’m also Warren, behind all this. He’s still there, and one day I’ll have to show him to you. But not now. Not like this. Right now, this version is less annoying for everyone.” He dragged his hands down his face, visibly fraying under the pressure. “Give a second.”
He opened a line, muttering under his breath while turning away from the group. “Isol. Isol, can you please co? I’m trying to explain all of this, and it’s too early, and I’m so fucking tired. I made a decision; they’re going to learn about . They’ve learned that I’m Warren, but I can’t explain it. Please. Just help .”
The cadets exchanged tense glances, their whispers carrying across the adow like dry grass in the wind. They didn’t know whether to trust, to question, or to wait for the explanation that seed to grow heavier with every passing second.
When Isol and Josaphine arrived, it only took a few minutes of violent vomiting before Josaphine was able to walk straight enough to make it to the adow. Her face was pale and clammy, her steps uncertain, but there was steel in the way she forced herself forward. She refused to be left behind, refused to let weakness write her out of what was about to unfold. Her eyes burned with the stubborn pride of soone who would drag herself through fire rather than admit defeat.
Isol walked beside her, calm as ever, his expression unreadable. He kept a steadying arm at her side, guiding her forward whenever her balance wavered. She leaned into the help without complaint. To him, her misery was nothing unusual, just another ripple in the river of things he had long since learned to love about her.
The cadets shifted where they stood in the adow, watching the pair approach. So looked uneasy at Josaphine’s pallor, others simply waited, understanding on instinct that sothing significant was about to happen. The adow, wild and imperfect, seed to grow quieter as the two instructors arrived.
Vaeliyan turned to Isol, exhaustion dragging at his features and voice alike. His eyes were shadowed with sleepless weight. “I need you to tell them my story, ” he admitted, each word heavy. “Because for the life of , I don’t know how to explain it in a way that doesn’t sound even more insane than saying I’m basically a Matryoshka doll of Warren, Vaeliyan, and Warren again.” He gave a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it, only the frustration of soone who had carried too much for too long.
Isol arched an eyebrow at him. The silence stretched between them for a heartbeat before the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His voice was quiet but sharp when he finally replied. “That’s… yeah. Alright. Got it.” He pivoted on his heel and faced the cadets.
The air in the adow shifted. A presence seed to settle over them as Isol’s tone changed, transforming from casual to commanding in an instant. He didn’t raise his voice, but sohow it carried farther, pressing into every ear, leaving no space to ignore him. “Everybody sit down, ” he ordered. His words were not a suggestion. The cadets obeyed, so lowering themselves reluctantly, others without hesitation. Grass bent beneath them as they settled into a ragged half-circle, eyes fixed on him.
Isol waited until the shuffle of movent stilled, until the adow was quiet except for the steady trickle of the nearby stream. Then he folded his hands behind his back again and said, with deliberate weight, “I’m going to tell you the story of the Tidelord.” The way he said it made it sound less like a story and more like a judgnt, a truth that would not be denied.
Most of the cadets were incredulous. The story had poured out of Isol’s mouth with the weight of truth, but to them it sounded like a fairy tale wrapped in nonsense, wrapped in valor, wrapped in war. It was too much to take in, like trying to swallow the ocean in one gulp. Their minds wrestled with the words, struggling to reconcile what they had seen of Vaeliyan, the cadet they trained beside, with the myth that had been laid before them. The air itself felt heavier as if the adow was leaning in to hear their disbelief.
Xera shook her head slowly, whispering to herself but loud enough for the nearest to hear, “It can’t be real… it just can’t.” Roan rubbed his temples like he was trying to grind the story out of his skull. Wesley folded his arms, lips pressed tight, while Varnai muttered a curse under her breath. Even the twins, usually unshaken, exchanged uncertain glances, their usual steadiness rattled by the scale of what had just been revealed. So stared at Warren as though they were seeing him for the first ti. Others looked away, afraid that staring too long might make the story true. Rokhan shifted uncomfortably in the grass, his hands clenched into fists on his knees, while Chi pressed a hand over her mouth as though holding in words, she didn’t trust herself to say.
It was Fenn who finally broke the silence. He leaned forward, shaking his head hard, his voice slicing through the quiet like a blade. “So, you’re telling that the gods are real? And that Warren, the Tidelord, the savior of so unknown city on the fringe, and a gods-damned aberrant, is standing in front of us wearing a dead man as a at suit while it’s still sohow alive? Because the gods, who you claim are real, chose him to ascend to so sort of throne of heaven?” His words carried disbelief, anger, and maybe even a trace of fear, each sentence building on the last until it felt like he was daring Isol to contradict him. His eyes were wide, his jaw set, as if spitting the words out could force the story back into myth.
The adow fell into a hush again, but this ti the silence was sharper, jagged at the edges. Every pair of eyes snapped toward Isol, their gazes flicking between him and Warren, as though waiting for one of them to admit it was a lie. The words hung in the air like a thrown blade, spinning, waiting to cut whoever reached for it. So of the cadets leaned forward, caught between fascination and terror, while others hunched back, as if distance could protect them from the weight of the truth.
“Yes, ” Isol replied, without hesitation. His voice was calm, steady, and absolute. “That is exactly what I’m telling you.”
So cadets flinched at the certainty in his tone. Others leaned back, as if the force of his conviction pushed them away. Elian’s eyes narrowed, sharp with calculation, while Sylen’s jaw trembled as she tried to steady herself against the crashing truth. Lessa whispered sothing to herself, her voice trembling with awe, while Jurpat groaned quietly as if the explanation had sohow made everything worse instead of better. The weight of the revelation pressed down on all of them, and in that mont, disbelief no longer seed like enough of a shield. They were left exposed, staring into a story too large for them to deny, forced to either accept it or let it break them.
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