The ensuing two weeks at Aethelgard were a grueling exercise in the mundane. For the elite of the Apex Tier, the "heroic" expectations of the Empire were built on a foundation of relentless, standardized discipline. Every day followed a strict, clockwork rhythm designed to test the limits of their psychological and physical endurance.
Alaric flourished in this environment. To him, the Academy was a beautifully designed system of inputs and outputs. He spent his mornings in the high-gravity conditioning chambers, his telekinesis acting as a stabilizer for his own internal organs as he pushed his physical limits. In the afternoons, he moved through the halls with a silent, elegant focus, his mind always three chapters ahead of the curriculum.
The social landscape of the Apex Wing, however, remained a fractured map.
In the dining hall—a vast, vaulted space of floating candles and long obsidian tables—the seating arrangements were a silent declaration of war. Squad One always occupied the central table, but the space between them was a vacuum. Alaric sat at the head, with Elara to his right. Caspian usually sat at the far end, hunched over his meal like a man expecting poison, while Seraphina and Leo occupied the middle ground, caught between the Northerner's gloom and the silver-haired prodigy's effortless brilliance.
"You should try the roasted venison, Caspian," Alaric said during one such lunch, gesturing with a polite nod. "The protein density is optimized for someone with your muscle mass. It would assist with the muscle tremors I noticed during your morning repetitions."
Caspian didn't look up from his plate. He simply tore a piece of bread with a violence that made the nearby silverware rattle. "I've been eating whatever I could kill since I was six, Thorne. I don't need a lecture on 'protein density' from someone who grew up eating off silver plates."
Alaric didn't take offense. He simply tilted his head, his eyes analyzing the tension in Caspian's forearm. "A fair point. First-hand experience often trumps theoretical models. Perhaps after class, you could show me the specific training regimen used by the Northern Border-Watch? I'm interested in how you maintain such explosive power without a mana-stabilizer."
"No," Caspian grunted.
Elara, who had been quietly sipping her tea, set the cup down with a soft clink. She didn't look at Caspian, but the air around the table seemed to grow heavy, a subtle pressure pressing against the boy's chest.
"Alaric is offering you a gesture of collaborative respect, Lord Caspian," Elara said, her voice a calm, honeyed melody. "In the Oros family, such a dismissal is often considered... inefficient. We are a squad. Knowledge shared is a strength multiplied."
Caspian's hand tightened on his fork. He could feel the SSS-rank presence behind her mask, a sleeping dragon that was beginning to stir. He knew she wasn't just defending Alaric's feelings; she was evaluating Caspian's utility. In her eyes, if he wasn't a useful tool for her fiancé, he was merely an obstacle to be cleared.
"I'll think about it," Caspian muttered, the closest thing to a concession he was willing to give.
In the evenings, the "social" aspect of the Academy took on a more private tone. The Apex Tier dormitories were more like high-end apartments, but the common areas were mandatory for "Team-Building Hours."
Alaric and Elara often spent this time in the library or the private gardens attached to the wing. For Alaric, these moments with his fiancée were the only times he felt the need to relax his analytical guard.
"The way you handled the spatial derivation today was impressive," Elara said as they walked through the Moon-Bloom garden, the silver flowers glowing in response to their mana. She wasn't fawning; she spoke with the professional admiration of a peer. "The Professor looked like he was regretting his entire career path."
Alaric laughed softly, the sound carrying a genuine warmth. "I merely found the most direct path. It's a habit. I see a problem, and my mind refuses to rest until the most efficient solution is found."
He stopped by a fountain, looking at Elara. The moonlight caught the gold of her hair and the disciplined, sharp lines of her imperial uniform. "I'm glad you're here, Elara. Most people find my 'habit' exhausting. They see the result, but they don't understand the process."
Elara stepped closer, not quite touching him, but closing the space until he could feel the faint, steady warmth of her mana. "I understand it, Alaric. Because I see what you're trying to build. You aren't just looking for answers; you're looking for a way to make the world make sense. That is why I will always be the blade that clears your path."
It was a romantic moment, but one built on a foundation of shared mission and mutual competence. Alaric reached out, his hand hovering near hers for a second before he gently took her fingers. To him, it was a gesture of profound trust—a rare break in his logic-driven world for a connection that felt equally essential.
From a balcony above, Seraphina watched them. She clutched a prayer bead so hard the wood bit into her palm. To the rest of the world, she was watching a beautiful couple. To her, she was watching the two most dangerous individuals in human history refining their bond.
"They're too perfect," a voice whispered beside her.
Seraphina jumped. Caspian was standing in the shadows of the balcony, his eyes fixed on the couple below.
"What do you mean?" Seraphina asked, her voice trembling.
"Look at them," Caspian said, gesturing with a chin. "No fights. No disagreements. Just two people moving in total synchronization. It's not human. It's like watching two gears in a machine. If we don't find a way to wedge something between them..."
"We can't," Seraphina said, her voice dropping. "If we try to separate them, the Princess will... she'll destroy us. You saw her in the arena. She's not just a Knight. She's something else entirely."
Caspian went silent. He remembered the 304th year—the year the Northern Breach happened in his memory. He remembered the way Alaric had stood in the capital, looking at the maps of the dying North with that same calm, analytical expression. And he remembered Elara standing behind him, her rapier dripping with the blood of anyone who tried to interrupt his "calculations."
"We have time," Caspian said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "The first major exam is in three weeks. The Academy will send us to the Fringe Districts for practicals. That's where the variables change. That's where even a 'perfect' mind can't account for everything."
Seraphina looked back down at the garden. Alaric was showing Elara something on a small, holographic tablet, and she was nodding, her expression one of quiet, absolute devotion.
The variables don't change, Seraphina thought despairingly. Not for them. They create the variables.