The Cooperative Combat Theory lab was not held in the wide-open expanse of the arena, but in a cramped, pressurized chamber lined with mana-conductive copper. The purpose of the lab was "Micro-Synchronization"—the ability for squad members to overlap their mana-signatures to create combined effects. In a Gate, where the environment itself often tried to reject human mana, this was the difference between a clean strike and a fatal misfire.
Professor Silas, a man whose left eye had been replaced by a glowing blue sensor, stood by the control panel. "Today, we practice the 'Anchor-and-Pivot.' One member provides the stable mana-base, while the other uses that base to launch a high-velocity attack. Lord Thorne, since your telekinetic stability is unparalleled, you will anchor. Lord Caspian, you will be the strike."
Alaric stepped into the center of the copper ring. He didn't look tired or strained; he looked like a scientist about to perform a familiar experiment. He closed his eyes, and a low, resonant hum filled the room. A shimmering violet platform of solidified telekinetic force appeared beneath Caspian's boots.
"The platform is tuned to your weight and current mana-output, Caspian," Alaric explained, his voice calm and instructional. "If you push off with your left foot at a forty-five-degree angle, I can amplify your momentum by three hundred percent without you losing your center of gravity. It's a simple vector addition."
Caspian stood on the violet shimmer, his claymore held in a white-knuckled grip. To Alaric, this was a "simple vector." To Caspian, it felt like standing on the palm of the man who would eventually crush his homeland. The mana-connection felt invasive—a cold, silver wire threading into his own soul.
"I don't need your 'vector addition,' Thorne," Caspian growled.
"In a standard environment, perhaps," Alaric replied, unfazed. "But in the Fringe Districts, the gravity is inconsistent. Without an anchor, your first swing will leave you wide open. Trust the logic of the formation, Caspian. Push off now."
Caspian lunged. But instead of following Alaric's calculated trajectory, he channeled his own raw, volcanic mana into his boots, trying to overpower the telekinetic platform. He wanted to prove that Northern strength didn't need Imperial "stability."
The result was a violent harmonic clash. The copper room shrieked as the two mana-signatures rejected each other. The violet platform shattered like glass, and the resulting back-pressure sent Caspian tumbling across the floor, his claymore clattering against the wall.
"Caspian!" Leo shouted, stepping forward, but he stopped when he felt a sudden, sharp chill in the room.
Elara hadn't moved from her position by the wall, but her blue eyes had narrowed to predatory slits. She didn't draw her weapon, but the air around her began to shimmer with a faint, golden distortion—the beginning of a Sovereign Heart activation. Her focus was locked entirely on Caspian. In her mind, his "accident" was a deliberate attempt to disrupt Alaric's mana-circuits.
Alaric, however, was already moving toward Caspian, his hand outstretched. "Are you injured? My apologies—I should have accounted for the volatility of your internal mana-venting. It seems the synchronization threshold is narrower than I calculated."
Caspian batted Alaric's hand away, his face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. He stood up, breathing hard. "Your 'calculation' is garbage. You're trying to control the way I move. You're trying to turn me into a puppet."
"I'm trying to ensure you don't die in a gravity-well," Alaric countered, his tone finally gaining a slight edge of frustration. "Logic dictates that the strongest weapon is useless if it cannot hit the target. If you refuse to anchor, you jeopardize the entire squad."
"Then find a new anchor!" Caspian roared.
The tension in the room snapped. Seraphina shrunk back against the copper wall, her hands trembling. She looked at Alaric, who stood with an air of disappointed authority, and then at Elara, whose killing intent was now a physical weight in the air.
It's starting, Seraphina thought, her heart racing. The friction. The pride. This is how the first fracture happened in the legends. Alaric tries to lead, and the world refuses to be led.
"That is enough," Professor Silas barked, his blue sensor eye whirring. "Lord Caspian, return to your seat. Lord Thorne, your theory is sound, but your subject is... resistant. We will switch pairs. Princess Elara, you will pivot for Alaric."
The change was instantaneous. As Elara stepped onto the platform, the room's atmosphere shifted from a storm to a calm sea. She didn't need instructions. She stood on the violet light as if she had been born there. When Alaric signaled the launch, she moved in perfect, silent harmony with his telekinetic pulse. She blurred across the room, her rapier striking the target dummy with such speed that the hard-light construct didn't even have time to flicker before it was deleted.
"Efficiency: 99.8%," the computer droned.
"Masterful," Silas noted. "A perfect synchronization."
Alaric exhaled, his frustration vanishing as he looked at Elara. "Thank you, Elara. It's... refreshing to work with someone who understands the necessity of the base."
"Always, Alaric," she replied, her voice soft and entirely devoid of the cold edge she had shown Caspian seconds ago. "Your base is the only thing worth standing on."
As the class ended and the students began to leave, Alaric walked in silence. He was troubled. He had spent the last two weeks trying to "bridge the gap" with Caspian, but every attempt at kindness or cooperation seemed to result in more friction.
"He hates me," Alaric said quietly as they reached the dorms. "I've analyzed every interaction, Elara. I've been fair, I've been encouraging, and I've been patient. Yet his rejection of my presence is nearly eighty percent consistent."
Elara stopped, her hand resting on the doorframe of his apartment. She looked at him with a gaze that was both incredibly tender and chillingly detached. "Some things cannot be solved with logic, Alaric. Some people are simply... flawed. They see your light and they fear their own shadows. Do not let his smallness diminish your vision."
"It's not about my vision," Alaric sighed, rubbing his temples. "It's about the squad. If we can't sync in a lab, we'll fail in the Fringe."
"We won't fail," Elara promised, stepping closer and lowering her voice. "I will ensure the squad performs, Alaric. One way or another. You focus on the maps. I will handle the 'human' variables."
Alaric looked at her, seeing only the loyal fiancée who was willing to take the social burden off his shoulders. He didn't see the way her hand was gripped tightly around her rapier hilt, her mind already calculating exactly how many "accidents" Caspian could survive before he became a liability to Alaric's peace.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Elara," Alaric admitted.
"You'll never have to find out," she whispered.