Chapter 37

Lena found him three days later half-buried beneath artificing textbooks in one of the outer courtyard study terraces, overlooking the lower training fields where initiates traded scripture techniques and elemental detonations beneath the afternoon sun.

Up here, Aster had opted for a different kind of discipline.

Which is to say: he was fast asleep in a chair with enough handwritten notes scattered around him to suggest either academic dedication or the early stages of a manifesto.

One page simply read:

WHAT IF GUN BUT ANGRIER?

followed by a deeply concerning number of arrows.

Aster snored softly against an open textbook. Drool had begun its slow conquest of a chapter titled Emotionally Responsive Rune Lattices and Aggressive Memory Metals.

Lena stood beside the table.

Looked at the books.

Looked at Aster.

Looked at the lower training fields where initiates clashed in bursts of aether and steel beneath the afternoon sun.

Then back to Aster.

He looked peaceful in the way only people actively ignoring consequences ever managed.

She picked up a particularly dense textbook on Directed Force Projection Through Runic Chambers.

Then smacked him in the forehead with it.

Aster jerked awake with a startled sound that immediately regretted existing. He blinked up at her, slow and unfocused, like his mind was negotiating terms of re-entry with reality.

Lena stood across from him with her arms folded.

"Why am I only hearing three days later that you have a contracted challenge with Cassian Vale to a Rites Duel."

Aster blinked at her blearily. "Technically," he muttered, voice rough with sleep, "he challenged me. I just participated in the public humiliation portion."

"You threw a spider artifact at his face."

"That part was less mutual, admittedly."

Lena continued staring. Not annoyed exactly. Worried.

"And why are you not preparing for this duel?"

"I am preparing."

"You were asleep."

"I was studying."

"You were drooling on a combustion theory textbook."

"Absorption through osmosis is a respected academic strategy."

"And what's your plan — build a gun powered by avoiding anger management?"

Aster's expression brightened in the exact way it always did right before saying something monumentally stupid.

"Exactly."

Her expression shifted slowly from irritation to horror.

"Building a gun and preparing for battle are not the same thing."

"It historically has been for most civilisations."

Somewhere below them, Fire Aether detonated again across the training fields, painting the underside of the trees orange for half a second.

Aster ploughed on, apparently taking Lena's silence as an invitation. "The artificing exam is in a few weeks. If I pass, I get real commissions. Proper ones. Not please fix my broken ward lamp for pocket change arrangements. Actual Faith flow." He rubbed a hand over his face, smearing sleep into something resembling intent, and picked up one of the brass components from the table.

"If I can start building low-grade artifacts, I can finally stabilise my income. Buy proper materials. Maybe stop living one financial inconvenience away from spiritual collapse."

"So you're preparing for debt."

"I'm preparing for survival."

Aster's gaze dropped briefly toward the unfinished framework in his hands — brass channels etched with incomplete scriptwork, shimmering faintly. His first real artifact attempt. Crude. Uneven. But functional enough that it might eventually become something useful instead of explosive.

Probably.

"Combat training doesn't matter if I can't afford to cultivate," he said more quietly. "I can't keep relying on charity and emergency miracles every time my life falls apart."

Lena's expression shifted slightly. Because that part — unfortunately — was difficult to argue with.

The Academy below them practically hummed with inherited wealth. Legacy students trained with custom weapons worth more Faith than entire districts earned yearly. Advanced glyphs. Rare catalysts. Personalised cultivation resources.

Meanwhile Aster currently possessed: one half-functional scripture, a nervous breakdown pretending to be a combat prediction system, and approximately twelve brass screws. One of which was bent.

"I know Cassian's dangerous," he said eventually.

Lena watched him carefully. "But?"

"But I've spent most of my life dealing with problems solvable through either violence or money." He gestured at the artificing books. "I'm trying very hard to finally learn the second one."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Lena looked like she wanted to argue with both the philosophy and the logistics simultaneously and was offended they were occupying the same sentence.

"It's actually elegant," Aster continued, ignoring the expression of pure academic despair spreading across Lena's face. "Everyone expects swords. Maybe spears. Maybe a charmingly overcomplicated spell circle that costs a small country's GDP to maintain." He tapped the page. "I bring a gun."

A beat.

Lena just stared at him.

"You are aware," she said carefully, "that people have been trying to build 'gun artifacts' since before the Unaware colonised the Americas?"

"Worst case scenario, it doesn't work and I die with experimental dignity."

She looked at him. "Best case?"

Aster smiled faintly. "I don't have to learn whatever incestuous knife ballet noble families keep mistaking for martial tradition."

Lena pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You just had to antagonise Cassian Vale." She said it slowly, as though saying it twice might somehow reorganise reality into something less irresponsible. "Cassian Vale has spent the last three days in his family's training halls sparring against second-years. And your response is to build an artifact gun — a concept the Astral Plane discarded centuries ago for being catastrophically impractical."

"Look," he said carefully, "it's a developing thesis."

"The Rite Duel is in less than three months!"

Aster finally sat upright, wincing, loose papers sliding off him like moulting skin.

"Three months is loads of time."

Lena stared at him like she was considering manslaughter as a conflict-resolution strategy.

"No, listen to me for a second." She sat opposite him, leaning forward. "Cassian might not be part of the Advanced Combat Group, but that doesn't mean he's weak." She paused. "The top twenty students are monsters. Most of them have been cultivated since childhood by major Houses or military sects. Comparing normal students to them is pointless." Her tone sharpened. "But Cassian is still dangerous."

She said that part carefully. Measured. Like she wanted him to understand the weight of it properly.

"House Vale combat training starts young. Tactical conditioning. Structured cultivation. Duelling forms. Adaptive elemental synchronisation." A pause. "He's probably somewhere around the top thirty-five in actual combat potential."

Aster whistled softly. "That high?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

Lena stared at him. "That's your response?"

"Well, I'm trying very hard not to process the fact that I apparently picked a blood feud with the magical equivalent of generational wealth wearing a fencing uniform." He waved a hand. "But it's just a fight, right. What's he going to do, decapitate me? I've had that happen to me more than a couple of times already. I'm not going to stop my potential Faith career because I'm scared to get my ego bruised."

Lena's tone shifted.

"You understand a Rite Challenge isn't just a schoolyard fight anymore?"

He waited. Something about her tone had changed — less warning, more disclosure.

She exhaled once, controlled.

"In a Rite Duel, both parties bind stakes through contract resonance. The academy enforces equivalence. Symbolic loss is translated into real transfer." A pause. "If you lose, it isn't just reputation. It's binding arbitration under the academy charter. A public duel means public stakes."

Another pause.

"Cassian has an entire Legacy House behind him. You could get a lucky chance if you chose the right asset, but you wouldn't make any meaningful difference in the Vale House's power..."

"And me?" he asked.

Lena didn't answer immediately.

"If he wins," she said eventually, "he can force arbitration on any claimed inheritance tied to your name."

Aster blinked once. Then again.

"I don't have any inheritance," he said, automatically.

The words came out like a reflex, not a belief.

Lena's gaze didn't leave him.

"That's not true, Aster. You have the ring."

Aster's throat tightened immediately.

Matter's letter had said: The ring is the key. No explanations. No map. He'd half-ignored it because thinking too long about it felt like standing too close to something that might decide to define you back.

Lena's voice cut in again, quieter now.

"Your family didn't leave you wealth in a form you can access yet," she said. "They left you a trigger condition. A claim mechanism revolving solely around your family ring as the key."

Below them, another burst of Aether bloomed across the training fields — bright, violent, temporary.

Aster leaned back in his chair.

Right.

So it wasn't just that Cassian Vale was an aristocratic problem in human form. It was that he was now standing between Aster and something that technically still belonged to him — even if he hadn’t yet been able to find or touch it.

And worse — Cassian wouldn't even gain anything meaningful from winning it. That wasn't the point. People like Cassian didn't need more value. They just needed to remove his access. Block his future. Seal off the path and call it justice with the correct paperwork attached.

Aster exhaled, slow and dry.

Right. There it was. The actual problem.

Lena studied him for a long moment before her eyes narrowed slightly.

"So now that you're fully aware of the stakes," she said slowly, "that only leaves one solution."

Aster's shoulders tensed. Ah.

"The Prediction Glyph," she said.

"I know which emotionally invasive neurological parasite you're referring to."

"Aster."

"What?" He gestured vaguely. "The thing feels like anxiety developed a user interface."

"That's because you're using it incorrectly."

He stared at her flatly. "Interesting claim, considering the last time I activated it I became briefly convinced gravity was planning ahead."

"You're consciously processing every vector."

"Because there are too many vectors!"

"Because you refuse to let the Glyph filter them."

Lena leaned forward now, frustration creeping into her voice. "The Prediction architecture isn't meant to be consciously micromanaged. You're treating subconscious combat processing like a maths problem."

"That sentence sounds fake."

"It's true." She tapped lightly against the side of her own head. "The Glyph doesn't exist to make you aware of every possibility. It exists to teach your instincts which possibilities matter."

Aster opened his mouth. Stopped.

Because annoyingly — that actually did sound different.

"You activated the entire system at maximum sensitivity the moment it integrated," Lena continued.

"In my defence," Aster muttered, "I was having what medical professionals refer to as 'a deeply terrible day.'"

"You were forcing your conscious mind to process information designed for instinctive routing."

"...That still sounds fake."

"It's not fake just because you don't understand it."

"Historically speaking, that still describes most of civilisation."

Lena ignored him. "Prediction isn't hyperawareness. It's filtration. Prioritisation. Your Vessel learning which movement patterns contain threat intent and which can be ignored."

Aster stared out toward the lower training grounds silently. Even now, with the Glyph mostly inactive, he could still faintly feel the shape of trajectories if he focused.

"The overload happens because your instincts don't trust the information yet," Lena continued. "So your consciousness tries to compensate manually."

"...And the solution?"

"Training."

Aster sighed heavily. Of course. Always training.

"You need to build instinctive trust between your Mind Node and the Prediction lattice. Calibrate it."

She rose from her chair and gestured toward the lower training fields.

"Come on."

Aster looked at the mountain of artificing books surrounding him. Then toward the arenas below. Then back toward Lena.

"...Hypothetically speaking," he said carefully, "what if I continued avoiding this problem until it evolves into a personality trait?"

"No."

"Cruel."

"You have three months before the Rite Duel. The Glyph will help, but you're probably not wrong that an actual artifact will increase your chances. You'll have to do both."

The humour drained slightly from the air.

"When you fought Rohan, your Point Burst Scripture worked — until he started predicting your acceleration points. If you want to survive a formal duel against someone trained properly, you'll need to chain shorter bursts and allow your instincts to keep up with the flow."

Aster stared down toward the training grounds.

Students clashed below in flashes of light and motion.

Meanwhile his own combat style currently resembled a nervous breakdown weaponised through velocity.

Which had worked surprisingly well so far. But probably wasn't a sustainable martial philosophy long-term.

"...Alright," he muttered eventually.

Lena tilted her head slightly. "Alright what?"

"I'll train with the stupid anxiety bug."

"The Prediction Glyph."

"The cursed probability insect installed behind my frontal lobe, yes."