Corbyn stared at her.
"That’s an important thing to mention the night before," Corbyn said.
"I’m mentioning it now so you understand the dynamic," Ishtar said. "Tomorrow I operate at a level appropriate to the setting. Enough to make the point." She paused. "The current world’s infrastructure is considerably less durable than what existed in Aldric’s era. I am still calibrating exactly how much less."
"How much less do you think?" Corbyn said.
She considered it.
"I’m not certain yet," Ishtar said.
"That is not reassuring," Corbyn said.
"No," Ishtar said. "Probably not." She looked at him. "I will be careful."
"Careful," Corbyn said.
"Yes," Ishtar said, with the complete confidence of someone who had been careful across four centuries of wars and gates and things the current world had no records of.
Corbyn decided to accept this and move on.
"Go eat," Ishtar said. "Same as yesterday."
He went.
Day three. Before dawn.
Corbyn was awake before his system chimed.
He lay still for a moment in the dark, listening to Dex breathe on the other side of the room.
Then the notification appeared.
[MANA CHANNEL STABILITY: 94%]
[CHANNELS FULLY OPERATIONAL]
[CALAMITY SUMMONER CLASS — ALL FUNCTIONS AVAILABLE]
He sat up.
Got dressed in the dark.
Went to the courtyard alone.
Empty. Pre-dawn quiet. Lanterns still burning low along the paths. No Cole yet. No Ishtar visible.
He stood at the center of the courtyard and breathed.
Found the pulse behind his sternum. Stronger now than it had been three nights ago on the roof. More defined. Like something that had learned it was allowed to be there.
He reached for Ishtar.
Not carefully. Not with the tentative push of someone unsure of the answer. Just reached, the way you reach for something you already know is there.
The seam opened.
Not the slow careful split of the assessment room. A full seam, gold light coming through clean and direct, warm and ancient and completely indifferent to the stone courtyard it was illuminating.
Ishtar stepped through.
Complete. Solid. Real in a way the translucent version hadn’t been. Bronze skin. Dark hair. The worn ceremonial armor catching the lantern light along its old damage lines.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
"How does it feel?" Ishtar said. "On your side."
"Stable," Corbyn said. "It’s not pulling the way it was before. It feels like it costs something but not more than I have."
"Good," Ishtar said. "That’s what it should feel like."
She held the manifestation steady. Corbyn held the connection. Sixty seconds without strain. At sixty she stepped back through the seam and it closed behind her.
No crash. No blur at the edge of his vision.
He pressed his hand to his chest.
The pulse was still there. Steady.
"Well."
Cole’s voice from the courtyard entrance.
Corbyn turned.
Cole was standing at the edge of the courtyard with his documents and his paper cup. He had arrived in time to see the last twenty seconds of it.
He looked at the space where the seam had been.
Then at Corbyn.
"Ready?" Cole said.
Corbyn thought about Lyra’s fifteen-second window. About Cole’s comment about the air filling the space. About Ishtar’s uncertain expression when asked about infrastructure durability.
"Yes," Corbyn said.
Cole took a sip of his drink.
"Good," Cole said. "Then let’s not waste the morning."
He set his documents on the bench and the last session before the duel began.
The assessment arena was on the east side of campus.
Corbyn had walked past it twice since arriving. A circular building with high stone walls and a tiered gallery that could hold the entire student body. It was holding the entire student body today.
Word had spread. It always did.
The commoner kid with the unclassified summon against Stellan Draves. Three days after the ceremony. The challenge that couldn’t be declined.
Corbyn walked toward the entrance at the ninth hour with Dex on his left.
Then Lyra fell into step on his right.
She didn’t say anything. Just walked.
Dex glanced across at her. Then at Corbyn. Then forward.
The three of them covered the last stretch to the arena entrance without speaking. Not the silence of people who had nothing to say. The silence of people who had already said what needed saying and were done with it.
At the entrance Corbyn stopped.
He looked at the doors.
Ready? Ishtar said in his mind.
’Yes,’ Corbyn thought.
Remember, she said. First fifteen seconds.
’I know,’ Corbyn thought.
And don’t panic.
’You said that already,’ Corbyn thought.
I’m saying it again, Ishtar said. It bears repeating.
Corbyn pushed the doors open and walked in.
The gallery was full.
Every student in the cohort. Faculty along the upper tier. Elder Vance near the front with his tablet. Professor Marsh in the corner, arms folded. Cole standing near the faculty section, paper cup gone, expression neutral.
And at the far end of the arena floor, already there, arms folded, watching Corbyn walk in with the patient expression of someone exactly where they expected to be.
Stellan Draves.
The doors closed behind them.
The arena went quiet.