At five in the morning, Arthur learned that Julian Hawke had been lying.
Not about the training.
About the difficulty.
“You said yesterday was the easy part.”
Julian rolled his shoulders.
“It was.”
Arthur stared at him.
The courtyard was almost empty.
Dawn had not yet reached the eastern towers, leaving Gallows Edge wrapped in cold blue darkness.
Frost clung to the stone beneath their boots.
Arthur flexed his fingers.
His entire body still remembered yesterday.
That was unfortunate.
“You have an interesting definition of easy.”
Julian grinned.
“Today, you learn how to get hit.”
Arthur’s expression remained perfectly composed.
“I already know how.”
“No. Yesterday you learned how to move.”
Julian drew his wooden practice sword.
“Today you learn what happens when moving isn’t enough.”
Arthur sighed.
There were moments when negotiation was preferable to violence.
This was one of them.
Unfortunately, Julian had already attacked.
Arthur barely moved in time.
The wooden blade cracked against his forearm.
Pain shot through him.
His stance collapsed.
Julian stopped.
“Again.”
Arthur rubbed his arm.
“You could at least pretend to care.”
“I do care.”
Another swing came.
Arthur stepped back.
Too late.
The blade struck his shoulder.
“Your eyes are wrong.”
Arthur frowned.
“My eyes?”
“You watch the sword.”
“I thought you told me to watch the chest and feet.”
“I did.”
Julian raised the sword.
“You understand the lesson. You don’t trust it yet.”
The next strike came from the opposite direction.
Arthur saw it.
His feet moved.
His body didn’t.
The wooden sword caught him across the ribs.
Arthur stumbled sideways.
Julian lowered his weapon.
“Again.”
Arthur looked toward the horizon.
A thin line of grey had appeared between the towers.
“Does this academy have a rule against murder before breakfast?”
“No.”
“Excellent institution.”
Julian laughed.
Then attacked again.
By breakfast, Arthur had discovered three things.
First, bruises hurt more after they had time to develop.
Second, Julian Hawke possessed far too much enthusiasm for someone who claimed to be helping.
Third, walking into the dining hall with a purple mark across his cheek attracted attention.
Several cadets stared.
One whispered something.
Another laughed.
Arthur continued toward his table.
Mira looked up from her notes.
She blinked.
“What happened to your face?”
“Education.”
She glanced toward Julian.
Julian was eating as though nothing unusual had happened.
Mira’s mouth twitched.
“You lost?”
Arthur sat down.
“Repeatedly.”
“Good.”
Arthur paused.
“That sounded suspiciously pleased.”
“I am.”
She returned to her notes.
“You’ve finally started admitting you’re not good at everything.”
Arthur considered this.
“I never claimed that.”
“You implied it every time you spoke.”
“That sounds like a communication problem.”
Mira looked over the top of her glasses.
“You’re impossible.”
“Yet improving.”
She hesitated.
That changed her expression.
“Actually…”
She pushed a folded sheet of paper across the table.
“I found something.”
Arthur opened it.
The academy seal had been stamped across the top.
ARCHIVAL ACCESS REQUEST — DENIED
Below it was Mira’s name.
Reason for denial:
REQUEST DOES NOT ESTABLISH SUFFICIENT ACADEMIC NECESSITY.
Arthur read it twice.
“You requested access to Pell’s records.”
“Yes.”
“And they denied you.”
“Yes.”
“On what grounds?”
“Officially? Academic necessity.”
“And unofficially?”
Mira leaned closer.
“The clerk who processed it asked why I was interested in a resigned archivist.”
Arthur looked at her.
“What did you say?”
“That I was researching irregularities in lower-archive access.”
“And?”
“He told me to stop.”
Arthur folded the paper.
“That isn’t an official instruction.”
“No.”
Mira’s voice became quieter.
“That’s why I didn’t.”
Arthur almost smiled.
Then he noticed the second document underneath.
“What is this?” New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Scholarship office transfer form.”
He read the heading.
Mira tapped it.
“Pell wasn’t just an archivist. He supervised one of the scholarship resource inventories for the lower districts.”
Arthur looked up.
“So his resignation affected more than the archive.”
“Apparently.”
“Which means you have another reason to investigate him.”
“I already submitted a request through the scholarship office.”
Arthur leaned back.
“You’re using the proper channels.”
“Yes.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I wasn’t aware you enjoyed bureaucracy.”
“I don’t.”
Mira gathered her papers.
“But bureaucracy leaves records.”
Arthur’s expression sharpened slightly.
There it was.
Not recklessness.
Not curiosity.
Method.
She was learning.
And perhaps he was, too.
The first combat lecture of the morning should have been harmless.
It wasn’t.
Instructor Voss entered the training hall carrying a stack of assessment sheets.
She looked across the room.
“Pairs.”
The cadets moved.
Arthur stood.
A few students glanced at him.
Then at the ranking board visible through the glass doors.
Rank 312.
The number had become more than a ranking.
It had become an invitation.
Voss began assigning pairs.
When she reached Arthur’s name, she paused.
“Arthur Vale.”
“Yes.”
“You will perform an individual combat assessment.”
A murmur passed through the room.
Arthur’s eyebrows lifted.
“Today?”
“Today.”
“Against whom?”
Voss looked toward the far side of the hall.
“Cadet Leon Varr.”
Leon stepped forward.
He rolled his shoulders once.
Arthur remembered their previous assessment.
One clean strike.
Then the floor.
Apparently the academy believed in repetition.
Leon raised his practice sword.
Arthur drew his own.
Voss lifted one hand.
“Objective: demonstrate measurable improvement.”
Arthur glanced at Julian.
Julian gave him a small nod.
Not encouragement.
Expectation.
The signal sounded.
Arthur moved.
This time, he didn’t watch the sword.
Chest.
Feet.
Weight.
Julian’s lesson echoed in his head.
Leon advanced.
Arthur stepped aside.
The wooden blade missed.
A second strike followed.
Arthur avoided it.
A third.
He moved again.
A few cadets murmured.
Better.
Arthur saw Leon’s weight shift.
Left foot.
Opening.
Arthur attacked.
The wooden blade struck Leon’s shoulder.
One clean hit.
Arthur’s confidence lasted approximately half a second.
Leon smiled.
“Better.”
Then he swept Arthur’s legs.
The floor slammed into his back.
Air vanished from his lungs.
Before Arthur could recover, Leon’s practice sword rested against his throat.
Silence.
Voss lowered her hand.
“Assessment complete.”
Arthur stared at the ceiling.
There was something deeply offensive about ceilings.
Leon stepped back.
Arthur sat up slowly.
Voss approached.
“Your observation has improved.”
Arthur waited.
“So has your footwork.”
Arthur waited again.
“But your recovery remains poor. Your attack lacks force. Your balance collapses under contact.”
She looked at the class.
“Understanding an opening does not mean you possess the ability to exploit it.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
That sentence hurt more than the fall.
Because it was correct.
Voss handed him the assessment sheet.
COMBAT EXECUTION: 21
A tiny improvement.
Almost meaningless.
Arthur looked at the number.
Then at Leon.
Then at Julian.
He had spent years making people believe preparation was the same thing as control.
Here, the body demanded payment.
No clever phrase could replace speed.
No loophole could substitute for strength.
No negotiation could make a blade slower.
Arthur folded the sheet.
“Thank you.”
Voss studied him for a moment.
“Why?”
“Because you haven’t passed yet.”
The ranking board changed before evening.
Students gathered around it.
Arthur arrived several minutes later.
His name had moved.
ARTHUR VALE — RANK 304
Eight positions.
Not enough to impress anyone.
Enough to matter.
Beneath his name, the revised categories appeared.
Combat: 21
Theory: 31
Conduct: 87
Resource Management: 42
Survival: 4
Overall: 53
His training credit remained restricted.
But the notice beneath the board had changed.
REMEDIAL COMBAT PROGRAM — ELIGIBILITY REVIEW
Arthur stared at it.
Julian stopped beside him.
“That’s not bad.”
Arthur looked at him.
“I have been publicly informed that I am incompetent.”
“You’ve been informed that you’re improving.”
“Very slowly.”
“That still counts.”
Arthur glanced back at the board.
“Does your family teach patience?”
Julian snorted.
“No.”
“I suspected as much.”
A few cadets nearby laughed.
Arthur almost smiled.
Then someone spoke from behind them.
“Rank 304.”
Arthur turned.
A tall cadet from the Vanguard group stood there.
He looked at Arthur’s name on the board.
“You’re moving up.”
Arthur said nothing.
The cadet smiled.
“Don’t get comfortable.”
Then he walked away.
Julian watched him leave.
“You know him?”
“No.”
“He knows you.”
Arthur looked at the ranking board again.
That was becoming increasingly common.
People knew the old Arthur.
They were beginning to notice the new one.
And neither version was entirely safe.
That evening, Mira found Arthur in the library.
She placed another document on his table.
“I got something.”
Arthur looked up from his notes.
“What changed?”
“Pell’s scholarship records.”
She lowered her voice.
“He resigned two days after the West Tower incident.”
Arthur’s pen stopped.
“You already knew that.”
“I knew the resignation date.”
Mira tapped the document.
“I didn’t know what happened afterward.”
Arthur read the first paragraph.
Pell had requested reassignment.
It had been denied.
He then requested leave.
Denied.
Finally, he submitted his resignation.
No disciplinary action.
No accusation.
No investigation.
Just resignation.
Arthur frowned.
“Why would the academy keep someone who was apparently afraid to return to the lower archive?”
Mira shook her head.
“They didn’t.”
She pointed at the final line.
“His resignation was accepted immediately.”
Arthur read it again.
A thought formed.
Not a cosmic one.
Not a mysterious one.
Something much simpler.
Someone wanted Pell gone.
Arthur closed the file.
“Tomorrow.”
Mira nodded.
“We visit the scholarship office.”
“Together?”
“Yes.”
Arthur considered objecting.
Then remembered his own notebook.
I need other people’s strengths.
He picked up the file.
“Together.”
For once, he didn’t need to be the one leading.
Across the library, a bell marked the hour.
Arthur looked toward the dark windows.
Nothing moved beyond the glass.
No creatures.
No impossible voices.
No golden messages.
Just the academy.
Cold stone.
Long corridors.
Hundreds of students preparing for another day of surviving things they did not understand.
Arthur glanced down at his bruised hand.
Tomorrow, he would train again.
Tomorrow, Mira would investigate again.
And sooner or later, one of them would make a mistake.
Arthur had spent enough of his first life believing mistakes were weaknesses.
At Gallows Edge, he was beginning to understand something different.
Sometimes a mistake was simply the price of learning.
He closed his notebook.
13.
Strength cannot be negotiated.
Then he added another line beneath it.
14.
That does not mean I have to fight alone.