Eleven pairs of eyes were now fixed on Gramm, filled with expectation.
They understood what they had to accomplish to take a step toward the interdiate rank, but that didn’t make anything easier.
So when Gramm spoke, every mouth tightened.
"You will form pairs for this exercise. Sirius and Kritos, Lucy and Gracia, Fidri and Elizir, Iris and Ronel, Rana and Ana."
At those words, everyone complied, grouping into pairs. Even Rana, usually drowsy, made no fuss, seemingly resigned to having no say in the matter.
All except Ereis.
His gaze wandered in every direction, lost as to what he was supposed to do. Gramm did not seem to pay him any more attention. So he remained a spectator against his will, burdened with that unpleasant feeling of not belonging.
"Each pair will take a sheet."
Imdiately, they all got to work, picking a sheet from the stack placed before Gramm.
A brief silence followed, then he added:
"Each pair will hold their sheet together, with both hands."
Once in position, each holding the sheet with their partner, Gramm snapped his fingers.
Five golden flas burst forth simultaneously, one before each pair. They were steady, silent, as if they had always been there.
"Bring the paper closer."
The pairs obeyed.
The mont each sheet brushed its fla, the paper caught fire at the edge, burning completely within seconds.
Every attempt yielded the sa result.
Each ti, the sa perplexed silence.
Gramm let them watch the ashes fall.
"Good. What do you observe?"
"The paper burns," Fidri replied, hesitant in the face of such an apparently absurd question.
"Indeed."
Gramm let the word settle, his gaze drifting over each of them.
"Your exercise is simple: make it so that it does not burn. You have one month to achieve it. The flas will remain lit; they will not go out until you succeed. You will have as many sheets as you need."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Any questions?"
No one answered.
Not out of understanding, but because no one knew where to begin.
That silence was his answer.
Without another word, Gramm turned on his heel and left the room, leaving behind eleven completely lost minds.
---
San waited patiently by the door, leaning against the wall.
"Do as usual," Gramm ordered without slowing down.
San gave a slight bow.
He did not know what kind of training Gramm was putting them through, nor why, and he was not curious enough to ask. His task was simple: bring them to the room each night, then take them back before dawn. Seen by none, heard by none.
Ti passed.
No sound escaped from the training room, leaving him in total ignorance of what was happening inside.
When he judged the mont had co, he quietly pushed the door open.
And before anyone could notice his presence:
Eleven identical copies of San materialized simultaneously, each behind a target.
In a fraction of a second, before a single gaze could rise, all eleven were neutralized. Cleanly. Without sound. Without resistance.
The copies vanished imdiately, returning each target to their dormitory.
San found himself alone.
He closed the door, then swept the room with his gaze.
The golden flas were still burning, undisturbed, as if nothing had happened.
On the ground, scattered before each of them: ashes. Nothing more.
San crouched down, brushing the remains of a burned sheet with his fingertips.
He stood again and thodically put the room back in order, placing a new stack of sheets where the burned ones had been.
He worked in silence, letting his thoughts drift around what he suspected.
Then, staring at the flas, he murmured softly:
"Willpower... now that is surprising."
---
Leaving the rest of the work to San, Gramm walked through the empty corridors of the castle.
Located in the basent, this place was rarely visited. Not surprising few were allowed to walk there.
At the end of a long corridor, he pushed open a wooden door and closed it behind him.
The night was already well advanced.
A cool breeze brushed against his face, light, carrying the scent of damp earth and nocturnal flowers.
Before him stretched a garden imrsed in soft darkness.
A small lake shimred at its center, its perfectly still surface reflecting a full moon suspended in the sky.
Gramm stopped at the threshold.
For a mont, he doubted.
Had he left the basent?
It wasn’t the first ti this room gave him that impression. And yet, he knew.
All of this was nothing but a painting.
Every detail, every nuance, every reflection was the result of a painter’s will who, at Rioken’s request, had brought this nearly perfect illusion to life.
The directors had complete freedom to design their training rooms. Where Gramm had chosen simplicity, Rioken had chosen nature.
---
Sitting by the edge of the painted lake, savoring what seed to be sake, was Rioken. Kimono, blue coat carelessly draped over his shoulders, a katana at his side.
"San has improved. He now moves like a shadow. It’s difficult for to detect him without focusing," he said without turning around.
"He has always been gifted," Gramm replied as he approached.
"Surprising to hear you admit that."
A faint nostalgia passed through Rioken’s voice, quickly drowned in a sip of sake.
"What does it feel like to go from student to teacher?"
"I don’t recall receiving any teaching. Nor recognizing any master."
Rioken smiled faintly.
"So things never change."
Silence settled for a mont.
"How is Gungnir progressing?"
Gramm looked at him.
Rioken was supposed to know the answer. As a director, he received the latest reports on this special operation at the sa ti.
So why ask?
Then he rembered a rumor: Rioken did not read reports. The longer they were, the more he avoided them.
Gramm gave him a pointed look.
Rioken imdiately raised his hand in defense.
"Sarah used to read them for ... and summarize them. But since she beca deputy director, she says she doesn’t have ti anymore."
He sighed.
"It’s sad. I feel like I’m being gradually abandoned."
Gramm had to suppress a smile.
He himself had a complicated relationship with Zero, his deputy director... but for very different reasons.
"The operation will soon enter its second phase," he finally said.
"The infiltration into the Kingdom of the vermin is proceeding as planned. Zero is currently heading toward the royal capital."
Rioken raised his cup.
"I see. Nothing surprising with Zero."
Then, more seriously:
"When do you plan to go? And who will take care of your students? If you want, we can switch. My blade is dulling from staying in its sheath."
"No need. I still have at least eight months. By then, so will have reached the interdiate rank."
A flicker of disappointnt crossed Rioken’s face.
He stood up, removed his coat, and carefully set it aside.
"Too bad. My blade had already begun to rejoice."
"That’s unfortunate. You’ll have to settle for ," Gramm replied as he removed his own.
Enforcers were forbidden from fighting while wearing their coats, even in a friendly duel.
"Good," Rioken said, taking his stance, a smile on his lips.
"Let the sparring begin."
Gramm did the sa.
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