Chapter 173: Protocol Zero-One

The morning chimes of Zenith Academy rang out with a hollow clarity that seemed to strip the warmth from the air. It had been four weeks since the start of the second semester. Four weeks of grinding somatic drills, arcanic calculus, and the relentless, silent pressure of the Second Year student body waiting for a moment of weakness. The snow had finally stopped falling, leaving the floating island covered in a pristine, blinding white blanket that hid the scars of the training grounds.

Vane stood in the foyer of Villa 1. He checked his gear one last time. His uniform was pressed. The silver buttons were polished. The [Silver Fang] hummed quietly in his marrow, a dormant predator waiting for a command.

“You are going to be late,” Mara said.

She was sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase. She held a piece of charcoal in her hand, her fingers stained black. On the paper in her lap, lines of jagged but determined ’B’s marched across the page.

“I am never late,” Vane replied. He adjusted his cuffs. “I am calibrating the arrival time.”

“That sounds like being late with extra words,” Mara noted without looking up.

Vane allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to touch his lips. The month of peace had done wonders for her. She was no longer the terrified ghost of the Iron Groves. She was a child who felt safe enough to be cheeky.

“Stay inside today,” Vane said, his voice dropping to a serious register. “The air is heavy. The Second Years are too quiet. If the perimeter wards turn yellow, you go to the panic room. You do not wait for Elena.”

Mara nodded. She gripped the charcoal tighter. “I know. Straight lines. Stay safe.”

Vane opened the door and stepped out into the biting wind.

He met Valerica at the junction of the Peak path. She was waiting for him, her breath puffing out in white clouds. She looked impeccable in her Sol family winter cloak, the fur collar framing a face that was set in a mask of noble determination.

“The transport grid is active,” Valerica said as they began the descent. “All lines. Even the heavy cargo lifters are moving. Something is happening.”

“It is the mid-term window,” Vane reasoned. “Draeven has been threatening a practical evaluation for weeks.”

They reached the central plaza. The crowd of students was thinner than usual. The one hundred and fifty dropouts from the winter cull were still a fresh memory, leaving the corridors feeling cavernous and cold.

At the entrance to the Academic Wing, the squad split up.

“See you at lunch,” Ashe called out, jogging toward the Elemental Arts hall. She waved a hand without looking back. “Try not to bore yourself to death in Homeroom, Vane.”

Isaac offered a weary wave and followed her toward the Arcanum. Isole simply nodded, clutching her books to her chest as she headed for the Support Logic tower.

Vane and Valerica continued alone. They walked up the basalt steps to the lecture hall marked 1-A.

The room was a vast amphitheater of black stone. It was designed to hold fifty, but now only the top twenty students of the track sat in the tiered seats. The atmosphere was heavy. There was no chatter. No one was comparing notes.

In the front row, Anastasia Aurelia sat alone.

She did not turn around when they entered. Her posture was rigid, a line of gold and white perfection against the dark desk. The space around her was empty. Even the other high-ranking nobles gave the Princess a wide berth.

Vane and Valerica took their seats in the middle tier.

“She knows something,” Valerica whispered. “Look at her shoulders. She is bracing for impact.”

Precisely at 0800, the heavy iron doors at the base of the amphitheater slammed open.

Instructor Rowan Draeven walked in.

He did not walk like a teacher. He walked like a siege engine. He wore full Vanguard tactical armor, the plates scarred and dull. He carried a heavy, black metal case in one hand.

He slammed the case onto the glass podium. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

“Comfort,” Rowan said. His voice was a landslide of gravel. “It is a disease. I have watched you for a month. You eat well. You sleep in soft beds. You train in heated halls. You think you are soldiers.”

He looked up. His iron-grey eyes swept the room.

“You are not soldiers. You are cattle waiting for the slaughter.”

He tapped the case. A holographic map exploded into the air above him. It showed the southern continent. Hundreds of red dots lit up across the display.

“The Empire is not at peace,” Rowan barked. “While you were learning how to polish your boots, three border outposts went dark in the Grey-Wastes. A necromantic surge has destabilized the Black-Grain District. The variables have changed.”

A ripple of unease went through the class.

“The Academy has authorized a mass deployment,” Rowan announced. “Every student in the First Year will be mobilized. You will be dropped into active zones to restore order, secure assets, and purge hostile entities.”

He paused. His gaze locked onto Vane.

“But you will not be going as squads. I have watched you. You have formed cliques. You cover each other’s weaknesses. Vane relies on Valerica’s gravity. Valerica relies on Vane’s aggression. It is pathetic.”

Rowan pressed a button on the case.

“This is Protocol Zero-One. The squad structure is dissolved effective immediately. You will deploy in Duo-Intervention teams. You have seventy-two hours to synchronize with your assigned partner. If you fail to adapt, you will die.”

The list scrolled across the hologram.

Vane scanned it instantly. He found his name. Then he stopped.

Deployment Group Alpha (High Priority)

Team 1: Valerica Sol / Anastasia Aurelia.

Target: The Crystal Spire.

Team 2: Ashe Razar / Isaac Glacium.

Target: The Frost-Bite Trench.

Team 3: Vane / Isole Sylvaris.

Target: The Dead-Gate of Mourn-Hold.

The silence in the room was absolute.

Valerica slowly lowered her hand to the desk. Her fingers curled into a fist so tight that the stone beneath them cracked.

“He has to be joking,” Valerica whispered. The temperature around her dropped. “He put me with her?”

In the front row, Anastasia stood up. She turned around. Her violet eyes locked onto Valerica. There was no fear in her gaze. There was only a cold, lethal challenge.

“It seems the Empire has a sense of irony,” Anastasia said. Her voice carried clearly across the silent room.

“Sit down, Aurelia,” Rowan snapped. “I did not give you permission to speak.”

Anastasia sat, but the damage was done. The air in the room was vibrating with the tension of two massive, opposing mana fields.

“You have your orders,” Rowan said. “The deployment ships launch in three days. Use the time to learn your partner’s rhythm. If I see you training with your old squad, I will fail you before you even step on the transport.”

He picked up the case.

“Dismissed.”

Rowan walked out. The door slammed shut behind him.

The room erupted into chaos. Students were shouting, checking their tablets, frantically messaging their friends.

Vane stood up. He felt cold.

“He separated the tank and the healer,” Vane said. “He put the two most volatile elements together. And he put the rivals in a cage.”

“I have to go,” Valerica said. She stood up, her face pale with fury. “I need to… establish boundaries. Before I kill her.”

She walked down the stairs toward the front row. Anastasia stood up to meet her. They stood toe to toe, two queens of the First Year, radiating enough hostility to crack the glass podium.

Vane turned and walked out of the amphitheater.

He needed to find Isole.

He found her in the central plaza. She was standing near the fountain, clutching her datapad. She wasn’t moving. She was staring at the screen as if it were a death sentence.

Ashe and Isaac were already there. They were shouting at each other.

“I am not going to the Frost-Bite Trench with you!” Ashe yelled. “I will freeze! My fire authority needs ambient heat to cycle efficiently!”

“Do you think I want this?” Isaac shouted back, looking unusually flustered. “You are a walking thermal detonator, Ashe! You will melt the cover! We will be shot by snipers because you glow in the dark!”

Vane walked past them. He stopped in front of Isole.

She looked up. Her mismatched eyes were wide and wet. The shadow behind her emerald eye was pulsing with anxiety.

“Vane,” she whispered. “I… I can’t be your partner. I’m support. I need a front line. I need Valerica’s gravity or Ashe’s speed.”

“They aren’t here,” Vane said. His voice was flat. “Valerica is busy fighting a war for dominance. Ashe is busy arguing about thermodynamics. It is just us.”

“I can’t fight like you,” Isole said. Her voice broke. “I can’t kill like that. The Silver Fang… it’s too cold. I’ll just slow you down.”

Vane reached out. He took the datapad from her hands and turned it off.

“You aren’t going to slow me down,” Vane said. “You are going to keep me alive. Mourn-Hold is a necrotic zone, Isole. It is full of rot. My spear can cut flesh, but it cannot cut sickness. I need you to see what I can’t.”

Isole shivered. “Mourn-Hold… the reports say the ground there screams.”

“Then we will scream back,” Vane said.

He looked over his shoulder. Ashe and Isaac were still arguing. Valerica and Anastasia were likely dividing up the command structure of their team with surgical insults.

The squad was broken. The safety net was gone.

“Come on,” Vane said to Isole. “We have three days. We are going to the lower training fields. You are going to learn how to hit things, and I am going to learn how to listen.”

Isole hesitated. She looked at the fountain. She looked at the comfortable, safe routine of the Academy that was dissolving around her.

Then she took a breath. She nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Vane turned and led the way. The wind picked up, howling through the spires of Zenith, carrying the scent of the coming storm.

Protocol Zero-One had begun.

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