The upstairs office of Aethermark Forge was unusually quiet that morning. Shadestone hadn't yet stirred, and the muted sunrise filtered through the long windows in ribbons of gold and pale pink. Taran sat cross-legged on the window ledge, chewing on the stem of a cinnamon leaf. Rowan stood at the table, arms folded, staring down at a collection of invoices, branding proposals, and recruitment documents.
"We're starting to feel it," Taran said, not looking up. "Your absence. Elias's absence."
Rowan exhaled slowly through his nose. "Which ones?"
"Merla, Lioh, Jesca from branding. And the entire client relations team. They keep saying things like, 'Should we wait to run this by Elias?' and 'What would Elias want for this region?'"
Rowan rubbed the back of his neck. "Shit."
Taran nodded. "Exactly. People are starting to worry. You built this brand with presence. Your face, your speeches, your vision. And now? Nothing. It's like the founder ghosted his own company."
"I thought staying quiet would be safer," Rowan muttered. "Let Redhollow rise on its own and keep the pressure off both fronts."
Taran hopped off the ledge and grabbed a pen. "I agree with the idea in theory. But in practice? We're bleeding engagement. And trust."
Rowan paced. "Alright. We need a public-facing explanation. A soft one. Nothing dramatic."
"Temporary sabbatical?" Taran offered. "Cliché, but acceptable."
"Too polished."
"Delegation experiment? You wanted to see if Aethermark could run on its team without founder oversight."
"Plausible," Rowan mused. "But makes me sound lazy."
"How about: Elias Corrin is exploring Aethermark's expansion into youth development and athletic integration. Quietly. Strategically."
Rowan stopped. "That could work."
"It even justifies your silence," Taran added. "You're laying groundwork. Testing models. Preparing a new wing of the brand that's about long-term investment in talent."
"Genius," Rowan said. "I get to be gone without being absent."
Taran grinned. "We'll have to post something soon. Minimalist. Intentional. Maybe a single photograph of Elias overseeing a shadowed training field, with a caption about patience."
"Do it," Rowan said. "Frame it with mystery. Let them guess the rest."
He dropped into his chair, stretching out his arms behind his head. "And you?"
Taran blinked. "Me?"
"You've been doing everything. The business front, the suppliers, now managing comms. You doing okay?"
Taran let the question hang for a moment, then cracked a grin. "Nah. I'm drowning. But we're both lunatics, so I guess we deserve it."
They clinked tea mugs together like two soldiers planning a siege, ready to surround an army a thousand strong, all on their own. Rowan's mind drifted already, back toward the academy.
Back toward fire.
Before the city woke, Rowan was already back at the Redhollow training grounds. The sky was still painted in gradients of indigo and steel. Mist drifted across the pitch like breath from sleeping giants.
Rowan, coat drawn tight, stood at the edge of the field.
He was not alone.
Lain.
Of the three discontented stars, Lain had seemed the most closed-off. Calculating. But there he stood, already dressed in full training kit, quietly going through warmups by himself.
No posturing. No smirking. Just silence.
When their eyes met, Lain gave a short nod.
Rowan nodded back.
Nothing more needed to be said.
The rest of the team arrived minutes later, trickling in by pair and trio. Cival, Tenri, Dara, Juno. Some wore determination on their faces. Others, exhaustion. But none of them arrived early.
None, except Lain.
Rowan didn't berate them. Not this time.
But he noted everything.
Wraithfen Bastion. Seventeenth in the table. Dangerous.
Desperate.
The week's training began with sharp discipline. Rowan had set up cone drills merged with low-grade pressure glyph fields to force reaction time. Mana bursts had to be timed with each step. Passes couldn't just be accurate—they had to sync with glyph resonance.
By day two, the players were soaked in sweat by the hour. Some threw up after each run. But no one wanted to be the first to quit.
By day three, they were adapting. They were beginning to understand. Effort alone was not enough. They needed to overcome their shortcomings and make up for their teammates.
Revi started calling out preemptive shifts. Dara's movement sharpened. Juno stopped second-guessing his rebound glyphs. Cival's trap angles were becoming readable only to Rowan, and sometimes, even he had to look twice.
And Lain?
Lain became their mirror.
Every time someone struggled, he ran it with them. Every time a drill reset, he lined up first. He said little. But his presence was becoming a beacon to them. Someone they can rally around when they are uncertain.
Not all were convinced. Not yet.
During confusion though, eyes shot straight at him.
Calyre and Theren missed two sessions, citing illness. Rowan never asked for excuses. He didn't send a healer. He simply noted their absence on the board.
Day by day, the fire grew.
By the end of the week, Rowan began modifying drills to push strategic decision-making under fatigue. Glyph-match scenarios. Momentum inversion traps. Instant rotation cues triggered by random rune flickers.
The main engine of this team were still too young. They were still too inexperienced, such a gap could not be made up for with talent alone.
Mistakes were still made—but now they were analyzed. Owned. Corrected.
He even began pairing players based on complementary traits. Tenri with Dara. Cival with Revi. Juno floating between the lines as an unpredictable wildcard.
Confidence didn't return all at once.
But something steadier did: belief.
Two days before matchday.
The gates of Redhollow creaked open before dawn, and the first wave arrived.
Not players.
Applicants.
One hundred and fifty.
Former coaches, magical theorists, off-duty healers, broken-down spell tacticians. Some came limping. Some came radiating suppressed power like kettles about to boil.
They carried their papers in hand, or scrawled on sigil scrolls. They wore mismatched armor. Tattered robes. A few had the sheen of professionalism—but many had only desperation and grit.
Rowan stood above them on the strategy hall steps.
He did not smile.
"Welcome to Redhollow."
Then he gestured to the arena behind him.
"This is your interview."
The trials had begun.