Ishara Veyl.

She stepped into the training hall and saw Royoshi Kairo across the room. He stood at ease by the sparring dummies, one hand on his wooden practice blade. He didn't notice her yet as he was too focused.

She watched him. One moment, his stance was precise, the next a purposeful misstep, as if he were testing himself. 

Ishara logged the pattern.

Deliberate inconsistency.

A disciplined mind favoured logic; she forced deep breaths and continued her own warm-up, keeping him in view at all times.

She had thought everyone was the same, but Royoshi Kairo was different. His presence had always drawn her to attention. She scolded herself: feelings were a luxury even she couldn't afford. Stay focused, she reminded herself.

She recalled her own record-keeping mentality. Hard drills, disciplined moves.

But now her mind was racing with questions. Royoshi's training record had been mediocre at best. 

Last week, everything had flipped.

Royoshi Kairo hadn't improved the way others did. His failures clustered in odd places. He simply… adjusted. His successes appeared where they shouldn't.

Something in Royoshi's training had changed overnight.

Master Devrik's voice echoed in her mind: questions don't solve themselves. Maybe… it was nothing. Perhaps a one-time surge performance. But doubt crept in. If someone or something was influencing him, she needed to know.

For a moment, Royoshi tensed in mid-strike, as if he sensed something. He glanced up and caught her stare. 

It was too late before Ishara realized: I've been watching him all morning. Too late to pretend nothing was wrong.

She slid into position behind the instructor and began the drill with measured calm.

Fear pricked at her— if she'd arrived even a moment later, what would she have found? She forced down that panic.

She could only learn the truth by watching.

Ishara reminded herself: You are a soldier. Show nothing.

She kept her expression blank.

During the cooldown, Royoshi's Shuryoku flickered.

Ishara's fingers tightened around her wrist wrap.

That wasn't exhaustion. It was… precise. As if his circulation corrected itself before anyone noticed.

That shouldn't be possible. She told herself.

She checked the instructor. No reaction.

Which meant either no one else saw it—

Or no one knew what they were looking upon.

Somewhere far away, Sevran sat in the observation chamber, bluish charts floating before him. Only Royoshi Kairo's data had changed overnight. 

He drummed his fingers on the desk, expression unreadable. Potential, he believed, was like hidden ore: raw and uncovered.

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the progress bar for Royoshi. It was surging upward. In the back of his mind, a memory stirred: once, Rikishu had shown that same growth pattern, unpredictable and unstoppable. If Royoshi followed a similar path, Sevran needed to claim control.

He tapped his console. Royoshi's hologram materialized, performing strikes in slow motion. His form was nearly perfect. The numbers didn't lie. Royoshi was accelerating every week.

His voice remained calm. "Send a scout to the Citadel. I want eyes on Royoshi Kairo's growth and any signs of Rikishu Kairo's influence."

"Understood, sir. Deploying now," came the crisp reply. Sevran gave no further instructions.

But somewhere else. Far beyond the Citadel's reach, Rikishu stood alone in a silent void. No breeze, no voices— only memories.

He remembered her. The warmth of her hand in his, the promise he made to her as the last sun fell behind the horizon. "I will return," he had whispered. She had believed every word.

Guilt pressed on his chest like a weight. A simple vow had been broken by war. Perhaps she still waited for his return on that quiet morning. Perhaps she moved on without him. Both thoughts stabbed his heart.

He had always been calm to others. The same steady voice not guiding Royoshi was once the voice that offered hope to countless soldiers in darker times. But in this emptiness, that cracked. A single tear slid down his cheek. It surprised him more than the silence.

He reminded himself: duty was done. He had done what needed doing, sacrificed what had to be sacrificed.

"I promised," he muttered into the darkness. The voice offered no answer but infinite black.

"I will return someday. I hope you're still waiting for me," Rikishu whispered.

Rikishu waited. Hoping he hadn't been too late after all. He would not break that promise, no matter the silence.

Far away, Royoshi trained under unseen guidance.

Ishara Veyl watched over the Citadel.

And Sevran Axiom moved his chess pieces.