As Cassian, Rook, and I make our way toward the training ground, I stretch my arms over my head. “Just so you know, this will absolutely not be a show.”

Cassian glances back at me as I stretch. “Good. Shows make people sloppy.”

Rook rolls his shoulders as he walks. “And disappointed. I was hoping for sparks.”

The lower courtyard opens up ahead—wide stone circle, worn smooth by years of drills. Racks of practice weapons line one wall. The sky above is open, pale blue, no banners, no audience. Just space.

I do a few small stretches. Nothing extraordinary. I don’t expect a workout, but if something backfires, I don’t want to be stiff.

With my body marginally warmed up, I begin.

“System. Profile.”

The System responds immediately.

[PROFILE — ACTIVE DISPLAY]
Name: Cael Hart
Status: Stable
Hero Abilities: Sealed (Exception – Causality Shift)
Condition: Rested / Focused

Primary Ability: CAUSALITY SHIFT
▸ Convergence (passive) — Active
▸ Keystone (active) — Indirect Only
Effect: Increases ally effectiveness through proximity, shared intent, and emotional alignment.

Mana:
▸ Internal Generation: Null
▸ Throughput Capacity: High
▸ Overload Threshold: Unknown

System Note:
This environment is suitable for testing conduction, not casting.

I point at the image that floats before me—something only I can see.

“See, System. This right here is the problem. You tell me I don’t have a support ability as my active ability and then you turn around and say its activation method is ‘indirect only.’”

I drag my hand through my hair and then shake it at the invisible screen, exasperated.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

The System answers cleanly.

[CLARIFICATION]
“Indirect” does not mean “support.”
INDIRECT = TRIGGER PATH
Not function.

A second line follows.

YOU DO NOT CAST.
You re-route.

Then, specific.

ACTIONABLE TEST:
Select a target with existing force.
Apply intent.
Observe change in outcome.

Cassian watches my hand-waving with a faint frown. “Arguing with the invisible again?”

Rook grins. “Tell it I said it’s being vague on purpose.”

The System adds one more line.

SYSTEM NOTE:
If you want a “flex,” borrow one.
Then make it bigger.

“Ugh.” I run both my hands through my hair. “Borrowing a flex is so not cool, though?”

I pace a few steps across the courtyard, then exhale.

“Okay. Fine. We’ll come back to this. Give me some mini quests to help me test conduction.”

The System responds immediately.

[TRAINING PROTOCOL — CONDUCTION TESTS]
Mini-quests generated. Low risk. Observable outcomes.

TEST 1: EDGE AMPLIFICATION
▸ Target: Cassian
▸ Action: Have him perform a controlled strike (full force, practice weapon)
▸ Your role: Maintain proximity. Focus on clarity of outcome.
▸ Success Indicator: Increased precision, impact, or follow-through beyond baseline.

TEST 2: STABILITY TRANSFER
▸ Target: Rook
▸ Action: Have him attempt a difficult movement (speed, balance, evasion)
▸ Your role: Maintain proximity. Focus on clarity of outcome.
▸ Success Indicator: Recovery from an error that should have caused failure.

TEST 3: RESISTANCE FIELD (PASSIVE)
▸ Target: Yourself
▸ Action: Stand still while Cassian applies controlled pressure (push, strike to guard)
▸ Your role: Do nothing. Focus on clarity of outcome.
▸ Success Indicator: Reduced displacement or shock compared to expectation.

The interface fades.

“System,” I growl, eyeing the quests.

Is it seriously telling me to stand around and support them with the ~’power of positive thinking’~?

“I swear to the gods you did not let me get summoned here as a fucking glitch. Right? You promise I am not just a bug?”

The System answers immediately. No delay. No humor.

[QUERY RECEIVED]
SUMMONING TYPE: Non-standard
CAUSE: Manual override
ERROR RATE: Zero

A pause—short, firm.

[ASSERTION CONFIRMED]
You are not a glitch.
You are intentional.

Then, plainly:

YOU WERE NOT PULLED IN BY ACCIDENT.
You were selected because standard solutions had failed.

The interface fades.

“Well, that’s just fucking great.” I throw my hands up and groan.

“You and me, System. Once I master your fucking glitchy-ass support power, you are giving me a quest for a legitimate power I can use.”

“By myself. At will. Got it?”

I exhale hard.

“We have not survived this many world-ending scenarios by having me stand around and point fingers while other people do the work. I mean—do you even remember what happened on Elastadar? Huh?”

I glare at the empty air.

“’Cause my liver does”

The System does not argue.

It waits until I’m done.

Then it answers—flat, unmistakable.

[ACKNOWLEDGEMENT RECEIVED]
RECORD CHECK:
Elastadar — Confirmed
Outcome: Victory
Collateral: Severe
Note: Your liver’s complaint is on file

A brief pause.

Then, almost curt:

NEXT STEP:
Stop pacing.
Run Test 1.

The display vanishes.

“Jesus. Okay.” I say, calming myself down and ruffling my hair with one hand. “Alright. Test one. Let’s see.”

Cassian raises a brow. “Elastadar sounds unpleasant.”

Rook grins.

I scroll through my windows until I find Test 1, skimming it once more.

“Okay,” I mutter. “I think I’ve got it.”

I lift my gaze to Cassian.

“Hey, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor. Think you could lend me a hand?”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate.

He steps toward the weapon rack and takes a practice sword—weighted wood with a dull edge, scuffed from years of use. He rolls it once in his hand, testing balance, then plants his feet near the center of the courtyard.

“Tell me where you want me,” he says.

Rook pushes off the pillar and circles wide, giving space. “This should be interesting.”

I glance around the courtyard. “Is there, like… a practice dummy or something we can use? I need visuals for comparison. I can’t feel how well it’s working through your body.”

Cassian nods once. “Yeah.”

He gestures toward the far side of the courtyard where a row of practice dummies sit—thick wood wrapped in straw, reinforced joints, already split and repaired more than once.

Rook crouches near one, inspecting. “This one’s sturdy. Takes three clean hits from Cassian to crack the core. Four if he’s tired.”

Cassian steps back to his mark, rolling his shoulders. He’s in training gear, not full armor—a sleeveless black gambeson hugging his torso, worn soft from use but still structured. Leather bracers wrap his forearms, scarred and darkened where blades have glanced off them a hundred times. His shoulders are bare—broad, strong, already dusted with sweat—collarbone visible where the fabric dips. Simple trousers, fitted for movement, tucked into worn boots.

No cloak. No insignia.

Just muscle, discipline, and a body built to absorb impact and keep going.

“Baseline first,” he says.

He raises the practice sword, stance precise, breath steady.

“Ready when you are.”

I nod. “Strike.”

Cassian moves.

No hesitation. No flourish.

The practice sword comes down in a clean, controlled arc—hips turning, shoulders following through. The strike lands squarely against the dummy’s torso with a solid thud.

Wood creaks. Straw bursts at the seams.

A visible crack spiders across the dummy’s chest—but the core holds.

Cassian steps back, lowering the sword. Breathing steady. “That’s one.”

Rook nods from where he’s crouched. “Baseline confirmed.”

Cassian turns his head slightly toward me. “Your turn,” he says. “Where do you want to stand?”

“Hm.” I move behind him and place two fingers lightly against the side of his neck. “Let’s start by testing to make sure it works. This might be uncomfortable, but I want to eliminate the potential for unforeseen errors. Please swing again.”

Cassian stiffens for a moment when my fingers first touch his neck, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Understood,” he says.

He resets his stance. Same distance. Same grip. Same breath.

I close my eyes and focus—really focus—on imagining his swing cutting the dummy clean in half.

Rook watches like a hawk.

Cassian swings again.

The moment the blade moves, something shifts.

Not light.
Not sound.

Timing.

The sword doesn’t hit harder—it hits truer. The arc is cleaner. The follow-through tighter. The impact lands a fraction deeper than physics alone should allow.

The dummy splits.

A clean, decisive fracture straight down the center. The reinforced core gives with a sharp crack and collapses inward. Straw spills onto the stone in a neat line.

Cassian stops mid-breath.

He looks at the dummy. Then at the sword. Then slowly turns his head just enough to look back at me.

“…That,” he says carefully, “was not baseline.”

Rook lets out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned.”