DESYREBOUND

The white lights hummed overhead, cold and sterile.

Enzo sat shirtless on the edge of the infirmary bed, a deep gash bandaged along his shoulder. Dried blood streaked faintly across his ribs — a vivid reminder that even simulations could cut like the real thing. His broken lens tablet lay beside him on a metal tray, cracked and useless.

Across the room, Elise leaned against the wall, arms folded, uniform still stained with Rift dust and faint threads of lingering Arc energy. Her bow rested beside her, unstrung.

David stood by the window, staring at the training field far below. His armor had been stripped down, gauntlets removed, revealing knuckles bruised from blocking too many blows. He didn't speak first. None of them did.

Finally, Elise broke the silence.

"They pushed it too far."

David exhaled slowly. "We handled it."

"Barely," she muttered. "That wasn't just a ramped-up boss. It evolved mid-fight. I've reviewed the Rift trial specs — there was nothing about Wyrm-Class behavior modulation."

Enzo's gaze remained fixed on the floor. "It doesn't matter. I couldn't keep up. I was the weak link."

David turned. "Stop that."

"You saw what happened," Enzo said quietly. "I calculated wrong. It cost us positioning. I nearly got us killed."

"No," David replied firmly. "You held formation. You kept the plan moving even bleeding out. You gave us the opening."

Elise crossed her arms tighter. Her voice dropped.

"That boss wasn't acting under simulation parameters. Something changed. Something was wrong."

Enzo finally looked up at her. His expression wasn't angry or afraid — it was calculating. Empty, almost.

"Then that trial wasn't just for us."

He paused.

"They were watching for something else."

------------

The prep zone for Squad Two glowed with quiet tension. Flickering panels displayed Rift maps and threat profiles while crates of unused gear hummed under standby power. It wasn't chaos — it was calm before ignition.

Kael stood off to the side, strapping on his reinforced combat gloves. His loadout was sparse compared to before — no halberd, no bow, no twin daggers. Just a standard-issue short sword secured to his hip and the coiled black whip Cyrhelle had asked about last night.

Julienne watched him from across the gear rack, one brow rising.

"Seriously? That's it?"

Kael adjusted the whip's placement at his side. "It's enough."

Julienne gestured toward the others still finalizing their kits.

"You brought five weapons during the midterm sparring. Bow, whip, sword, daggers— even that wooden polearm. What happened to Mr. Walking Arsenal?"

Kael didn't answer. He finished fastening the sheath strap on his sword.

Julienne gave him a sideways glance.

"You trying not to outshine us or something?"

Still, Kael said nothing.

and in his mind:

I drew too much attention last time.

The match. The silence afterward. The looks.

Better this way. Cleaner. Less noise.

Cyrhelle approached from the terminal, a charcoal-smudged sketchbook tucked under one arm. Her black hair was tied back in a loose twist, and faint glimmers of inkwell residue traced the edges of her gloves — the subtle afterglow of spellcasting prep.

She looked Kael over once, tilting her head slightly.

"No daggers either?"

He shook his head once.

Julienne tilted hers.

"That whip you used in the last evaluation — it's not even listed in the armory."

Kael finally spoke. "It isn't."

Julienne blinked. "So it's yours?"

Kael nodded. "Custom. I've had it for years. Brought it with me."

"That explains it," she murmured. "You used it like it was part of your own breath. No wonder it's not academy-standard."

"It's not a common choice," Kael said. "Most Ascenders don't bother with whips. Too technical. Not enough raw power."

"But it worked for you," she said.

Kael met her gaze. "Only if you know when not to use it."

Julienne leaned back against a crate, arms crossed.

"He's being cryptic again. That means the simulation's going to be a mess."

"It's always a mess," Cyrhelle murmured, flipping her sketchbook open. She began lightly etching runes and terrain shapes onto the page — a habit Kael had seen before. She only drew what she wanted to remember.

A short silence settled between them, broken only by the ambient hum of Rift data in the background.

Then came the overhead chime.

["Squad Two — standby for gate activation. Instance parameters loaded. Countdown: 00:03:12."]

Julienne straightened.

"Time to see if minimalism's a winning strategy."

Kael nodded once — silent, steady.