Chapter Twenty Eight #3
Delvanir appeared across from Morrison and a ripple of tension surged through Cassara’s squad. Verena muttered something like a curse. Oliver looked pale. Rett’s fingers flexed nervously at his side. Liri gave a tiny, audible gulp.
Cassara’s heart hammered against her ribs. Morrison’s team—one of the many scenarios she and Gideon had planned for, but somehow hearing it made official sent fresh waves of anxiety through her chest.
“Teams will have one hour to prepare before combat initiation,” Auren announced. “You’re dismissed.”
As the groups began to disperse, Cassara caught sight of Julian standing at the opposite end of the platform, his expression dark as he watched her team file toward their assigned preparation chamber. The weight of his attention felt like a target painted between her shoulder blades.
The preparation room was smaller than Cassara had expected, fitted with basic equipment racks and a tactical planning table that projected a three-dimensional map of potential arena configurations. Her teammates clustered around it with varying degrees of confidence.
Liri looked pale, her usual brightness dimmed by anxiety. “Morrison’s team is more cohesive.”
“And stronger,” Oliver added glumly, adjusting his ACS bracer with nervous precision. “Their average beast ranking is nearly a full tier above ours.”
Barrett said nothing, but his body was tense in a way that suggested he was preparing for the worst.
Verena crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. “So what’s the plan? Hope they underestimate us and get lucky?”
“Actually,” Gideon said, moving to the tactical table, “we have something better than luck.”
He and Cassara exchanged a look, and she felt heat creep up her neck as she remembered their late-night strategy session. The way he’d looked at her across that library table, the easy banter about brooding and tactical positioning…
“We spent some time analyzing the other teams,” Cassara stepped forward, calm and collected as she unrolled a scroll and dropped it onto the table in front of them. “Morrison’s squad has predictable patterns we can exploit.”
Gideon followed, unfurling a second sheet—a detailed arena mockup with notes already inscribed across each quadrant. “We’ve noted their tendencies, triggers, and best of all, their weak points.”
Oliver blinked. “When—?”
“Library sightlines,” Cassara said simply. “Gideon and I compared notes.”
Verena’s eyes narrowed. “You and Gideon? When exactly was this happening?”
“Does it matter?” Gideon’s tone carried a warning edge.
“It matters if our captain is making tactical decisions without consulting the team.” Verena’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Especially if those decisions involve… private strategy sessions.”
Cassara frowned and forced her voice to remain steady. “The analysis is sound regardless of when it was conducted.”
“I’m sure it is,” Verena replied, but her smile was sharp as broken glass.
“We don’t have time for this.” Gideon interjected. “We have forty minutes to prepare for combat. Personal grievances can wait.”
He activated the tactical display, projecting their carefully planned formations. Cassara stepped beside him, tapping a marked point on the southern ridge. “Morrison’s unit is predictable. Direct. He’ll push straight for central control and try to brute-force their way into dominance.”
Oliver leaned forward across the tactical table, squinting at the projected formation. “They have a Stone Titan, right? Massive tank-class?”
“Exactly,” Cassara said, pointing to the central position on their display. “He’ll park it at a central chokehold and dare anyone to move him.”
Liri shifted nervously in her chair, one hand fidgeting with her gear strap. “But what about that ice girl? She seems… stabby.”
“Kira,” Gideon confirmed, moving around the table to adjust the projection angle. “She’s fast and aggressive, but she’s got a temper problem. She breaks formation if she feels insulted.”
Cassara’s smile turned sharp as she leaned back against the equipment rack. “Which is why we’re going to insult her.”
Verena straightened abruptly in her seat. “We’re going to what now?”
“We’ll fake a collapse on our left flank,” Cassara said, pushing off from the wall to trace the movement on the display with her finger. “Draw her in. She’ll think we’re scrambling and break ranks to finish the job. That’ll leave Morrison’s core vulnerable.”
Gideon nodded, circling to the opposite side of the table. “Dalyn will turtle up. That’s what he does—he’ll over-defend if he thinks Morrison’s being flanked.”
Barrett, who had been standing quietly near the door, stepped closer to get a better view of the tactical breakdown.
“And when that happens,” Oliver said, rising from his chair as understanding dawned, “he’ll lock himself in a position that cuts off his team’s mobility.”
“Exactly.” Gideon tapped the projection, highlighting the predicted defensive positions. “Derek’s mole won’t be able to flank fast enough if we keep shifting beacon control. And their Wind Hawk? Harassment only goes so far when they don’t have clean line-of-sight.”
Cassara moved to stand beside Gideon, close enough that their shoulders almost touched as she gestured toward the center beacon. “We play them like a storm. We keep moving, never meet them full-force. Make them chase us. Make them react.”
Verena frowned. “That’s a lot of moving pieces. And what if they don’t take the bait?”
“They will,” Gideon said. “Because they always do.”
“Our job isn’t to outpower them,” Cassara added. “It’s to outthink them.”
Gideon smiled—a rare expression that transformed his usually serious features.
“There’s one more thing.” He reached into his equipment bag and withdrew a collection of blackened steel pins, each bearing an intricate design of crystalline spears arranged in a wing-like sunburst pattern around the lower half of a woven steel ring.
“Our official unit designation,” he announced. “Auric Vow.”
Cassara stared at the crest, recognizing the elegant artistry that had gone into its creation. The golden crystals seemed to catch and hold light, while the black center gave the impression of depth, of potential waiting to be filled.
“It’s beautiful,” Liri breathed, accepting her pin with reverence.
“Where did you—” Oliver started, then stopped. “Never mind. It’s perfect.”
Even Verena handled her crest with something approaching respect, though her eyes still held traces of earlier irritation.
As they pinned the crests to their combat uniforms, Cassara felt something shift in the room’s atmosphere. They weren’t just a collection of individuals anymore—they were Auric Vow.
Whatever they would become, they would do it together.
“Fifteen minutes until arena activation,” came an announcement from outside their chamber.
Gideon looked around the circle of his team—his squad, his unit—and nodded once.
“Time to show them what we’re made of.”