The Vigil Training Grounds at Silver Star Academy were permanently saturated with the coarse smell of rust and sweat. Unlike the tranquil Hall of Contemplation favored by the Weavers, this space resembled an open-air iron workshop—cast-iron stands encircled the central field, their surfaces embedded with worn Aetheric Runes. Steam pipes dangling from the edges occasionally spat white mist, pooling into puddles on the ground that shimmered with an oily iridescence. Beyond the scent of machine oil, the air carried a faint hint of sulfur and putrefaction—the metallic odor of the Vigils' Stellar Cores resonating with the air as they generated Rage Aether, mixed with the lingering abyssal taint of the Simulacrum Abominations. This made the residue of Industrial Aether Catalyst on Elara Thorne's fingertips faintly burn.
Today's curriculum called for the first joint exercise between Weavers and Vigils, themed Aetheric Support and Melee Synergy. Elara Thorne stood at the back of the Weavers' formation; her plain gray uniform was inconspicuous among the Vigil students, many of whom wore uniforms embroidered with family crests or military insignias. Most of the Vigil students wore silver-edged high-tier uniforms: the Ironwolf House's 'Raging Wolf Head' crests (inscribed with crossed swords) and the Frostborne House's 'Ice-Crystal Crown' blazed in the light. These were the children of the nobility and military, most of them upper Tier-One, with a few reaching Tier-Two Protector. Their un-restrained Rage Aether radiated from them like dormant volcanoes ready to erupt.
"Attention!" A burly Vigil Instructor stomped onto the center of the field. His left arm was a bronze prosthesis, and his chest bore a Tier-Three Riftsmasher badge, its edges still marked with uncleaned battlefield residue. His voice struck the trainees like a heavy hammer: "Today's rules: Vigils break the Simulacrum Abomination defenses; Weavers stabilize your Rage Aether to keep the Bloodlust Override at bay—last year some fool almost cleaved his own teammate." He paused for emphasis. "Now, partner up: one Vigil, one Weaver. You have ten minutes."
The students quickly formed pairs. Most main-House noble Vigils sought out familiar Weavers. Cecilia Frostborne's retainers clustered around her, shielding her in the center of their group. Only a few marginalized cadet-branch Vigils remained, isolated like forgotten lone wolves. Elara Thorne's gaze fell upon the last figure standing alone—Gideon Valerius. He was a half-head taller than his peers, his damp, dark brown hair sticking to his forehead, his gray uniform sleeves frayed (the hand-me-down uniform of a cadet branch). On his chest was a polished Ironwolf House cadet-branch crest: black iron, with a simplified Raging Wolf Head, lacking the main House's gilt edging, yet still radiating noble coldness. Below it, a smaller, silver-chained mini-wolf pendant dangled, constantly rubbed bright.
His stance was rigid, his hands gripping a family-customized Fine Steel Practice Sword—the knuckles white from exertion. The Aetheric Fluctuation around him was particularly agitated, faint red Aetheric Filaments flickering like unstable flame. This was not the typical Rage of a Vigil, but the Ironwolf House's signature Wolfblood Tremor—a lineage-inherited battlefield rage magnified several times, far harder to control than the average student's.
"Hello, I am Elara Thorne." Elara took the initiative, walking over. She knew Gideon was isolated because he couldn't suppress the Wolfblood Tremor. "Shall we partner up?"
Gideon Valerius snapped his head up, his light brown eyes flickering with surprise, then caution, and a hint of self-doubt. He involuntarily tightened his grip on his crest. "I... my rage is different. It's the 'Wolfblood Tremor' from the Ironwolf House bloodline, it feels like fire burning in my bones. I lost control during basic training once and injured a teammate, no one wants to…" His voice was low, trailing off with shame and a sense of helplessness toward his own bloodline.
"It's alright. I'll try." Elara nodded, discreetly rubbing her palm—the faint brown residue of the Industrial Aether Catalyst still there from the morning. "When you activate your Aether, I won't suppress it with my Filaments. I'll follow your Fluctuation. If it feels wrong, we stop immediately, understood?" She vaguely said she would 'follow the fluctuation,' mimicking the way she regulated steam pipes for Lionel Evans, using 'ordinary experience' to mask her Witch's Power.
Gideon Valerius was stunned, seemingly unprepared for someone willing to 'follow his rhythm.' His grip on the sword eased, the whiteness draining from his knuckles. He nodded, the wolf head on his crest catching the light.
The joint exercise began. The mechanical gate on the east side of the field slid open, and Simulacrum Abominations poured out on their tracks—iron and Aetheric Crystal automatons, their surfaces shimmering with simulated putrescence and wrapped in rusty wire. They were streaked with the sulfurous black goo that marked abyssal corruption. Gideon Valerius gripped his sword, and a faint red Rage Aether burst around him. The metallic clang as his blade struck the first automaton was jarring.
But after only a few strikes, his movements faltered. His Aetheric Fluctuation became chaotic, flickering like wind-whipped flames. A crimson tinge stained his eyes—the sign of the Wolfblood Tremor threatening to break free. "Watch out!" Gideon Valerius snarled, trying to pull his sword back, but his arm seemed yanked by an invisible force, his blade nearly hitting the neighboring Weaver's alcove. Elara Thorne instantly reached out. A dull gray Aetheric Filament extended, but instead of wrapping his Aether Core like the other Weavers, it ran along his wrist like a fine metal wire, feeding a subtle, pipe-vibrating Oscillation into his arm.
In that instant, Gideon Valerius's movements steadied. The crimson haze in his eyes receded as if quenched by cold water. He looked at Elara Thorne in astonishment, his Aetheric Fluctuation carrying a sense of disbelief: "Your Filaments… they smell like a steam pipe? It's like when I used to touch the old steam pipes in the family's old residence when I was little. It's warm, the burning has stopped."
"Just lucky to find the right frequency." Elara Thorne offered no further explanation. Her Filaments tracked Gideon Valerius's movements closely. His red Aether handled the precise cleaving of the automatons' joints; her gray Filaments, when the Wolfblood Tremor flared, subtly channeled a thread of Industrial Aether Oscillation to meet it, occasionally wrapping around the automatons' Aetheric Crystals to slow their movements. Working in tandem, Gideon Valerius's sword strikes became more accurate.
"Hey! What are those two dawdling for?" A jeering voice came from nearby—Letti, a cadet-branch member of the Frostborne House, wearing a simplified crest and cradling a high-tier rune-inscribed sword. "At that speed, you still want to be a Vigil? The half-blood of Ironwolf can only hide behind a Weaver!"
"What did you say?" Gideon Valerius snapped his head around, his red Rage Aether instantly spiking, his chest crest blazing. The term "half-blood" was the insult he despised most. Uttered now by a Frostborne retainer, it carried the malice of inter-House rivalry. He tightened his grip, taking a half-step forward. Elara Thorne swiftly used her Filaments to gently pull at his wrist, sending a stronger pulse of Industrial Aether Oscillation into his arm: "Don't take the bait. He wants you to lose control—the Frostborne House is always trying to suppress the Ironwolf House. If you lose it, they'll have the leverage."
Gideon Valerius's breathing was ragged. His light brown eyes were locked onto Letti, his chest crest rising and falling several times with his heavy breaths. He recalled his father's words: "The cadet branch must endure, until you can prove your worth." He ultimately suppressed the rage, turning back to the automatons, each strike harder than the last, the sound of the blade on the metal shell venting his accumulated resentment.
When the exercise concluded, the counter board showed Elara Thorne and Gideon Valerius's team had cleared 27 Abominations, the highest count of all groups. As Gideon Valerius sheathed his sword, the dissipating red Rage Aether left him with a look of gratitude mixed with scrutiny toward Elara Thorne: "Thorne, have you… encountered Fluctuations similar to the Wolfblood Tremor before? Your Filaments truly are different. They don't crush the energy, they just stabilize it perfectly."
"Just good luck, knowing how to deal with that kind of Fluctuation." Elara Thorne smiled, glancing toward the stands—Lionel Evans was hiding behind a pile of pipes, clutching a hand-drawn diagram of the conduit structure, a charcoal pencil clipped to his hand. Seeing her look, he waved quickly, then lowered his head to mark something on the blueprint. Elara Thorne's heart warmed; Lionel Evans had learned to read complex piping schematics. Perhaps in the next joint drill, he could even help map out routes to avoid disruptive Aetheric Fluctuation.
The setting sun pierced the gaps in the steam pipes, casting long, distorted shadows on the training grounds. The iron wolf crest on Gideon Valerius's chest glowed faintly in the gloom, echoing the residue of Industrial Aether Catalyst on Elara Thorne's palm. Elara looked at Letti's resentful expression and then at the enduring, resilient quality in Gideon Valerius. She realized this exercise was more than just a class requirement; it had allowed her to find a true ally in this noble-controlled Academy—an 'other' just like her, burdened by identity yet fighting to control his own destiny.
She touched The Rotting Earth Codex hidden beneath her uniform, the hard cover against her heart. She suddenly noticed that the Aetheric Resonance Trajectory drawn in invisible ink on the Codex's last blank page subtly coincided with the Industrial Aether Oscillation frequency she had just used to soothe the Wolfblood Tremor.