Chapter 28 Threats of Fire and Starlight

Zane The classroom was quiet now, hours after the last lecture. Most of the others had cleared out, leaving behind only the low hum of stand

Zane

The classroom was quiet now, hours after the last lecture. Most of the others had cleared out, leaving behind only the low hum of standby glyphs and the soft gold glow of fading light crystals. The obsidian floor still shimmered with a residual warmth. One or two ley-thread diagrams flickered above the lectern—paused, mid-spin, forgotten.

I sat on the second row, my ribs still tight beneath the bandages. It was the kind of ache you don’t bother checking unless the bleeding starts again, a constant, dull thrum beneath my skin.

Across from me, Professor Aulden Myrr leaned against the console with his cloak slung over a nearby chair, his sleeves rolled. He didn’t look like a teacher anymore. He looked like a researcher staring at a problem the world said shouldn’t exist, his gaze distant and troubled.

“I’ve watched the Rift footage seven times,” he said finally, his tone unreadable, flat with professional objectivity. “Three of them in frame-by-frame slow motion.”

He tapped the console. A projection sparked to life—me, locked mid-duel, blade arcing through a frozen image of that damned Death Knight.

“I’ve never seen your Sword Styles—yes, I realize you were using more than one,” he observed, his voice quiet. “Or your Soulforce Method. Care to explain?”

I didn’t answer right away. My mind kept drifting—to the platinum ring in my pocket, to Serephina’s golden mana card, to the bewildering weight of the bow to the Death Knight that shouldn’t have happened.

“The Styles are something I designed from notes my father left,” I murmured, my voice raspy. “The Mana Method was his as well.”

Myrr didn’t respond immediately. He just turned back to the display and brought up a diagnostic overlay, his fingers flying across the console.

“You came up with the styles yourself? How many do you have?”

I grimaced. Did I lie? Would that even help at this point? “Seven, but there’s a lot of crossover in both Method and finer points.”

That wasn’t totally true, but it sounded less outrageous.

The professor studied me. I stared back and tried to look nonchalant.

“So, based on your System notes and personal interpretation,” he asked, not looking at me, his focus entirely on the data. “What is your real estimated System tier?”

I exhaled slowly. “I don’t really know. Tier three maybe?”

He froze. His head snapped up, his eyes wide. “You’re Tier Three in System integration?”

I nodded, my exhaustion profound. “I finally received enough experience and usage to allow my System AI to communicate with me. Broke through during the fight.”

Eva snorted in the back of my head.

Myrr stared, jaw slack, then keyed in a furious command. A fresh panel opened, blazing with light. “Let’s take a look at your stats; apparently there was just an update.”

“An update? Wait, what do you mean—”

My stats flashed across his screen.

Zane Myles – System Combat and Potential Evaluation

[Tier: Estimated System Integration Tier 3?]

[Classification: Unranked Adventurer | Crestless | Unbound? (Flagged)]

[Core Configuration:]
[Soulforce Core – Complete Integration]
[]
[]

[Combat Stat Readout]
Strength: 177
Agility: 172
Vitality: 176
Mana: 178
Control: 174
Endurance: 175
Processing: 179

[Stat Distribution: BALANCED (99.6% variance efficiency)]

[Soul Integrity: ]
[Divine Sync: ]
[Mana Capacity: ∞ (boundless through Worldveil assimilation)]

[System Rank Estimate: CLASS A]
[Aura Manifestation Detected: PURE EDGE – STABLE]

I stared at the screen in disbelief. That was my profile. Not the fake one. Not the public-safe version Eva and I had carefully layered with noise and static. That was the real one—or close enough to cause a kingdom’s worth of problems.

[Eva: Zane… these are the exact stats that we gave to the Rector.]

“Yeah, I caught that. What the hell happened?”

[Someone from that meeting is clearly playing games.]

I didn’t move. Didn’t react. But inside, I was already spiraling.

Eva was right. Whoever had done it—and I had a pretty good idea who—had opened the leak into every major System stream. Which meant that every major information outlet in the Kingdom had my information, or at least access to it: The Tower, the Adventurers’ Guild, my school, the public access network, the Noble Courts—they had it all.

Damn it.

My eyes flicked to Myrr’s face. He hadn’t blinked since the scan loaded.

“In the last hundred years, I’ve known of one person, under the age of thirty, to develop stats that bleed into the actual Professional Guild ranking—so, Class C and above.”

Myrr brought up a picture and detailed stat sheet of Aurelia Taranis.

“Aurelia Taranis is one of the most gifted combatants this school has seen in six generations,” he said tightly. “Her stats and abilities place her clearly into C-Class or maybe even B, despite her relatively low numbers for Strength and Vitality.”

I didn’t speak. I was still trying not to throw a chair through the wall.

He kept going.

“Zane, you shattered that expectation. You’re at least a Level Three on the System Integration index, and your stats place you in Class B or maybe even A—without taking into consideration access to a Willborn blade, Pure Edge manifestation abilities, and the obvious traces of divine power.”

I sank into my chair. How did everyone know about my divine powers?

Professor Aulden Myrr was still watching me. Waiting for something—maybe a confession, an explanation, an excuse.

I gave him neither.

“The reading on my stats is not correct, Professor,” I said finally, voice as even as I could make it. “They’re actually much closer to everyone else’s. That is a… mistake.”

It wasn’t a complete lie.

The silence stretched between us like drawn wire.

Professor Aulden Myrr didn’t blink.

And I didn’t breathe.

Not until the screen dimmed and the worst of the numbers vanished.

[Eva: They saw just enough to ask the wrong questions. We need to prep for fallout. Now.]

I nodded, slow and shallow.

Because the game had changed.

And I wasn’t invisible anymore.

He didn’t press.

Thank goodness people weren’t pushing about my System AI.

[Eva: You should want to talk about me. Honestly, I still think it’s silly not to let everyone know how awesome I am…]

I thumbed the comm crystal. “Eva. Mute.”

[You’re a bad person.]

“We both know that whoever leaked your stats wouldn’t have done so without verifying their veracity. Do you want to try that again?”

I let out a sigh. “No, Professor.”

“I get your hesitance. But me knowing is the least of your problems, Zane. Talent like yours is—well—it’s rare.”

I didn’t argue. What could I say?

“Your stats are remarkably balanced,” Professor Myrr said, his voice flat with disbelief, pulling his attention back to the screen. “Zane, can you tell me what your job is? I know you’ve been placed on the spot, but I am trying to understand your situation.”

I sighed. At this point, did it matter? “Swordsman.”

Silence followed this pronouncement.

He turned back to the projection. Froze it on the frame where I’d cut through the Death Knight’s armor, the image of Pure Edge blazing against the ruin.

“What can you tell me about the use of Pure Edge? I’m asking because people have been using True Edge for as long as there have been weapon users.”

I nodded, slow. “It felt… still. Like I wasn’t pushing anymore. Just… placing things where they were supposed to be.”

Professor Myrr blinked. Then a faint smile touched his lips, a rare expression on his tired face.

“How illustrative,” he said, almost to himself.

He turned back to the console, scanned the data again, a professional curiosity now overriding his shock.

“Zane. I know this is all a bit overwhelming,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “But please remain measured. You’re terrifying because you make it look possible. You didn’t overpower that Death Knight. You outperformed it. Perfectly. But if something like that happens again—one wrong move, one slip-up—and it’s over. This could have gone very badly for you. You also have to deal with the fallout. The factions will be coming for you.”

I looked down at my hand. The same one that held the blade. The same one that still trembled after it was all over, the residual strain coursing through my nerves.

“I don’t want to be a weapon.”

“Then don’t be,” Myrr said quietly, his voice softening. “But don’t pretend that power doesn’t exist just because you’re scared of what it means, Myles.”

He shut down the projection. The bright holo faded, leaving the room illuminated only by the soft glow of standby glyphs.

“I want to study your blade,” he continued, his tone shifting back to academic earnestness. “Try to replicate the Pure Edge phenomenon. Not for you—for the next generation. If it’s repeatable, we need to know how to teach it safely.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

He hesitated, then added, “And Myles?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you decide to suppress your entire System signature from the Tower… maybe tell someone.”

I smiled, tired. “Kind of defeats the point of keeping it quiet, Professor.”

He folded his arms, a sigh escaping him. “Gods above… what a secret.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was… full. Like we both knew what was really coming next—the storm that had just been unleashed.

Then he spoke again, his voice lower, more serious, losing all trace of academic detachment.

“You need to understand something. If people start digging into this—really digging—they won’t stop at curiosity. They’ll ask if you’re artificially grown. If you’re bonded to a forbidden relic. If you’re a breach seed, a product of a Rift anomaly. They won’t admire you.”

“They’ll try to own me,” I finished, my voice flat. “Or hurt me.”

“Exactly.”

He stepped forward, crossing the space between us.

“You’re Unbound, Zane. You’re not there yet, but you have the potential to be a strategic asset—one that changes kingdoms, power structures, or the course of a war. That means you’re flagged. Monitored. At least three noble houses are already sniffing around, and if the Tower’s central node flags your name with terms like Willborn or Pure Edge attached? They won’t send recruiters. They’ll send harvesters.”

I didn’t flinch. But I didn’t smile either. The truth of his words resonated with a cold certainty.

“I understand.”

He nodded once, grimly. “Then we’ll make sure no one can touch you—whether they come with a treaty, a sword, or a chain.”