ReignyDaze
patreon
Book Three Chapter 17: The Drinks Thing
🕑 Added 2025-08-02 04:07:00 +0000 UTCThey ran drills with Gwen for the rest of the session. She didn’t give them an inch of slack. Corrections were barked, not explained. Targets appeared without warning. Breathing was regulated. Movements drilled until they bordered on involuntary. But despite the intensity, the tone was different. There were no mind games. No sudden cruelty. No threats disguised as lessons. Compared to what they’d come to expect from the Citadel, this class almost felt like mercy.
No one broke. No one screamed. And for once, no one was forced to crawl across the floor just to survive another hour. There was clarity in the repetition: shoot, breathe, reload, adjust. Again. Again. Again. Gwen's standard never dropped, but at least the rules were clear. Precision. Finality. Execution without hesitation.
Some cadets even found themselves slipping into something close to calm. Muscles tightened for recoil rather than terror. Focus narrowed because they wanted to hit the mark, not because their lives depended on it. Gwen didn’t praise, but she didn’t punish either. That in itself felt like a reward. Her respect was measured in target groupings and trigger control. And she never once raised her voice.
When she finally dismissed them, it was without drama. No farewell. No debrief. Just a nod and a flat wave that said: you did well enough not to die today. See you tomorrow.
They stepped onto the transport pad in silence, the weight of the session settling in with their fatigue. A break was next, finally. A chance to breathe.
Vaeliyan, however, had no intention of resting.
He had questions. Too many, and no answers. He needed to find the Ninth Layer. Someone out there knew where it was. Isol had told him to ask the upperclassmen about it. Julian might. Merigold, probably. If he was lucky, they’d be in the cadet lounge. And if they weren’t, he’d find someone who had a reason to talk.
The moment they stepped off the pad and into the lounge level, the change in mood was immediate. It wasn’t noise that gave it away, it was the lack of it. The air was still, but not peaceful. It was too quiet, like the aftermath of something no one had words for yet.
Sadness hung in the air like chemical smoke. Subtle. Sharp. Lingering.
But it wasn’t everywhere.
The more Vaeliyan looked, the more he saw the division. First-year cadets were the ones carrying it, eyes wide, bodies tense, conversations clipped or nonexistent. They looked like they’d seen something they weren’t supposed to, or like someone had taken the last scrap of their innocence and ground it underfoot. Hollow stares. Tight grips on water bottles. One cadet sat curled on a bench, arms wrapped around their knees, rocking just slightly. The contrast was obvious.
The second-, third-, and fourth-years were different. Not happy, no, but... adjusted. Scarred in ways that had already formed scabs. They didn’t flinch. Didn’t look shocked. They moved through the space like ghosts that had already accepted their haunting. Some of them even played card games at tables. Quietly. But they played. Like survival didn’t have to cost every second of their attention anymore. They still filled the pit with noise, laughing, sparring, trash-talking across the tables like nothing touched them. The pit was still joyful and loud.
Vaeliyan tried to break from Class One. He moved with intent, scanning the lounge for familiar faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of Merigold’s sharp posture or Julian’s towering figure in one of the corner booths. There were too many bodies. Too many shadows. But he moved anyway.
He didn’t get far.
Roan and Rokhan detached from the rest of the group and fell in beside him with practiced ease. No words. Just step for step, as if this had been the plan all along.
They weren’t being stealthy. They weren’t trying to hide it. If anything, they wanted him to know they were coming. Vaeliyan looked back at them. Just past them, Ramis was being mauled by the twins, screaming, moaning, probably both, though it was hard to tell if it was in protest or delight. They were either eating him alive or making out with him once again.
Vaeliyan nodded once to Roan and Rokhan, and they moved deeper into the lounge with him like it was the most natural thing in the world. No words needed. Just that silent understanding between killers and chaos magnets.
When they arrived beside him, Vaeliyan glanced sideways and said, "Smart. Do you guys think Varnai is going to be okay with that clusterfuck of a relationship?"
Roan shrugged. "She left with Jurpat to go get food at your place."
Vaeliyan blinked. "Oh. That’s a good idea." He remembered her throwing up four times in Josaphine’s class and then passing out. There was no way anyone was eating a bug bar after that. Her eyes had looked glassy by the end of it, like her brain had tried to disconnect mid-lesson. And Jurpat had scooped her up like he’d done it a hundred times before.
"Honestly," Rokhan added, "I’d eat at your house too if I got the chance. Hells, any excuse to hang out there would be nice. Better food, fewer twins screaming across the hall at night, and furniture that’s so nice I could die in it, and my family would be proud."
"You’re not invited," Vaeliyan said, dry.
Rokhan grinned. "Doesn’t mean I won’t show up."
The three of them moved together now, a small knot of purpose amid drifting bodies. Whatever came next, they’d face it like they always did, together, barely prepared, and absolutely ready to ruin someone’s day.
And Vaeliyan still had questions.
He was going to get his answers.
The trio moved up to the next level of the lounge, scanning for any sign of Julian or Merigold. No luck. The booths were full, voices overlapping in bursts of casual noise, but none of them belonged to who Vaeliyan was looking for. Cadets lounged on couches, tossed cards, argued over scores, but no sharp copper hair or tall shadow with a crooked grin stood out among them.
Unfortunately, someone else spotted them.
The Stone brothers. Both of them.
They moved toward Vaeliyan, Roan, and Rokhan with the kind of energy that didn’t bother pretending to be casual. Shoulders squared. Jaws tight. The crowd parted without being asked.
Rokhan muttered, "Every time we move ten feet, they act like your going to bite them."
Vaeliyan didn't reply. His body was still, but his fingers twitched once near his hip. He wasn’t armed, but that never meant he was unprepared.
The Stones kept coming, steps heavy with intent. Their eyes locked on Vaeliyan, sharp and angry, like they still hadn't let go of whatever grudge they’d carved into their pride. The kind of look that promised another fight if no one stepped in first.
But someone did.
Before they could get too close, another cadet stepped in front of them.
The man was older, third-year, maybe fourth, his uniform marked with clean wear and quiet authority. His body language said, You’re done here, without speaking. And then he did speak, barely. A short whisper, close enough only the Stones could hear it.
Whatever he said, it landed like a punch.
Both brothers froze. Their scowls deepened. Victor flexed his jaw like he wanted to argue, but Wallace shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
And then, slowly, they nodded. Not happy. Not cowed. Just... contained. They turned back toward their table with visible reluctance, tension radiating off them like heat from a sealed vent.
Roan raised an eyebrow. "Did that just happen?"
Rokhan crossed his arms. "Either that guy has god-tier intimidation, or the Stones just learned something they really didn’t like. I’m betting on both."
Vaeliyan watched them go, eyes narrowing for a second, but said nothing.
He just kept walking.
Still no sign of Julian. Still no Merigold. The lounge level wasn’t that big, but it felt like it had grown in shadows and noise, people shifting just slightly to let the trio pass. Conversations lowered when they moved through, then resumed behind them like ripples. The air had changed. Not cold. Just waiting.
Something had been averted. Something else had been stirred.
The room was shifting. Quietly. Like the pieces of something bigger were starting to move.
Then the man walked over to them with the confidence of someone who didn’t need to prove a gods-damned thing. Like he had just done them a favor and knew they owed him. The trio instantly went on guard, catching the too-smooth looks the man gave them.
“Hello, Vaeliyan,” the man said.
His voice was too smooth. Sickly handsome, like it had been engineered rather than born—crafted in some designer lab to land somewhere between smug and silk. It had that practiced arrogance that didn’t need volume to cut deep. He looked like if Victor and Wallace were not just pebbles, but polished masterpieces—stone sculpted into perfection, charisma, and cruel intent.
He didn’t walk like a cadet. He walked like someone who owned the space around him. His movements were deliberate, balanced, like a duelist already confident in the outcome. Even the slight pause before speaking had weight to it, like a signature at the bottom of a contract.
“I’m Damian Stone. You had it out with my little cousins yesterday.”
Vaeliyan didn’t flinch. “Do you want some?”
Damian laughed, quiet and smug. “Oh, no. Nothing like that,” he replied, tone light and dangerous. “I actually found it quite entertaining. The way you tore them apart was… masterful. They deserved it. But you already knew that.”
Vaeliyan shifted. Not like he was about to rip someone in half, more like he was weighing the odds. Open to hearing the pitch, whatever it was. Still guarded, still calculating, but not dismissive.
Rokhan stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “Did you have something you wanted from us? We’re looking for a few of our friends and we’re kinda busy at the moment.”
Damian’s head tilted slowly. His eyes, sharp as diamonds, slid from Vaeliyan to Rokhan like a knife looking for a seam.
“Oh, I’m sorry, gentlemen.” His smile widened, all teeth and zero warmth. “Was I talking to you?”
He feigned confusion, the mockery clear in his tone. “Who are you? Should I know you? Are you someone important, or just standing close to someone who is?”
Vaeliyan stepped between them, not as a shield, but as a boundary. “We’re in Class One this year. And don’t talk to him like that. If you want to have it out, we don’t need to play these silly games. Just say the word.”
Damian didn’t rise to the bait. He nodded instead, slow and calm, like a man acknowledging the temperature of water before stepping in.
“That’s fine,” he said. “We don’t need to have it out right now. Just know, I was trying to make this easier for you. I’m extending you a courtesy. You don’t have to take it. I just can’t wait until you find out what happens next week.”
And with that, he turned. He didn’t storm off, didn’t retreat, he walked away like a man who never expected resistance in the first place. His back straight, posture regal, like it could support the weight of the world and still ask for more.
Roan blinked, then called after him, “What’s happening next week?”
Damian didn’t turn. Didn’t even slow. He just lifted one hand, raised a single finger over his shoulder, aimed at Vaeliyan, without glancing back. The message was clear.
Vaeliyan grinned faintly. “Three Stones,” he muttered to himself.
Roan’s expression twisted. “What the hells was that about? I mean, yeah, you messed up his cousins, but why did he have to come at us like that?” He looked to Rokhan for confirmation.
Rokhan shrugged, but the look in his eyes was colder than usual. “Because we’re with Vael. And that’s probably reason enough.”
They eventually located Merigold on the third floor, just as the break period was nearing its end. It was Roan who spotted her first, positioned in a corner, seated at a long table surrounded by what could only be the remainder of her class. The atmosphere on this level was subdued, the lighting dim, and the collective mood saturated with fatigue. The cadets looked as though they'd endured a gauntlet, their postures stiff, their expressions carved from strain. Whatever they had faced, it had clearly left a mark.
Vaeliyan raised a hand and called to her with a short, precise wave.
She turned her head and, with no visible surprise, gestured for them to approach. The motion was casual, not dismissive, simply the response of someone who had seen too much to be startled anymore.
"Merigold," Vaeliyan began as they neared, his tone quiet and deliberate, "sorry for not you sending this earlier."
He activated his AI with a thought command, and within moments, a notification appeared:
Merigold Wither has been added to your contact list.
At the far end of the table, a cadet with a vivid green mohawk and a scar-tattoo hybrid across her cheek looked up with alert curiosity. Her gaze held the kind of readiness that came from habitual confrontation.
"Meri, who are these people?"
"These," Merigold replied without pause, "are Roan Vess, Rokhan Vaskor, and Vaeliyan Verdance, Class One of this year."
"Ah, the new blood," the cadet said, grinning. "Welcome aboard. I’m Kuri."
What followed was a cascade of introductions, delivered with various degrees of intensity and personality. There was no ceremony, just names spoken like knives laid on a table.
Grace. Melkor. Nemo. Elfa. Urdin. Lupa. Ken. Geo. Aluminis. Robert. Toma. Fred R. Fred T. Yuri.
Each individual projected a distinct presence, whether through humor, silence, or posture. No one flinched. No one looked away. These were cadets conditioned to live on the edge of escalation, always prepared for the next strike.
The table now felt saturated with tension, not aggression, but weight. A gravity borne from shared experience. These weren’t ordinary cadets. They were Merigold’s cohort, and they had survived the same crucible that now tested the newest Class One.
This was the complete Class One of the 91st. Based on their composure alone, most of them were likely candidates for ascension to Imperator status before the next cycle ended, if they managed to finish year four without being pushed out. They weren’t just dangerous. They were refined. Cut and tempered by one of the harshest military training regimens in the world. Their gazes didn’t boast, they confirmed. They recognized the same forged edge in Vaeliyan’s group that had once existed in themselves.
And now, the newest trio had taken seats at their table.
This class, at least the ones who had been in it since the start of their first year, looked at them like they were little brothers. It wasn’t just the closeness that came from being part of the same cohort. It was something deeper, born from shared suffering and the understanding that these were the ones who would walk through the same hells they had, who might one day fight beside them as equals.
If respect was to be exchanged, it had would start here.
“So what brings you boys over here?” Kuri asked with a grin. “Trying to find out what the Starlight Trial is? Or maybe what happens in week two? I bet you're curious about what passes for an exam in this little funhouse they call a Citadel.”
Roan looked around, confused. “What did we come here for? I mean... I think I want to know about next week. That Damian Stone guy seemed to think we’d be in for some shit.”
Kuri rolled her eyes. “Roan, right? Damian’s a piece of shit, just like his cousins, but worse. He’s actually competent. Got into his year’s Class One in the first month and never left it. Word is, he challenged the first-ranked cadet and won.”
She leaned back slightly. “And next week? That’s opening season for challenges. All the rich brats who bought their way into the Citadel without going through the tournament start crawling out like cockroaches on a meat pile.” She glanced back at some of her classmates. “No offense.”
Most of them shrugged.
Geo actually smiled, like just surviving here was some kind of victory.
“I lost my spot in the first three months,” Fred T added, “and managed to claw my way back in by the end of the year. But damn, that was hard.”
“So next week we start getting challenges,” Vaeliyan said.
“Correct,” Merigold confirmed. “Most of the strong challengers will turn up next week. They want to be in the class as long as possible, earn favor with the instructors.”
Grace chimed in, “You might want to warn anyone in your class you actually like. One nice thing about being the challenger, you get to set the pit layout and the weapon loadouts. It’s like fighting on home turf.”
“Yeah, but don’t pick something people have seen before,” Fred T said. “I kept picking the same setup I was best at. By the third match, someone figured out how to take me down. Not naming names... Geo.”
Geo just nodded. “Not my fault you forgot about avalanches on a mountain top.”
“Anyway,” Kuri continued, “you kids, little brothers, you should know: you can only be challenged once a month, and only by cadets ranked 17 through 32. There’s a leaderboard that updates daily. It’ll be on the center display. You can’t miss it. The other cadets start challenging each other for rank tomorrow. During the break or right after classes end for the day.”
“That’s awesome,” Vaeliyan said. “Thank you. We’ll keep a lookout for that. And that Stone jackass probably has a relative or ten coming for our spots.”
“We’re not going to lose a single spot,” Rokhan added, beaming. “Not this year. Not ever.”
The older cadets laughed.
“Brother,” Merigold said, “not even Class One of the 43rd kept all their spots. Sure, they all ended up in the final graduating class, but not all of them made it every year.”
“Then we’ll just have to be better,” Vaeliyan said.
Merigold gave him a knowing look. “Listen, Vael, can I call you Vael? Anyway, it’s noble to want to stick with the people you fought beside and hope you all make it. I know that feeling. But honestly? Geo is better for our team than Drakma ever was. And T, no offense, Geo’s better than you too.”
Fred T nodded. “No offense taken. Even I know that.”
Vaeliyan looked at Merigold. “Thanks for the info, but I actually wanted to ask you, what’s the Ninth Layer? I saw a note in the bathroom. Said something about a Lord B or some shit. What the hells is that about?”
Geo let out a short laugh. “You actually went into that bathroom? You’ve got guts, man. That place’s practically a rite of passage or a death sentence, depending on who you ask.”
Roan turned, his eyebrows almost climbing off his forehead. “Wait... this whole thing is because of a note you found in a bathroom? Vael, seriously, what the fuck. Did we just waste half a break chasing ghost stories written in stall graffiti?”
“Hold on,” Kuri cut in, her tone sharper than before, eyes suddenly alert. “You might actually want to know what that’s about. But we can’t talk about it here, not with this many ears around. Meet us at Meri’s house after classes.”
Merigold crossed her arms and gave Kuri a dry look. “Why do you keep inviting people to my house?”
“Because your house is awesome,” Kuri replied without missing a beat. “Come on, I’m betting you’ve all been to the First Place estate already, right?”
Rokhan and Roan exchanged glances, then nodded at Vaeliyan. “Yeah,” Roan confirmed. “Our dorms are fine, but his house? That place is next level.”
Aluminis joined the conversation, grinning. “You want to know the most bullshit part? Everyone in Class One gets a great room. Second place gets a decent house for their time at the Citadel. But the real kicker? The winners get to keep their flying palaces when they graduate. Like... permanently. That’s legacy-grade bullshit.”
“So we crash at Meri’s whenever we can,” Kuri added with a wink. “Just to get a taste of that ‘top one percent of the sky’ lifestyle. Speaking of, did you all figure out the trick with the garnish yet?”
Roan glanced at Rokhan, and both of them looked like they were ready to spill everything. But before they could speak, Vaeliyan turned his head slowly, too slowly, and gave them the look. The universal, ancient, soul-deep look that said: "shut the fuck up or I will absolutely end you right here, in front of everyone."
They snapped their mouths shut. Everyone noticed.
Merigold narrowed her eyes slightly. “Wait… did you figure out the drinks thing too?”
Vaeliyan didn’t flinch. He just smiled, that too-sweet, obviously-fake smile that said everything and nothing. “Yeah. The drinks thing.”
