"So this is where," Freya says, looking from Veric to Rhayne, then to me, "you’re gathering the students who still think they’ll walk out in one piece?"

She arrives the way she always does: chin high, eyes bright, confidence in excess. The three followers at her back aren’t decoration. All of them are equipped, alert, and quiet, the type who don’t need to look at their leader to know when to move.

Veric smiles without humor. "Did you learn nothing from the beating you took last time?"

The air in the southwest plaza shifts.

Freya turns her face to him slowly, as if she just heard a child insult the ocean. And she’d be the little Mermaid.

"I could kick everyone’s ass here whenever I felt like it, prince. The difference is that some of you bleed at a very high political price."

Rhayne’s hand finds my arm before I can answer. She doesn’t grip hard. She doesn’t need to. Her eyes are sad, and they tell me more than fear would. There are things Rhayne still can’t watch without going back to where Arthur left too many marks.

I step forward. "Enough."

Veric is still staring at Freya. Freya is still smiling at Veric. Neither of them liked being interrupted, which probably means I did it at the right moment.

"I didn’t call you here to see who can ruin the morning fastest," I say. "The Academy banned student fights in the Oathring. That means we can’t keep training the normal way without drawing the wrong kind of attention."

Freya crosses her arms. "Rector Dean gave you permission to finish the Sharma contract. Not to open a clandestine arena."

"Sharma works miracles on Rector Dean," I say. "How could anyone disrespect a force like that?"

Veric lets out a short laugh through his nose. Rhayne doesn’t laugh, but some of the tension leaves her fingers. Zhang Xi, beside me, stays serene, though I’m certain she’s cataloguing every face as a potential patient.

"It isn’t an arena," I continue. "It’s a private training group. No deaths. No permanent damage. No attacks outside the agreed area. No Oathring. No audience, no public bets, no theater for idiots. Break a rule, you leave the group and pay the consequence."

Freya looks at Zhang Xi. "And the monk?"

"Silver Fang," Zhang Xi says before I have to introduce her. "Healer."

The guild’s name makes Freya’s three followers pay closer attention. Even Freya loses a bit of her arrogance for half a second, then recovers fast enough to pretend nothing happened.

"Controlled training, a Silver Fang healer, and a crooked permission," she says. "You’re trying to found a fight club and call it physical education."

"I’m trying to keep you from dying ugly when the fight is real."

"Same thing, worse marketing."

"So you accept?"

Freya breaks into a smile. "I accept if I get to hit the prince first."

"You can try," Veric answers.

"Match order gets decided later," I cut in. "Today I just needed to know who was interested."

Rhayne looks at me. "You already knew everyone would say yes," she says, looking at her feet.

"I was hoping someone would be rational enough to refuse."

That’s how, with no official announcement, no sign on the door, and no decent permission, the Academy’s first fight club is born. On paper, someday they might call it an extracurricular group for applied conditioning. Adults love to lie with clean vocabulary.

I dismiss Freya and her followers after setting the next meeting. She leaves feigning boredom, but the gleam in her eyes says she’s already choosing who to drop first. Veric watches until she vanishes down the side corridor. The real plan is to pull Freya closer to my group. I want to save her.

"She’s insufferable," Veric says.

"You two have that in common."

Rhayne laughs out loud, and Zhang Xi tilts her head, hiding hers.

"And now?"

"Now I go to the factory."

"I’m coming too," Rhayne says.

Veric looks at her, then at me. "If she goes, I go. Besides, I want to see whether Oliver actually organized anything without burning down half the building."

"That’s an unfair standard," I say.

"But not an impossible one."

The factory sits in a less elegant part of Azure Prime, close enough to the logistics canals to take in material without drawing too much attention. When we arrive, I find something I honestly didn’t expect: order.

Clean workbenches fill the main floor. Crates of vials are sorted by size, smaller reagents sit on numbered shelves, and a row of Drowneds waits for instructions in simple clothes and new aprons, their expressions still wary. There’s a rest area at the back, a table with basic food and filtered water, safety signs written in large letters, even a board with shift schedules.

Oliver emerges from behind a small, translucent runic boiler, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, his eyes red-rimmed from a night of little sleep or none.

"I was about to call you," he says, surprised to see us. "We’re nearly ready. Just need the formula."

Veric looks around. "You did this in one night?"

Oliver shrugs. "Half of it I organized. The other half I stared down until it obeyed."

Rhayne walks slowly between the benches, watching the Drowneds with care. Some recognize her. Others just notice she doesn’t look at them like machine parts. Zhang Xi stays quiet, but her eyes move over everything: ventilation, cleanliness, the distance between containers, the position of the boilers, the water access, the exit routes.

"Contracts?" I ask.

"All signed," Oliver answers. "Industrial secrecy, process safety, a ban on passing the formula, and a penalty for leaks."

For a Diver, OXI Bleed is a punishment. For a Drowned, with no system to recover OXI cleanly through Scales, it’s something much closer to a death sentence if it lasts too long. I don’t like fastening a collar like that onto the necks of people who’ve already lost almost everything, but the LDP formula is a knife pointed at the future. If it falls into the wrong hands too early, many will die because of it before being saved by it.

I call Oliver to a far corner. "Just you, for now."

He nods without complaint.

I give the formula in parts, not as a kitchen recipe but as a control sequence: the Lunaria ratio, the activation moment, the runic temperature, neutralization with the right Bone Powder, the rest time, the expected color, the acceptable smell, and the signs for immediate disposal. Oliver listens with absolute attention, repeating the critical points until I’m sure he isn’t just memorizing but understanding.

When we come back, the first production begins.

The room goes quieter. Even Veric stops commenting. Dissolved Lunaria glows pale blue inside the main vessel. The bone powder goes in after, little by little, and the mixture’s aggressive acidity yields like an animal being tamed. The boiler’s runes light in sequence, not strong, just precise. The final liquid passes through a fine filter and falls into the first vial in a pale honey color, alive, too beautiful for something that could change battle hospitals.

Oliver holds the vial a second before handing it to me.

I look at Zhang Xi. "You understand it better than anyone here."

She takes the vial with both hands, as if it were heavier than it looks. She pulls the cork, smells it, and for an instant her eyes change. Then she drinks a small sip.

No one speaks.

Zhang Xi stays silent.

Leona laughed in front of four Plates.

Zhang Xi went quiet in front of a single vial.

I preferred the second reaction.