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Another student. "Why?"

Professor Aldren doesn't hesitate. "The Academy periodically revises its curriculum." His answer satisfies absolutely no one. Which is probably intentional.

The changes become more obvious as the day continues. Stone Wing's training field now includes shield formations instead of individual drills.

Root Wing has moved from botanical study to emergency healing exercises. Tide Wing spends nearly an hour practicing coordinated manifestations instead of independent control. Even Dawn Wing from across the courtyard, I watch Caelen dividing his students into groups. No sparring. Only teamwork. Every exercise depends on protecting someone else. He catches sight of me watching. Raises one eyebrow. I immediately pretend to be fascinated by absolutely anything else.

"You know..." Nyra says as we leave Magical Theory. "For someone pretending nothing strange is happening..." I glance sideways. "You're doing an awful lot of pretending."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to people who know you." She bumps my shoulder lightly. "You've been counting ward keepers."

"Have I?"

"You've also looked toward the Headmaster's office five times today."

"I have not." I retort.

"Eirea."

"Four."

Nyra smiles. "There you are."

"I hate that you notice everything."

"No." She hooks her arm through mine as we continue down the corridor. "You hate that I notice the things you're trying very hard not to let anyone else notice."

"That's much worse."

She nods. "I know."

By late afternoon the rumours have become impossible to ignore. Someone claims another village requested additional ward keepers. Someone else insists a professor from another kingdom arrived before dawn. Two second-years swear they saw the Headmaster arguing with someone in the Council chamber. Every story contradicts the last. No one knows anything. Everyone thinks they do.

I don't see Rhyven again until combat training. He is already waiting when Sky Wing arrives. Arms folded. Completely expressionless. The conversations stop almost immediately. He doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't threaten anyone. Simply waits. Silence settles over the field. Only then does he speak. "Formation." Students move instantly. No hesitation. No complaints. No one wants to be the last person standing still when Rhyven gives an order.

Today's drills are different. Less individual combat. More movement. Pairs. Trios. Protecting wounded teammates. Fighting while escorting someone slower. Changing formations without verbal commands.

At one point, Mara deliberately separates us from our assigned partners. Confusion spreads through the formation. Rhyven stops the exercise. "What happened?"

A second-year answers. "We lost our partners."

"No." His voice remains calm. "You lost your plan." The field falls silent. He walks slowly between us. "Plans fail." He stops. "People adapt." Another pause. "Again."

We repeat the drill. Then again. Then again. By the sixth attempt no one searches for the partner they started with. Everyone simply finds the nearest person. Adjusts. Moves. Protects. Rhyven nods once. "Better." One word. Coming from him it feels strangely significant.

Training ends well after sunset. As students collect their equipment, I notice something unusual. Dax is waiting near the edge of the field. He isn't part of Sky Wing. Neither is Soren. Lyss. Or Maelis. Yet all four Chief Wings Officers stand together speaking quietly with Caelen. Rhyven joins them moments later. Six Chiefs. One conversation. No raised voices. No dramatic gestures. Just leadership. I can't hear a single word. I don't need to. Caelen told them. Exactly as we'd planned. The knowledge settles strangely inside me. For days the investigation belonged to four people. Professor Neris. Rhyven. Cassian. Me. Now it belongs to nine. The circle is growing. Because the danger is becoming too large to carry alone.

As the Chiefs begin walking toward the command building together, Rhyven glances back once. Our eyes meet across the training grounds. No smile. No nod. Nothing anyone else would notice. Still I understand. It went well enough. For now. I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Tomorrow the Academy will train a little harder. Study a little longer. Prepare a little more. Most students will believe it's simply another adjustment to Academy life. Only a handful of us know the truth. The Academy isn't preparing us for exams anymore. It's preparing us for something none of us can yet name.

Friday nights always sound different. The Academy never truly sleeps, but by the time the last bell echoes through the corridors, the atmosphere changes. Assignments are forgotten. Training bruises become stories. The Place fills with students escaping the week's lectures before doing it all again on Monday.

I follow Nyra through the Root Wing residence. Laughter drifts from somewhere below. Someone is attempting to play a lute. Poorly. Very poorly. Nyra winces. "They're enthusiastic."

I laugh. "They're murdering that instrument."