The academy didn't slow down after the announcement.
It tightened.
Not louder. Not rushed.
Just—
everything felt closer together.
Time didn't stretch anymore. It compressed into something sharper, something that moved whether you were ready or not.
Two weeks.
That was what everyone kept circling back to.
Not immediate.
But close enough that it stopped feeling distant.
The Elite Twelve didn't go back to their rooms.
They went straight to the tactical lounge.
No one said it out loud.
They didn't need to.
The moment the doors closed behind them, the rest of the academy dropped into the background—not gone, but muted enough that focus took over.
Mei already had the projections up.
Transit routes.
Jump sequences.
Convoy movement patterns.
Not the battlefield.
The path to it.
"…so that's how they're moving us," Kael said.
"Most likely," Mei replied. "Final coordinates won't be released until post-tournament. But transit behavior will be monitored."
Ryven stepped beside him.
"They start evaluating before deployment."
Mei nodded.
"Yes."
Torres dropped into a chair.
"…so we're being judged before we even get there."
"That's one way to put it," Mei said.
"That is the only way I am choosing to put it."
"Focus," Ryven said.
Torres froze.
"…I am focused."
"You're not."
"…I was getting there."
"You weren't."
"…this feels personal."
Kael smirked faintly.
"Show me engagement windows."
The projection shifted.
Mock battle rotations.
Tournament pacing.
Fatigue layering.
"Mock battles two days before," Mei said. "Minimal recovery windows."
Marcus leaned forward.
"…fatigue setup."
"Exactly."
Aria crossed her arms.
"So the tournament isn't the test."
"It's the filter," Ryven said.
That settled it.
Outside—
the academy didn't stop.
The Torch studied.
The Cracks watched.
Camille corrected.
The Miller twins simplified everything down to survival.
Time moved.
Inside—
plans formed.
Then stopped.
Because there was nothing more to add yet.
"…we'll refine later," Kael said.
Ryven nodded.
"Later."
They left.
Ryven didn't follow Kael immediately.
He stopped halfway down the corridor.
Pulled up his comm.
Connected.
Marcus Voss answered instantly.
"Report."
Ryven didn't hesitate.
"Timeline confirmed. Tournament in two weeks. Mock battles two days prior. Evaluation deployment seventy-two hours after."
A pause.
Processing.
"And?"
"Command oversight expanded. Mercer. Rho. Valecrest. Volkov. Hale."
That registered.
"…that's not academy-level," Marcus said.
"No."
Another line opened.
Leona joined.
She didn't interrupt.
She listened.
"We need support," Ryven said.
"What kind?" Marcus asked.
"Advanced tactical loadouts. Long-range communications. High-capacity datapads. Drone systems. Emergency supply kits."
Clean.
Direct.
Then—
a pause.
"…and food."
Silence.
Leona spoke first.
"…food."
"Yes."
"What kind of food."
Ryven didn't look away.
"…specific."
A beat.
"…desserts."
That did it.
Leona's eyebrow lifted.
Marcus didn't speak.
"…you are requesting military-grade equipment," Leona said slowly,
"and desserts."
"Yes."
"…in the same request."
"Yes."
A pause.
"…understood."
No argument.
No questions.
The call ended.
Another call opened elsewhere.
Leon Voss leaned back in his chair.
"Shouldn't you be busy?"
Marcus didn't entertain it.
"We received a request."
Leon straightened slightly.
"…from Ryven?"
"Yes."
"Then it's serious."
Marcus listed everything.
Leon nodded slowly.
"That tracks. If Serena handles comms and surveillance, they'll be covered."
"That was my assessment."
Leona added quietly—
"…there was an additional request."
Leon didn't react yet.
"…what."
"…desserts."
That broke him.
Leon laughed.
"…yeah."
Marcus narrowed his gaze.
"…explain."
Leon exhaled.
"…I was wondering when that would show up."
Leona leaned forward slightly.
"You knew."
"I had a suspicion."
Marcus waited.
Leon's expression softened.
"Ardent's not just what you think he is."
Silence.
"…clarify," Marcus said.
"If you're sending equipment—send the best," Leon said.
A pause.
"…and if you're sending food—send a lot."
"…why," Leona asked.
Leon smirked faintly.
"…because he'll eat it."
Marcus frowned.
"…that's your explanation."
"For now."
A beat.
"…I'll explain the rest later."
And somehow—
that was enough.
Only then—
did Ryven move again.
Back toward Kael's room.
The door opened.
Kael was already inside, tossing his datapad aside without looking.
Then he turned—
and just like that—
everything shifted.
"Okay, gremlin," Kael said, grabbing his hand. "My date is here."
Ryven let himself be pulled forward.
"…your standards are low."
"They always have been."
And just like that—
the world outside stopped mattering.
Later—
the room was quiet again.
Kael lay across him, unmoving.
"…we have less than three weeks," he murmured.
"I know."
"I'll miss this."
A pause.
"…I'll miss you like this."
Ryven leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against him.
"Then we make it count."
Kael exhaled softly.
"…yeah."
He fell asleep soon after.
Ryven stayed still for a moment.
Then carefully—
cleaned him up.
Checked everything.
Patches.
Blockers.
All in place.
His hand lingered just slightly longer.
"…I'll miss this too," he murmured quietly.
Then softer—
"…you have no idea."
He lay beside him.
And immediately—
Kael shifted closer.
Like instinct.
Like this was where he belonged.
Ryven rested his hand against him.
Not holding.
Just there.
Present.
Outside—
the academy kept moving.
Closer.
Faster.
Counting down.