Author's Preface
He then remembered an important thing.
His heavy book. The thick, leather-bound tome that had been given to him by Spehead. In the chaos of his brutal spar, it was gone.
Agastya’s gaze immediately snapped to the grinning marksman. "Do you know where my book is?"
Dictor raised an eyebrow, feigning deep thought for a moment before his trademark smirk returned. "Ah. If you are asking about the rather dense piece of literature Spehead handed you... I have it."
Dictor raised his right hand. Adorning his long, calloused fingers were three heavy rings, each forged from a different metal and set with a uniquely cut, faintly glowing stone. Dictor methodically grabbed a dark, iron-banded ring set with a sapphire-blue crystal and slid it off his finger.
He casually tossed it through the air.
Agastya snatched it out of the air. The metal was cold to the touch, and the blue crystal seemed to capture and refract the ambient light of the room in impossible, non-Euclidean geometries.
"Take it," Dictor said.
"What is this?" Agastya asked, turning the heavy band over in his palm.
"A spatial ring," Dictor explained, leaning back against the arena's iron railing. "It’s a pocket dimension compressed into an Aetheric matrix, used to store objects. To access it, just channel a tiny fraction of your Aether into the stone and visualise the object you want to pull out. But listen to me carefully, rookie: never use it in front of normal civilians in the mortal world. We do not tolerate breaches of the Veil."
Agastya nodded, his sharp eyes examining the faceted blue gem. "And the stones on top? What do they signify?"
Dictor tapped the second ring still on his finger, which housed a fiercely glowing crimson gem. "These are Aether Crystals. They power the matrix."
Captain Alice took over, her tone slipping seamlessly into the authoritative cadence of a military instructor. "Aether Crystals are graded on a scale of one to nine. Grades One through Three are colored blue and are generally accessible to the public. They are used to power industrial heavy machinery, high-end carriages, and city infrastructure, etc."
Agastya completely dropped his act of being an overwhelmed civilian. His tactical mind was absorbing the data. "So, there are higher grades restricted to Awakeners?"
Alice nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Even if a mortal stumbled upon a crystal above Grade Three, their unawakened bodies wouldn't be able to feel its radiation. They would simply see a third-grade Aetheric Crystal. Only Awakeners possess the sensory capacity to draw out the immense potency of Grade Four and above."
"What are their colours?" Agastya asked.
"Grade Four emits a bright, toxic green. Grade Five burns a deep, blood red," Alice explained. "The crystal on the ring you are holding is a high-purity blue. That makes it a Grade Three spatial stone. It has enough capacity to hold your books, your extra clothes, and standard tactical supplies."
Agastya nodded, slipping the cold iron ring onto his finger. It instantly shrank by a fraction of a millimetre, securely locking itself to his exact measurements.
"Well," Dictor noted, his Spectacles catching the light. "Looks like after surviving Kael's little baseline test, you are much more open with us. No more hiding behind the trembling baker facade."
"Let us formally introduce ourselves," Alice announced, stepping into the centre of the group. The atmosphere shifted, the casual banter instantly replaced by military discipline.
"I am Alice Regina," the silver-haired woman stated, her hand resting on the pommel of her rapier. "A Phase One, Strata Five Awakener. I am the Captain of this squad. My Special Ability is Teleportation."
Up on the balcony, the sleepy telepath leaned over the railing, resting her chin in her hands. "Theodora Estampsa," she drawled smoothly. "Phase One, Strata Five. Special Ability: Petrification."
Kael pushed his black-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose, the feral intensity from the fight completely hidden away once again. "Kael Mortis. Phase One, Strata Four Awakener. Special Ability: Stochastic Foresight."
‘That explains it,’ Agastya realised internally, the memory of Kael's impossible dodges and serpentine strikes suddenly making perfect sense. ‘He wasn't just fast. He was calculating the mathematical probability of my movements before I even made them.’
The sniper offered a theatrical bow. "Dictor Exhanis. Phase One, Strata Five Awakener. Special Ability: Spectre Gaze ."
The massive bruiser crossed his tree-trunk arms, his deep voice vibrating through the floor. "Torin Blackwood. Phase One, Strata Four Awakener. Special Ability: Hardness Manipulation ."
Finally, the orange-haired medic offered a warm, steady smile. "Eliza Endmarth. Phase One, Strata Four Awakener. Special Ability: Cellular Healing ."
Agastya looked at the six people surrounding him. A squad of Phase One operatives, ranging from the fourth to the fifth Strata. Every single one of them possessed a lethal, reality-bending talent.
The five Vanguard operatives stood in silence, waiting. The air in the underground arena felt charged and heavy with the weight of their collective power.
Agastya looked at them, his mind rapidly cataloguing their ranks and abilities.
He straightened his posture, adopting the polite, slightly overwhelmed tone of a newly awakened civilian.
"I am Astragan Ruinheart," Agastya stated, offering a short, respectful bow. "A newly Awakened operative. Special Ability: Energy Manipulation . Please, take care of me."
‘Energy Manipulation,’ he thought coldly to himself.
Captain Alice Regina’s silver eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, clearly dissecting his chosen title. Finally, she nodded.
"Since the formal introductions are over," Alice said, her tone returning to its usual icy pragmatism. She turned her sharp gaze toward the grinning sniper. "Dictor. Go now. Secure his family."
Dictor offered a lazy two-finger salute. "You got it, Boss." He gestured toward the heavy iron doors of the arena with his thumb. "Come on, Astragan. Let's get you back to the mortal world."
Agastya nodded. He turned and followed Dictor out of the massive, Aether-dampening training hall.
The heavy iron door slammed shut behind them with a definitive, ringing thud, cutting off the intense, localised pressure. They walked in silence back through the narrow, blue-lit subterranean corridors, their boots echoing softly against the ancient stone.
They ascended the steep staircases, leaving the brutalist architecture of the combat levels behind, until they finally stepped out into the opulent, gas-lit hall where Dictor had first brought him. They retraced their steps across the plush carpets, pushing through the heavy doors. From there, they were transported back to the quiet, dusty expanse of the grand library.
Agastya paused near the towering mahogany bookshelves, casting one final, assessing glance around the grand library before resuming his pace behind the sniper.
They stepped out through the heavy front doors and into the crisp, cool air. Waiting for them on the polished cobblestone driveway was the same sleek, black carriage that had abducted him earlier. Its chassis thrumming with the faint, deep vibration of an Aetheric engine.
Agastya climbed inside, sinking into the plush leather cushions opposite Dictor.
Dictor reached up and rapped his knuckles against the wooden partition separating them from the driver. "The Bureau of Investigation," he commanded smoothly.
With a subtle, powerful jolt, the carriage lurched forward, rolling seamlessly past the hidden boundary.
They rode in silence. Agastya looked out through the tinted glass window, watching the city blur past. The carriage was moving through the exclusive Upper Wards. The streets here were immaculately paved and bathed in the warm, golden glow of sunlight.
They glided past row after row of massive, opulent estates, boasting sprawling gardens and towering marble columns; homes that the starving commoners of the Lower Wards could only ever dream of seeing, let alone living in.
After a few minutes, the carriage turned onto a wider, quieter avenue. It began moving parallel to a formidable stone boundary wall. The perimeter was at least eight feet high, its ridge capped with wicked, spear-like iron spikes cemented directly into the stone to ensure no ordinary trespasser could ever vault it.
The carriage finally slowed, coming to a smooth halt in front of a pair of massive, heavily fortified wrought-iron gates. Two armed sentries, clad in dark, tailored military uniforms, stood at strict attention on either side of the entrance.
Seeing the approaching vehicle, one of the guards immediately jogged over. Dictor casually pushed the heavy carriage door open, resting his forearm on the frame.
The guard stopped abruptly, snapping his boots together, and offered a deep, highly respectful bow to the Vanguard marksman.
"It is done, sir," the guard reported, his voice tight with military discipline.