Chen Yè arrived at Bai Zixian's courtyard to find the others already gathered.
Nine figures sat around the low table, their faces carrying varying degrees of anticipation. The crystalline walls caught the ambient light and scattered it across the space, casting everyone in that soft, sterile glow that had become so familiar over the past two months.
Today was different.
The usual cushions had been pushed to the edges of the courtyard, clearing a space in the center. The table remained, but it had been moved to one side, laden with water and nutrient supplements. The arrangement spoke of preparation for something physical.
Combat awareness training.
Chen Yè's suggestion.
At their last gathering, the pattern of their meetings had become painfully clear. Kiran and Noah had evolved to the Resonance stage. The remaining seven were close—showing signs of approaching breakthrough, speaking about their representations with growing confidence.
And Chen Yè remained exactly where he'd started.
No insight. No understanding. No flicker of progress toward whatever his concept was supposed to be.
He couldn't hold them back. The perspective-sharing method had served its purpose—it had helped Kiran understand Void, had helped Noah grasp Dream. But most of them had already extracted what they needed. If Chen Yè kept demanding they focus on something that only benefited him, the group would fracture.
So he'd found another way.
"I've been thinking about what comes next," he'd told them at the previous meeting.
The group had listened. They'd learned to listen when he spoke—two months of useful suggestions had earned him that much.
"Elder Pei said he'd guide us for six months. After that, we'll be filtered. Sorted." He'd let the weight of those words settle. "The ones who've evolved will move on. The rest..."
He'd watched their faces tighten with fear.
"But there's something else." He'd dropped his voice, as if sharing a secret. "Those who prove themselves valuable—those who show they're worth keeping—might be given opportunities. Privileges."
He'd paused.
"Maybe even a chance to go home."
The effect had been immediate.
Hope had bloomed across their faces like flowers after rain. Even the ones who tried to hide it—Bai with his careful masks, Vera with her sharp composure—couldn't fully suppress the longing that flickered in their eyes.
Home.
The word carried so much weight for children stolen from their families.
It was a lie.
Chen Yè had known it even as he spoke. The guard had told them plainly: ten years. A decade in this place before anything changed. And even then, "change" probably meant being sent to war, not being sent home.
There was no freedom here.
The system didn't release its tools. It used them until they broke.
But he couldn't tell them that.
They weren't ready. Their minds were still soft, still shaped by the comfort of their blocks and the quality of their food. They still believed they were being favored, still thought the system's provisions meant something benevolent.
They hadn't experienced the brutality yet.
When they did—when the filtering came, when they were sorted like livestock, when they saw what happened to those deemed useless—then they would understand. Pain was the quickest teacher. It hardened minds in ways that words never could.
Until then, hope would keep them together.
And keeping them together kept Chen Yè relevant.
"Pair up."
Bai Zixian's voice cut through the courtyard, pulling Chen Yè from his thoughts.
The pretty boy had taken to the combat training idea readily. Perhaps he saw the value in it. Perhaps he simply recognized that physical preparation served everyone's interests. Either way, he'd become an effective partner in organizing these sessions.
"We'll work on basic forms first," Bai continued. "Reading your opponent's movements. Anticipating strikes. No concepts—"
He glanced at Kiran and Noah, the only two who could theoretically use their powers.
"—just bodies. Even if you've evolved, a concept you can't use properly is worthless. You'll just be fodder to fill the enemy's kill count."
The words landed hard.
Kiran's grey eyes flickered with something like acknowledgment. Noah's innocent face grew serious for once. The others—the seven who hadn't evolved yet—shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of what awaited them.
Good, Chen Yè thought. Let them remember the stakes.
The group shuffled into pairs.
Kiran moved toward Ash Wei, the bulky servant whose scarred hands spoke of a lifetime of hard labor. Despite the difference in their evolution, they'd developed an unlikely rapport through shared silence.
Noah paired with Vera Lin. The dream-touched boy's pure features contrasted sharply with Vera's sharp-eyed intensity.
Maya Chen took Sera Zhao. Quinn Liu paired with Leah Tang.
Bai Zixian moved toward Seren—the gentle, quiet boy who seemed to understand things without being told.
That left Chen Yè standing alone.
"I'll observe," he said, before anyone could offer to include him. "Call out what I see."
It was practical. It was also honest—he'd spent years watching violence on the streets. He knew how to read a fight even if he couldn't win one.
The sparring began.
The courtyard filled with the sounds of movement.
Feet scraping against crystalline floor. Breath coming in controlled bursts. The soft thud of blocked strikes, the sharper crack of blows that landed.
None of them were skilled fighters. They were children—most barely past their seventh year—with no formal training and no experience in real combat. Their movements were clumsy, their stances unstable, their attacks telegraphed long before they landed.
But they were learning.
And Chen Yè was watching.
"Kiran—you're leading with your shoulders," he called out. "Your whole upper body tenses before you throw. Keep it loose until the last moment."
Kiran adjusted. His next strike came faster, less obvious.
"Vera—you're trying to intimidate Noah with your eyes. Might work on servants. Won't work on someone who's already looking past you."
Vera's jaw tightened, but she modified her approach.
"Ash—stop holding back. You're stronger than him. Use it."
Ash hesitated, old instincts warring with new circumstances. Servant's habits died hard. But after a moment, his next attack came with real force behind it.
Chen Yè continued calling corrections, his eyes moving from pair to pair.
Kiran compensates left. Old habit—something about his balance shifted after evolving.
Noah moves like he's half-asleep. Unpredictable, but unfocused. Easy to disrupt if you break his rhythm.
Vera expects obedience. When resistance comes, she hesitates. Not used to being denied.
Ash has strength but won't commit. Still thinks like a servant. Won't strike someone he sees as above him.
Maya watches too much, acts too little. Waiting for openings that might not come.
Sera is precise but slow. Thinks before each movement. Predictable once you see the pattern.
Quinn trades blow for blow. Balanced approach, but lacks finishing instinct.
Leah avoids conflict. Defensive. Won't initiate.
Seren moves strangely. Almost like he knows what's coming before it happens. Intuition? Or something else?
Each observation filed away.
Not for cruelty. For survival.
These were the people he'd bound his fate to. If he was going to rely on them—if his survival depended on their success—he needed to understand them. Strengths and weaknesses. Patterns and blind spots.
The streets had taught him that much.
The session lasted two hours.
By the end, everyone was breathing hard. Sweat dampened their training robes. Bruises were already forming on arms and legs—marks of progress, evidence of effort.
"Same time in four days," Bai announced as the group began dispersing. "We'll work on defensive forms next."
Nods all around. Tired but satisfied.
Chen Yè lingered as the others filed out, watching them go.
Ten months, he thought. Elder Pei will guide us for six months. Then filtering.
The word sat heavy in his mind.
Filtering meant separation. It meant the evolved ones moving forward while the failures were sorted into... something else. Training for those who'd proven valuable. And for those who hadn't?
He didn't want to think about what awaited them.
But he knew it wouldn't be kind.
After filtering came assignment. After assignment came deployment. After deployment came war—the endless, grinding conflict that had been consuming divine existences.
That was where they were all headed.
And right now, most of them couldn't even throw a proper punch.
Combat awareness, Chen Yè thought. It's not enough. But it's a start.
If he could prepare them—shape them into something harder, something more capable—then maybe they'd survive what was coming. And when his advice saved them, when his training kept them alive on battlefields they couldn't yet imagine...
They would rely on him more.
Trust him more.
Need him more.
It was manipulation. He knew that. But manipulation in service of mutual survival was the only kind that mattered.
The courtyard was empty now.
Chen Yè stood alone among the displaced cushions, the silence pressing in around him.
His mind turned to darker calculations.
The seven who haven't evolved yet—they're all close. Weeks, maybe. A month at most. Soon they'll all have concepts.
And when they do...
He couldn't fight concept with concept. His own connection remained stubbornly silent, offering nothing but darkness and unreachable lights. If conflict ever came—if the system turned them against each other, if betrayal occurred, if survival demanded violence—he would be at a fundamental disadvantage.
But concepts had weaknesses.
Every power had limits. Every ability had blind spots. He'd seen it on the streets—the strongest thugs brought down by smaller, cleverer opponents who understood where to strike.
When they evolve, he thought, I'll watch how they use their powers. Learn the patterns. Find the gaps.
Void. Dream. Command. Erasure. Illusion. Pact. Exchange. Solace. True Meaning. Memory.
Ten concepts among his group. Ten different abilities that might one day be turned against him—or that he might need to counter, suppress, exploit.
If I can't match them in power, he decided, I'll understand them better than they understand themselves.
It was a cold thought. A calculating thought. The kind of thinking that would horrify the others if they knew.
But the streets hadn't raised him to be kind.
They'd raised him to survive.
And survival meant preparing for every possibility—even the ones he hoped would never come.
Chen Yè turned and walked back toward his domain, his footsteps echoing against crystalline corridors.
Ten more months, he reminded himself.
Ten months to become indispensable.
Ten months to learn everything I can.
Ten months to find another way.
The artificial light faded around him as he walked, casting long shadows that seemed to reach toward futures he couldn't yet see.
But he would be ready.
Whatever came next, he would be ready.
End of Chapter 18