The Extra's Rise

Morning had the taste of metal and dust—the Flats smell—and I was already in the van with Reika before the palace fully woke. We like to beat the noise.

Seraphina was waiting with her tripods laid out in a line like instruments ready for tuning. Rachel had a fresh case of clips and the look she gets when she's already run two mental drills on what to do if my heart forgets it's a team player. Tiamat stood like a calm wall. Lyra rolled her shoulders; the wind decided to listen. Lucifer sent a flight glove down with a courier for me—"For luck," his note said, which was his way of saying "For discipline."

Kade walked me through the lattice again. He will do that every time until this work is done. I respect men who love their lines.

"Same truths," Tiamat said. "Now your feet move. No Grey."

"No Grey," I repeated.

"Drill C," Lyra said. "Carry-through."

Carry-through sounds simple. It isn't. The small law I wrote yesterday—first touch inside the bubble bites clean—has to stay written while I cut, step, cut again, pivot, and not let the wind pull the second touch out of truth. It's where impatient people get loud. Loud breaks things.

I moved slow. Valeria sat light and honest in my hand. First touch bit. Step. Second touch bit. Pivot. Don't rush the third. Bite. Seraphina's pencil made its little dot. I felt my left shoulder try to roll forward for speed and stopped it. Rachel didn't need to call. Reika's radio stayed quiet. The morning stayed good.

We added turn work to the shortest line. Lyra bled a little shear into the crosswind and then took it out again, like moving a target half a finger and watching if I move with it or try to punish the air for lying. Twice I drifted early. Twice Seraphina whistled low, not a scold, a wake-up. I woke up. The lines got honest again.

Lucifer arrived midway, not with trumpets, but with flight decks' dust on his boots. He watched from the truck's shade and didn't talk. When I stepped off the ring for water, he just tapped my glove and said, "Deia will send you a better one," and walked away. That's how friends help without becoming a problem.

Ian stayed high, scripting air routes over our heads like a careful hand moving chess pieces. The sky stays quiet when someone who loves it is drawing in it. I like that about him.

On the third set, Tiamat said, "Add pace," and I felt the urge rise—the urge to show off. It's an old muscle. I let it fade. Pace isn't show. Pace is trust multiplied by breath control. I sped up the feet and kept the touches honest. Seraphina's dots stayed in their small neighborhood. Rachel's line on my tablet stayed between our rails. Lyra let the wind sigh in approval.

Kade called a short pause and crouched by a pylon. "A whisper in the weave," he said, ear close to the metal. He slid the base a thumb to the left and tapped it twice. "There. The ground wants it there." I repeated the last pass. The whisper didn't return. He looked pleased in his small way—hands on his hips, chin up a touch.

Captain Vyr intercepted a private drone that tried to creep in from the east ridge. It didn't belong to any of us. I only noticed because the air changed when her sharpshooter dropped it. No sound, just a pop and a puff of smoke. "Tagged units only," she said on the open channel. The Guard answered with one clipped word and went back to watching.

We ran cadence next. Same carry-through, but to a count: one-two, one-two-three, one-two, breathe. Seraphina beat time with her pencil on the tripod leg. Rachel watched the rhythm on my vitals and gave me a tiny nod at the end of each set. That nod makes the world simpler. You finish the work, you get the nod, you drink water. Then you do it again.

Cecilia stopped by the perimeter and watched for five minutes without speaking. On her way out she told Kade to protect a cable run with boards so the med team wouldn't trip during a rush. Boring, vital, perfect. Kade had boards down in two minutes. Rachel thanked her with a smile that probably added a year to someone's life.

We ended at noon. Kade called the lattice clean. Captain Vyr called the ring clear. Tiamat didn't say "again," which meant stop before the edge. That's a lesson too.

Back in Valdris, the Concord had us for a shorter session—supply timing, crew rotation, rescue drills if a pylon test cracked a thing we didn't intend to crack. Cecilia took three supply routes off the table and swapped them for better ones. Seraphina demanded one extra hour for clock sync before the mountain test. Rachel insisted on another tent and got it. Reika established a veto over VIP clusters again, which is her favorite new toy.

Between sessions I took ten minutes with my fiancées. Seraphina didn't count; she was in all my hours, pencil tapping, eyes bright when numbers behaved. Cecilia sat me down and ran a three-point list titled "Don't waste time paying for the same thing twice," and I promised not to. Rose was across a call with the queen's legal staff, voice like a knife cutting fat off a bone. Rachel pressed a sandwich into my hand and told me to breathe. I asked about Stella; she was in a math corner somewhere scaring adults with fast answers and a braid that wouldn't stay put.

Stella texted me a photo of her slate. Three lines of neat work, then a scribble that said solved in eight steps!! I checked the problem—a nasty travel-time puzzle with changing speeds—and wrote back proud of you. she replied with i'll braid your hair if you keep breathing in fours. I promised I would. Parenting is strange and good.

Afternoon back to the Flats. Same work. Motion against small laws until the body stops thinking about it and the hands do it because that's who they are. Lyra adjusted the wind to a pattern that wandered for three breaths and then snapped back to steady. It forced my feet to accept the law even when the air felt petty. Twice I wanted to chase the gust. Twice I didn't. Valeria hummed approval when I stopped early on one set, which is her way of telling me I'm learning.

We added one more detail: exit clean. After each run, the blade must leave the last touch without dragging the law behind it. I pictured a small door closing at the end of every line. Close the door, breathe, reset. Seraphina liked that image; she drew a little square on her page each time my exit was clean. When I messed one, she put a dot outside the square. The page became a quiet scorecard. More squares than dots. Good enough for today.

A thin cloud line rolled in from the sea and made the light flat. Tiamat glanced at the horizon and nodded once. "Pack before the wind gets bored," she said. We moved. Poles down, cables coiled, tripods folded. The Guard swept the ring like they were erasing a chalk board. By the time the first gusts arrived, the ground looked like we had never been there.

We were stowing poles when the warp at the ridge flared. Kali and Jin stepped through fully this time—no travel dust now, palace badges pinned. Kali went straight to Reika and they began talking in the shorthand only people who have cut through too many messes share. I heard, "blue tarp lane stays clear no matter who screams," and "copy." That's their bond in one exchange.

Jin walked the outer ring with Captain Vyr and both nodded at the same places without speaking. He paused by the west access road, knelt, and ran a finger along the gravel. "Soft shoulder," he said. "Sandbags here or a truck sinks when we're in a hurry." Vyr's sergeant was already hauling bags.

Evening had a short debrief with royals and envoys—clean, crisp, no flourish. The first coastal pylon was still on schedule. Weather looked tired but obedient. Tomorrow we'd run the last motion set before we let my sword touch any field that wasn't chalk.

After the meeting, Tiamat caught my sleeve in the hall and checked my hands with her eyes, the way an old master checks wood grain. "No Grey tomorrow," she said again, gentle and firm. "You keep these small truths clean."

"I will," I said.

Lyra joined us and set her knuckles lightly against my forearm, testing the steadiness there. "Your carry-through is honest," she said. "Don't rush adding speed. Let speed grow from trust."

"Understood."

I checked on Stella before bed. She had moved from math to reading and was asleep with her slate under her cheek. I took a photo and sent it to the family thread. Replies rolled in—Cecilia's dry "braid holding achieved," Seraphina's small heart, Rose's "don't wake her," Rachel's "you're breathing in fours tomorrow."