The Extra's Rise

We treated the third day like it was the last chance to fix anything small. That's a good superstition. Reika was even earlier than usual. I caught her staring at the Flats the way a carpenter stares at a floor and wonders which board will groan when guests walk.

"Which one?" I asked.

She pointed at nothing obvious. "Fourth pole on the west, if someone panics," she said. "We move it two feet."

We moved it. Captain Vyr gave the ghost of a smile; she'd already circled that pole in her head.

Lyra tuned the wind to a pattern she didn't tell me about. Not a trick—she'd promised no tricks—but closer to life: a steady breath that sometimes forgets itself and stumbles. Tiamat pressed her palm to the ground and the ground agreed to try its best.

"Add the third truth," Tiamat said.

Third truth was carry-through under a step–cut–step rhythm where the second blade action begins before the first fully resolves. Hard to do slow, harder fast, dangerous when the wind lies. The law had to hold inside the small bubble at my hand even when timing compressed and the body wanted to lead with shoulder or ego.

Keep the bubble small. A law too big is a lie.

First bite. Step. Second bite starts before the mind finishes saying "first." Seraphina's dots stayed neat. Rachel's tablet stayed bored. Lyra made the wind admit I was right without punishment.

We ran the triangle next—step forward, cut across, pivot on the rear foot, step out, cut back. Same truth, new footwork. The urge to swing wide and "help" the edge showed up. I ignored it. When I didn't, Seraphina whistled low and my body remembered what my brain forgot.

On the fourth run, pride tried to sneak into my heel. I almost accelerated to hear the cut sing in the air. Valeria tapped my palm twice. I slowed a fraction. The song stayed inside the work instead of outside it. That's where it belongs until the day you need it to be loud.

"Good," Tiamat said. That word from her is like a stamp you don't want to peel off.

Kade crouched by a kill-switch pylon and listened with his ear to the metal. "Tiny buzz at thirty hertz," he said, sliding the base a thumb's width. "Soil wants this angle." He tapped twice, stood, and nodded. We repeated the last set. No buzz. He looked satisfied in the small way only engineers do—chin up a touch, hands on hips, nothing theatrical.

Captain Vyr intercepted another private drone trying to creep over the ridge. One pop, a puff of smoke, then her voice on the open channel: "Tagged units only." The Guard echoed with one clipped "copy" and went back to watching.

"Drill: box step," Lyra said. "Same truth, faster feet."

I moved. First bite, step right, second bite, step back, third bite, step left, exit clean. Twice the wind stumbled. Twice my hands wanted to follow it. I didn't. Seraphina's pencil tapped the tripod leg in time; my shoulders relaxed to the beat. Rachel's voice came over my in-ear, warm and soft like it always is when she means to make the world obey: "Breathe on fours." My ribs listened.

Lucifer arrived mid-morning, dust on his boots, Jin beside him. They watched from behind the med tent—the right seat for men who can break things by breathing on the wrong minute. When I stepped off the line, Lucifer tapped the glove he'd sent yesterday. "Deia says she'll fix the stitching," he said. That was all. Jin shook hands with Kade and asked about lattice damping like they'd been on the same crew for years.

Ian stayed high, sketching air corridors for the first pylon convoy. He doesn't draw lines, he draws lanes for people to survive. The sky feels calmer when he's working in it.

We added pace. Not show. Pace is trust multiplied by breath control. I sped the feet and kept the touches honest. Seraphina's dots stayed in their neighborhood. Rachel's green band on my vitals held steady. Lyra shifted the wind to a lazy figure-eight; my law didn't care.

Cecilia walked the perimeter and stopped where the med path crossed a cable run. "Boards," she told Kade. "I don't want a stretcher wheel catching when someone's scared." Boards appeared. Rachel thanked her with one of those small smiles that adds a year to a life.

"Last set," Tiamat said. "Exit clean."

Exit clean means don't drag the law behind you like a rag. Close the door at the end of the line. I pictured a little square clicking shut on each finish. Seraphina drew the same square on her page every time I did it right. When I messed one, she put a dot outside the square and didn't say a word. The page became a quiet scorecard. More squares than dots by the end. Enough.

We took five. I sat on a pylon case and stretched my hands. Rachel set a cup in my fingers without asking. The tea was exactly the right temperature because Rachel doesn't do "almost."

"Left forearm?" she asked.

"Tight," I admitted.

She pressed along the muscles once, not magic—just knowing where to press. Warmth spread. "Don't sprint the last set," she said, voice steady, that musical timbre that slides past your stubborn parts and tells them to behave. I nodded because arguing with that voice is like arguing with rain.

Stella pinged my slate. a^2 + b^2 vs convoy time if a=lane speed and b=offload speed? she'd drawn a little right triangle and a cartoon truck with wings. I wrote back lane speed is king until offload chokes. she sent solved, 9 steps, will show aunt ceci and a heart sticker. I sent one back.

We finished the morning on rhythm work: one-two, one-two-three, one-two, breathe. Reika paced the outer ring, radio at her mouth, not because anything was wrong, but because she likes "ready" to be a habit, not an event. Captain Vyr moved her people once, two meters left, to make a lane wider. Jin noticed and nodded. No words. Pros speaking in small moves.

King Marcus came with two captains and stood still for five minutes, watching the cuts, the wind, the feet. "Good," he said, and left. Queen Lyralei sent one word later over the wire: proceed. It is pleasant to work for rulers who understand brevity when it counts.

We wrapped right at the line Tiamat wanted. Kade called the lattice clean, sounding almost disappointed he had nothing to fix. Seraphina folded her tripod legs and wrote a single number in a small box that only she and I will ever care about. Rachel put her hand on my wrist, then on her own heart, and nodded. Reika pointed at the blue tarp we use for emergency retreats and said, "You never had to touch it," which is her way of saying "well done."

Lunch was efficient. Rice, grilled fish, fruit. Lucifer stole half my orange, claimed it was a Northern custom, and got away with it because he can make anything sound like a tradition. Jin asked Captain Vyr for five minutes with her map and suggested one change to a choke point; she accepted without pride. Lyra ate like a soldier—fast, grateful, already thinking about the next hour. Tiamat drank tea and watched the weather the way a farmer watches clouds. Seraphina checked sync clocks for the afternoon tide test at the coast. Cecilia re-ordered a supply pallet because someone had stacked it for show, not use.

Afternoon was shorter by design. "Bank the good day," Tiamat said. We ran two sets only: triangle at pace, then box step with a light shear in the wind. No Grey. No flare. Just work. On the second set, my foot landed a thumb too far outside the chalk. I corrected without chasing. Seraphina still drew a dot outside the square. Fair.

As we packed, the warp on the ridge flickered and Kali stepped through with a small advance team—badges pinned, no dust. She went straight to Reika. "Boss," she said, "I shaved time off the convoy load at point B. Don't say thank you yet. Wait until it works twice."

"I'll still say it now," I said.

"Then I'll pretend I didn't hear," she said, and grinned in a way that could cut rope.

Kali peeled away to bully a forklift into being safer. Jin walked the outer ring again and set sandbags where the shoulder looked soft. Vyr's sergeant was already hauling by the time he pointed. It's nice when people see the same problems.

We closed with a short debrief in a side room at the palace—shipping windows, what-ifs for weather, last-minute vetoes. Cecilia killed a path a noble's cousin tried to open and replaced it with something that didn't smell like favors. Seraphina asked for an extra clock sync at the coast because tides don't care about our calendars. Rachel said nothing; she had already prepped everything twice. Lyra looked at the room and said, "We place a pylon at dawn," and no one argued.

After, I found Lyra on the river balcony where we'd stood the first morning. The light was softer now, heavy in the way of evenings that know tomorrow is busy.

"Sword first," she said without preface.

"Sword first," I agreed.

"You are very far from Sovereignty," Tiamat said, stepping to the rail with us, not unkind.

"I know," I said.

"Good," she said. "Then you won't try to cheat the distance. You will walk it."

"I will," I said, and meant it more than I've meant most things.

Lyra studied my hands. "Your small laws held under motion," she said. "Tomorrow you will keep them while the ground speaks back. Same truths. No new ones."

"No Grey," I said.

"No Grey," she agreed.

We didn't talk about the pink-haired woman. Everyone in this palace knows her without the name. We didn't talk about Demon Lords or the thing above them that makes old dragons pause. That talk will return when it needs to. Tonight wasn't that.

Kali reappeared with Reika. "Pilot drill done," she said, handing over a slate. "Load-in time down by twelve percent. If it holds at dawn, you can buy me coffee you hate."

"Deal," I said.

Jin had found a wall again—the kind of wall that looks like it will never be needed. He stood beside Captain Vyr and they both didn't talk for a long minute. That silence is how you know two professionals have nothing to prove to each other.

I checked Valeria out of habit, even though she doesn't need it the way normal steel does. She purred anyway. She likes the ritual. So do I.

I walked past the med tents. Rachel was arranging clips for the morning in sets of ten—hands sure, motions small and tidy. She saw me and tilted her head toward the water cooler. I took two sips because she'd tell me to if I didn't. "Breathe on fours," she said, not looking up. I breathed on fours.

Seraphina passed me in the hall, tapped her pencil twice against my shoulder, and said, "Clocks," which meant she'd synced every instrument in a ten-kilometer radius and wanted me to know it. Cecilia texted me three bullet points: "Don't let VIPs near cordon. Don't let cordon get near VIPs. Eat." I replied "copy" to all three.

I checked on Stella. She was in a corner with a ward engineer, explaining her triangle truck idea with too many hand motions and a braid that wouldn't stay put. The engineer looked equal parts impressed and terrified. I kissed the top of her head when she paused for air. "Sleep early," I told her. "Dawn is loud."

"I'll set two alarms," she said, then added, "Breathe on fours," like a conspirator.

I slept in my own bed. I did not dream.

Tomorrow we would lay Earth's first pylon with the Seven at our shoulders. No prophecy. No speeches. Just weight going into ground and power climbing a spine we could measure.

And somewhere out in the world, a woman with pink hair would be doing whatever she does to become stronger. She wasn't in our room. That was fine. My field was small and true, and it would be the thing that broke her when the time came.

For now: strength first. Vows later.