The training yard had seen better days.

Not the yard itself—the mats were still there, the dummies still cracked, the pendulum weights still swinging. But the energy had changed since Harrowfield. The team trained harder now, pushed longer, rested less. The blood moon was somewhere out there, ticking down, and none of them wanted to be caught unprepared.

Derek trained hardest of all.

That was new. He’d always been the reluctant one, the one who needed encouragement, the one who flinched before every drill. But something had shifted in him after the exorcism. Maybe it was the demon’s taunts, the way it had used his deepest fears against him. Maybe it was the sight of Lucian collapsing, his runes bowing inward, the silence of his pulse.

Or maybe he was just tired of being scared.

Whatever the reason, he was out here every morning before the others, running drills with his staff until his arms shook. His ghosts orbited him constantly now, their forms sharper, their reactions faster. Dr. Blackwood had stopped criticizing and started watching.

But the staff couldn’t keep up.

It had been standard issue from the Keep’s armory—solid ash, iron core, a few crystals along the grip. Fine for training. Fine for low-level missions. But not built for what Derek was asking of it now.

The first crack appeared during a drill with Mason. Derek had tried to block a heat burst, channeling his ghosts into a shield. The staff held, but a thin line crawled up the shaft.

He didn’t mention it.

The second crack came during a solo session. He was practicing projection, sending Dr. Blackwood fifty meters away and pulling him back. The strain warped the wood near the grip.

He wrapped it with tape and kept going.

The third crack happened in front of everyone.

They were running a team drill—Cora phasing through obstacles, Mason providing cover fire, Sera tracking targets, Lucian directing. Derek was holding the rear, his ghosts spread wide to catch anyone trying to flank.

A construct dummy lunged at him from the side. Derek spun, planted his staff, and released a wave of spectral energy. The dummy shattered. So did the staff.

It broke in two places. The top third flew across the yard. The bottom split down the middle, splintering into jagged pieces. The crystals fell to the ground, their light dead.

Derek stood there, holding a ruined stick.

The yard went quiet.

Cora was the first to speak. "Well. That’s not good."

Mason walked over, picked up the top piece. "This is ash. Not meant for this level of force."

"It was fine."

"It was cracking. You’ve been hiding it."

Derek didn’t answer.

Lucian walked to him. "How long?"

"A few weeks."

"A few weeks?"

"I didn’t want to say anything."

Sera lowered her crossbow. "You’ve been fighting with a broken staff for weeks?"

"It wasn’t broken. It was... stressed."

Dr. Blackwood materialized beside him. "It was failing. You knew it. You ignored it."

Derek’s grip tightened on the remains. "I couldn’t afford a new one."

The words hung in the air.

---

That night, the team met without Derek.

Cora called it. They gathered in the common room, the door closed, voices low.

"He needs a new staff," she said. "A real one. Not armory surplus."

Mason nodded. "The kind you get from a proper smith."

Sera looked up from her phone. "Those cost. A lot."

Lucian stood by the window. "We pool resources."

Cora blinked. "All of us?"

"All of us."

There was a moment of silence. Then Mason pulled out his wallet. Sera sighed and opened her banking app. Cora started counting what she had saved from her mission stipends. Lucian didn’t move—he had access to Margaret’s accounts, but he’d already decided he wouldn’t use that. This was from them. For Derek.

"Who makes spirit-attuned weapons?" Sera asked.

Mason thought. "There’s a beastkin smith in the east end. Old. Reputation for quality. Works with crystals that enhance spiritual resonance."

Cora frowned. "Would he take an order from Ashen Guard rookies?"

"He’ll take money."

Lucian pulled out his phone. "I’ll make contact."

---

The smith’s name was Thorne. No relation to Alistair. Just a coincidence.

He was a beastkin—badger, by the look of him—with thick arms, grey-streaked fur, and eyes that had seen too many commissions and too few paydays. His shop was tucked between a laundromat and a closed-down bakery, the windows barred, the door reinforced with iron.

Lucian went alone.

Thorne looked him up and down. "You’re from the Keep."

"Yes."

"The staff isn’t for you."

"No. My teammate."

Thorne grunted. "What does he need?"

"Spirit-attuned. Crystal core. Reinforced for high-output projection."

Thorne’s eyebrows rose. "That’s not a beginner’s weapon."

"He’s not a beginner anymore."

They negotiated. Thorne named a price. Lucian didn’t flinch. He handed over the pooled money—cash, crisp, folded in an envelope.

Thorne counted it. "Three days."

"Three days."

---

Derek didn’t know.

The team kept the secret, which was harder than any of them expected. Cora almost slipped twice. Sera made a point of not looking at Derek’s broken staff. Mason said nothing, which was easy because he never said much anyway.

Lucian picked up the new staff on the fourth day.

It was beautiful.

The wood was dark, almost black, carved with channels that held small crystals—pale blue, pulsing faintly. The grip was wrapped in leather, worn smooth. The base was capped with iron, etched with runes that Derek didn’t know yet but would learn.

He brought it to the training yard.

Derek was there alone, running drills with a borrowed staff that didn’t fit his hands.

"Derek."

He turned.

Lucian held out the staff.

"This is yours."

Derek stared at it. Then at Lucian. Then at the staff again.

"I didn’t order this."

"The team did."

Derek’s mouth opened. Closed. His hands trembled as he reached out.

He took it.

The weight was perfect. The balance was perfect. The crystals hummed against his palm, responding to his energy, recognizing him.

"This is... this is too much."

"You needed it."

Derek looked at him. His eyes were wet.

"I—"

"Don’t."

"I’m not—"

"You’re welcome."

Dr. Blackwood materialized beside him, his translucent face unreadable.

"Don’t get emotional," the ghost said. "It’s unbecoming."

Derek’s voice cracked. "Shut up."

He gripped the new staff, feeling the power thrum through it. His ghosts gathered around him, brighter than before, drawn by the resonance.

"Thank you," he said.

Lucian nodded. "Now train."

Derek smiled.

It was small. Shaky. Real.

"Okay."