Chapter 13: The War Games - First Moves

　　Dawn on the first day of the War Games broke not with sunlight, but with the piercing, metallic shriek of a wyvern-horn. The sound tore through the pre-dawn mist clinging to the Basgiath valley, a call to simulated slaughter. From his new position—a camouflaged observation post nestled in the rocky crags above the main battlefield—Caden felt the familiar, cold knot of dread in his stomach. It was a feeling he had not experienced since Aretia, the same visceral understanding that today, people would die. The "game" was a lie; it was a culling, sanctioned by the very command that had orchestrated the original massacre.

　　He was no longer an archivist. He was a "terrain consultant," a fiction woven by Violet’s audacious paperwork. His vantage point was one he had suggested—a high ledge overlooking the "Scarab River," a key strategic objective. Below, the college grounds had been transformed into a mock warzone. Flags marked strongholds, and the air was already thick with the smell of damp earth, cold sweat, and the ozone tang of channeled magic.

　　His role was simple: watch, and report. He was the eyes for Violet’s squad. But his true purpose was far greater. He was watching for the moves he knew would come. The "accidents." The "miscommunications." The traps set not for the opposing team, but for one specific, troublesome cadet.

　　He didn't have to wait long.

　　Through a stolen eyeglass, he watched the initial maneuvers. The two sides, the "Gryphons" and the "Cockatrices," clashed along the riverbank. It was chaos, a melee of blunted swords, shields, and the flash of offensive magic. Violet’s squad, part of the Cockatrice vanguard, was holding its own. He saw her not in the thick of the fighting, but on the periphery, a small, swift figure directing the flow of her larger, stronger teammates with sharp, precise hand signals. She was fighting like a scribe, not a rider—or rather, like the strategist he had trained her to be.

　　Then he saw it. A unit of Gryphon "heavies," led by a hulking cadet named Barlowe, was pushing hard against the Cockatrice line. Standard tactics. But Caden’s eyes, trained by decades of studying maps and movements, saw the anomaly. A smaller, faster group of Gryphons was breaking away, not to flank the main force, but to ford the river at a narrow, seemingly treacherous point upstream. A point that, according to the official terrain maps, was supposed to be impassable due to jagged rocks. But Caden, from his perch, could see the water there was unusually calm. The rocks, he realized with a jolt, had been subtly moved, creating a hidden ford.

　　It was a trap. The heavy assault was the anvil. This flanking maneuver was the hammer, designed to crash into the Cockatrice rear. And Violet’s squad was directly in its path.

　　He had to warn her. But the standard communication channels—signal flags, messenger runners—were useless. They were being monitored. He had one tool, a risky, pre-arranged method for extreme emergencies only.

　　He raised a small, polished shard of obsidian, a stone native to the Esbenay range. He angled it, catching the weak morning sun. He flashed it three times in quick succession towards a specific copse of trees on the Cockatrice side—the position of one of Xaden’s scouts. A pause. Then three flashes in return. Message received.

　　He held his breath. Below, he saw the change instantly. Violet’s squad didn’t break. Instead, they executed a seemingly chaotic, fighting retreat, falling back towards a patch of ground littered with large, moss-covered boulders. To the Gryphon commander, it must have looked like a rout. But Caden saw the precision in it. They were herding the Gryphon heavies into a kill zone, while simultaneously repositioning to face the incoming flanking force.

　　The flankers emerged from the river, expecting to find a vulnerable rear. Instead, they found Violet’s squad waiting, dug in behind the boulders. The element of surprise was lost. The trap had been sprung on the trappers.

　　The ensuing skirmish was short and brutal. Blunted swords still broke bones. A poorly channeled shield spell could still crush a ribcage. Caden watched, his heart in his throat, as Violet moved. She didn’t meet strength with strength. She used the terrain, ducking between the boulders he had told her about, using their cover to harry the larger Gryphons. She was the stream, finding the weakness. He saw her direct Garrick to topple a precariously balanced rock onto the path, cutting the flanking force in two.

　　It was a masterclass in tactical adaptation. It was also a declaration. Violet Sorrengail was not just playing the game; she was rewriting the rules in real-time, using intelligence they thought was theirs alone.

　　As the Gryphon flankers were routed, Caden scanned the opposite ridge. There, barely visible among the trees, he saw a figure on horseback. Even at this distance, the posture was unmistakable. General Lilith Sorrengail. She was observing. And she was not looking at the overall battle. Her gaze was fixed solely on her daughter.

　　Caden lowered the eyeglass. The first move was over. Violet had won. She had survived the initial, predictable attempt to break her. But the look on the General’s face had not been one of anger. It had been one of cold, calculating reassessment. The anvil and hammer had failed. The next move would not be so obvious.

　　The fallen knight had given his first field report. The weapon he had helped forge had proven its mettle. But as the simulated battle raged below, Caden felt no triumph. Only the chilling certainty that the real war, the one against the command itself, had now truly, irrevocably begun. The first move was over. The next would be for blood.

　　Chapter 13 - End