"I’m here to register the Tenth Sun in the First Training Ground," Zarek said without preamble, striking directly at the heart of the matter.
Boris’s gaze flickered to Asher for the briefest moment, though his composed smile did not falter.
"Mr. Zarek," he began, his tone polite yet firm, "I’m sure you’re well aware of the rules. I have no authority to enroll the Tenth Sun in the First Training Ground. Doing so would be a direct violation of family law, one that would quite literally cost me my head."
Zarek shook his head slowly. "I’m not here to impose my authority, that would be no different from madness," he said calmly. "This is a direct order from the Primarch, granted as a reward for his current Life Rank, despite having awakened only a day ago."
As he spoke, a folded parchment scroll materialized in his hand. Without hesitation, he extended it toward Boris.
Boris accepted the scroll without a word. From the moment Asher had entered the room, he had sensed the young man’s Life Rank. He had been surprised, of course, according to the reports, Asher had only awakened the day before. But Boris had chosen not to reveal his astonishment.
Only one person in Wargrave’s recorded history had achieved anything remotely similar: the current Primarch, who had reached his first breakthrough the day after his awakening. Even so, that feat paled in comparison to what stood before him now.
With careful hands, Boris unfolded the scroll and read through its contents. His eyes paused at the end, where the unmistakable seal of the Primarch had been stamped, a mark of unquestionable authority.
’I need to find a way to control my presence. I can’t have people reading me like an open book,’ Asher thought, his gaze distant but focused.
He had no intention of concealing his power or capabilities. But the idea of being so easily deciphered was something he found deeply unsettling.
Turning to Zarek, he broke the silence.
"Zarek, does controlling my presence have anything to do with my mastery over Astra?"
Zarek turned to Asher, clearly surprised by the question. A faint smile curved his lips as he replied, "It seems the Tenth Sun has grown tired of being so easily read."
He gave a slight shake of his head, a quiet note of amusement in his expression, before continuing.
"People being able to perceive your Life Rank has little to do with your control over Astra or the amount flowing through your veins. It’s more about the aura you emit, the presence you unconsciously project. That’s what others pick up on. As for sensing the actual quantity of Astra within someone, that’s a far rarer ability, and only those with a particular gift or trained perception can manage such a feat."
Asher gave a small nod. "Thank you, Zarek."
Since it had nothing to do with Astra control, there was no reason to delay. Without another word, he closed his eyes, shifting his focus inward, seeking the subtle rhythm of his own aura.
Zarek and Boris remained silent, watching intently as the young Wargrave sat still, eyes shut.
A few seconds passed.
Then, Asher opened his eyes, and his presence was gone.
His aura, once unmistakable in the room, had vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed.
Zarek and Boris exchanged a glance, faint smiles forming on their faces. Concealing one’s Life Rank was a skill taught early through basic training, nothing extraordinary in itself. But to grasp it instinctively, within seconds and with only a single explanation, marked Asher not just as talented, but as a genius among geniuses.
As Asher’s gaze settled on Boris, the older man offered a warm smile and spoke, "Welcome to the First Training Ground, Tenth Sun."
Reaching into a drawer beneath the table, Boris retrieved a form and handed it to him.
"I’ll be under your care," Asher replied calmly, accepting the form. Picking up a pen, he filled it out swiftly, the fields were simple, requesting only basic information. Just a formality.
Zarek rose from his seat the moment Asher finished. "Since my part here is done, I’ll be taking my leave," he said, his tone measured.
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and made his way toward the door, disappearing through it moments later.
Once the form was completed, Boris leaned back slightly and took a more formal tone.
"Before anything else, allow me to brief you on the structure and expectations within the First Training Ground."
He proceeded to outline the rules with practiced precision, the strict timeframes for each session, the types of training conducted daily, and the standards each trainee was expected to uphold.
From endurance drills to combat simulations, every element was designed to temper both body and mind under constant pressure.
Asher remained silent throughout, absorbing every word with calm focus. He committed the details to memory, understanding that discipline would be expected, not requested.
After the explanation concluded, Boris rose from his seat and gestured for Asher to follow. He led him through a corridor that opened into an expansive courtyard, vast, sunlit, and humming with intensity.
Before Asher stretched a field alive with movement. Over a hundred trainees were jogging in formation, their strides heavy, their faces drawn tight with exertion. Chests rose and fell rapidly as they fought for breath. Some looked moments away from collapse; others had already succumbed, lying sprawled on the training ground with sweat-soaked clothes and trembling limbs.
The air was thick with heat, fatigue, and the unspoken will to endure.
Up ahead, a man stood at the forefront of the training field, his voice thundering above the rhythmic pounding of feet.
"Keep moving! Don’t stop until your legs give out! Push beyond the limit!"
His tone was sharp, each word driving into the trainees like hammer blows. Sweat streamed down faces, muscles trembled with exhaustion, but none dared to defy his command.
Then, mid-shout, the man’s head suddenly turned. His sharp gaze locked onto Boris and Asher standing at the edge of the field.
"Stop!" he barked. "You have five minutes to recover."
Without delay, he strode across the ground, heading towards edge of the field. Reaching them, he halted and bowed slightly.
"Good morning, Tenth Sun," he greeted respectfully.
Asher, in his usual quiet manner, responded only with a brief nod of acknowledgment.
Turning to Boris, the man straightened. "What can I do for you, Head Instructor?"
"The Tenth Sun is now assigned to the First Training Ground," Boris stated flatly. He could see the storm of questions flickering in the man’s eyes, but he had no interest in indulging them. Without another word, he turned and walked away.
’So he’s the Head Instructor. He won’t be directly training us, just overseeing everything to ensure results.’
Asher thought, as he watched Boris’s retreating figure.
"My name is Harold Tenth Sun," the man beside him said, his tone composed yet firm. "I’ll be your physical fitness instructor. My sessions run from 7 a.m. to noon."
As he spoke, Harold guided Asher toward a clearing where other trainees sat, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.
’Looks like I’m already late on the first day,’ Asher thought, walking in step with Harold.