The glow exploded.
Maren was there instantly. Hand on her shoulder—cold, that
same stabilizing cold from this morning.
"Breathe," he said. Voice calm, professional, like he'd done
this a thousand times. "Slow. Controlled. Four count. In. Hold. Out. Hold."
Lira forced herself to slow down. In. Hold. Out. Hold. The
enhancement faded gradually, unevenly, fighting her the whole way. But it
faded.
Maren stepped back once she'd stabilized completely. "Good
instinct, Sith. You recognized destabilization and disengaged immediately. That
awareness will keep both of you alive."
He looked at Lira. "You pushed too hard. Sparring triggers
fight response automatically—your body sees threat and wants to flood
everything with power. Fight response feeds your leak. Creates a cycle. You
need to practice staying calm under pressure. Not suppressing the response,
just… acknowledging it without letting it control you."
Lira nodded. Couldn't speak yet. Just focused on breathing.
Her face was pale. Her hands still shaking slightly even though the enhancement
had dropped.
Maren moved to check the next pair.
Aki stood there, sword in hand, watching Lira recover. She
looked exhausted. Looked like she'd run a marathon instead of sparring for
ninety seconds.
Around the room, other pairs were sparring with varying
success. Fated students moving with relative confidence. Enhancement steady.
Technique improving with each exchange.
The Forsaken pair across the gym was struggling similarly.
Enhancement flickering. Movements jerky. Every exchange a calculated risk of
destabilization.
"Sorry," Lira said finally. Her voice was rough, strained.
"For what?"
"For losing control. For making you stop. For—" She gestured
vaguely. "Being a disaster."
"You didn't make me do anything. You were destabilizing. I
stopped." Aki's voice was flat. "That's what partners do. Recognize warning
signs. Disengage before someone explodes."
She looked at him. Something complicated in her
expression—surprise maybe. Like she'd expected blame instead of pragmatism.
"Most people wouldn't have noticed until it was too late. Or wouldn't have
cared."
"Most people aren't Forsaken two days into their Academy
experience with shattered cores that want to kill them."
"Fair point." She adjusted her grip on the practice sword.
Tested her hands. They'd stopped shaking. "One more round? I'll keep better
control this time."
"You sure?"
"No. But we're here to practice. And sitting out proves we
can't handle pressure." Her pale blue scars pulsed once. "I'd rather fail
trying than fail by giving up."
Aki understood that. Had lived it for eighteen years.
He took his stance again. "Let's go."
They sparred again. Slower this time. More cautious. Both
hyper-aware of destabilization signs—irregular breathing, surging enhancement,
loss of control.
Aki's enhancement lasted ninety seconds before flickering
out completely. Lira's lasted just over two minutes before she had to drop it
voluntarily, recognizing the early signs of destabilization before they became
critical.
Neither actually destabilized. Both survived.
Small victories measured in not exploding.
At 1620, Maren called time. "Enough. Good first session.
You're all alive, which exceeds my minimum expectations." He said it seriously,
but something in his tone suggested he actually meant it as a compliment.
A few nervous laughs rippled through the class. The tension
broke slightly.
"Next session, Thursday. Same time. We'll continue partner
drills and introduce basic combinations—multiple cuts in sequence, maintaining
enhancement throughout." Maren's eyes swept the room, landing on each student
briefly. "Forsaken students—practice your breathing every day. Morning and
night. Build the habit so it's automatic under stress. Your survival depends on
it becoming instinct."
He looked at the Fated students. "Don't get cocky. Half of
you lost your enhancement during sparring. That's unacceptable at Thread 2 and
above. You should be able to maintain First Form under pressure by now."
Several Thread 2 students looked uncomfortable.
Maren gestured to Aurelia. "Thank you for the instruction."
She inclined her head, that slight smile returning. "My
pleasure. Watching beginners not kill themselves is oddly satisfying." She
addressed the class. "I'll be back Thursday. Try not to break yourselves before
then. I'd like to see some of you actually improve."
The way she said it—dry humor with genuine interest
underneath—made it sound less like a command and more like actual
encouragement.
Maren dismissed the class.
Students filed out, exhausted, muscles aching from
unfamiliar exertion. Aki stayed behind, waiting for the crowd to clear. Putting
his practice sword back on the rack with more care than necessary.
Lira was still there. Packing up slowly. Her hands had
stopped shaking but she looked drained—that specific exhaustion that came from
holding yourself together through something that wanted to tear you apart.
Aurelia approached them both. Those crimson eyes studied Aki
for a long moment, then shifted to Lira.
"You both did well," she said. Simple. Direct. "For complete
beginners on day one."
Lira looked surprised. "I nearly destabilized."
"But you didn't. And your partner recognized the signs and
disengaged." Aurelia looked at Aki. "That awareness is more valuable than any
technique I could teach. Technique you can learn. Awareness under pressure?
That's instinct. Can't be taught, only developed."
She turned back to Lira. "You're improving faster than you
think. I watched you this morning during Maren's lecture. Your enhancement was
all over the place. This afternoon, with a weapon, you maintained for two
minutes. That's significant progress in one day."
"It doesn't feel like progress."
"It never does. Progress feels like barely keeping up with
impossible standards." Aurelia's smile was wry, understanding. "But compare
yourself to yourself yesterday, not to the Fated students who've had private
tutors since they were children."
Lira nodded slowly. Like she was trying to believe it.
Aurelia looked at Aki again. Held his gaze. "You've never
trained before. Never held a sword. Never enhanced with a weapon." It wasn't a
question. "But your fundamentals improved faster than anyone else in your skill
bracket. You adjust quickly once you understand the *reason* behind something."
"Low bar."
"Maybe. But I've been teaching for fifteen years. I can
recognize when someone has natural aptitude versus when someone is just going
through motions." She tilted her head slightly. "You have good instincts,
terrible control, and a stubborn refusal to quit even when you should. That
combination either gets you killed or makes you exceptional. No middle ground."
Aki didn't know what to say to that.
Aurelia didn't seem to expect a response. "Come to open
training sessions if you want additional practice. Tuesdays and Fridays, 1700
to 1900. Weapons hall. Anyone can attend—Fated, Forsaken, doesn't matter. I run
drills, answer questions, correct form." She looked at both of them. "Your
control is terrible, but you both learn fast when you're not fighting
yourselves. That's worth developing."
She started to walk away, then paused. Looked back at Aki
specifically.
"And Aki? Stop treating your power like it's trying to kill
you. It probably is—Forsaken cores are unstable by nature. But fear makes it
worse. Makes you tense. Makes you fight instead of guide." Her crimson eyes
held his with unexpected intensity. "Partnership, not domination. Remember
that."
Then she left. Moved with that same fluid grace. Confident.
Competent. Somehow managing to be both intimidating and… approachable? Like she
was a person who happened to be extremely skilled, not some untouchable master.
Aki stood there, practice sword returned to its rack,
processing.
*Partnership, not domination.*
The problem was he'd spent his entire life fighting.
Fighting the system. Fighting poverty. Fighting the world's decision that he
didn't matter. Fighting to stay alive when everything tried to kill him.
Stopping now—trusting anything, even his own broken
power—felt impossible.
But maybe that was the problem.
Lira broke the silence. "She's… different."
"Yeah."
"I expected someone cold. Clinical. Like Lyenne at
assessment." Lira adjusted her bag strap. "But she actually seems to want us to
succeed. That's…"
"Suspicious?"
"I was going to say 'different.' But suspicious works too."
Lira's expression was carefully neutral, but something in her voice suggested
she was as unsettled by Aurelia's genuine interest as Aki was. "You headed to
dinner?"
Aki checked the time. 1630. Dinner at 1800. Ninety minutes.
"Eventually."
"Want to practice breathing together?" She said it flatly,
matter-of-factly. No pretense of friendship. "Emotional Intelligence homework.
Find someone who doesn't immediately hate you and practice not exploding."
Aki stared at her. "You want to practice breathing."
"Want is a strong word. Need is more accurate." Lira's voice
was honest, blunt. "We both just got here. Day one. I'm already struggling to
maintain enhancement for two minutes. At this rate I'll fail out in a month.
And I'd rather not fail alone."
The honesty was abrasive. No false camaraderie. No
pretending this was about forming connections. Just practical assessment of
mutual need.
Aki considered. He had ninety minutes before dinner. Could
spend them alone in his room, practicing until frustration overwhelmed him,
spiraling in isolation.
Or he could practice with someone who understood exactly
what it felt like to be one bad moment away from destabilizing. Someone who
wouldn't judge. Wouldn't pity. Would just… exist in the same broken space.
"Fine," he said. "Where?"
"Forsaken courtyard. It's empty this time of day."
-----
They left the gymnasium. Walked through campus in silence.
The afternoon sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the paths. Golden
light making everything look almost beautiful.
Fated students passed in groups. Laughing, talking, existing
in their safe little worlds where cores didn't shatter and power didn't leak
chaotically. Where the biggest worry was grades, not whether you'd explode
during class.
Aki ignored them. Lira did the same. Both walking with that
careful distance between them—not unfriendly, just… separate. Two people
navigating the same hostile environment without pretending it was something it
wasn't.
The Forsaken courtyard was tucked behind their residence
building. Small. Private. A few benches weathered by exposure. Trees providing
shade. High walls ensuring isolation from the rest of campus.
Empty. As promised.
They sat on opposite benches. Not close. Not isolated. Just…
present in the same space.
"Gee Style?" Lira asked.
"Yeah."
They breathed together. Deep and slow. Synchronized without
planning it, their bodies finding the same rhythm automatically.
Aki's chest expanded. Power leaked from his shattered core.
He guided it—poorly, inefficiently, but guided it nonetheless—into his arms.
Felt where it went wrong. Adjusted slightly. Tried Aurelia's suggestion:
invitation instead of force.
The power still sprayed everywhere. But slightly less
chaotically. Slightly more… cooperative? Maybe. Hard to tell.
His enhancement lasted ninety seconds before he had to stop.
Lira made it to two minutes. Then exhaled, shaking slightly
but controlled. Her blue scars pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
They rested. Breathed normally. Let their bodies recover.
Then tried again.
And again.
By the fourth round, Aki hit two minutes. His hands were
steady. His breathing controlled. The power still leaked everywhere but with
slightly less chaos. More… directed. Like it was listening, just barely.
Progress. Incremental but real.
By the fifth round, Lira hit two minutes thirty. Broke her
previous record. Her expression stayed neutral but something flickered in her
eyes—surprise, maybe. Or cautious hope.
At 1745, Lira stood. "That's enough for me. Any more and
I'll be too exhausted to eat." She adjusted her bag. "Dinner?"
Aki nodded. Stood. His body ached from the day—sword
training, sparring, repeated enhancement attempts. Everything hurt in that
specific way that meant he'd pushed his limits and then kept pushing.
They walked back to the dining hall together. Still not
talking much. Just… existing in the same space without hostility. Without
pretense.
The dining hall was filling up. Aki grabbed food—real
protein, fresh vegetables, bread that was actually fresh instead of stale. The
kind of meal that should've been savored instead of just consumed for fuel.
Lira did the same.
They sat at the same table by the window. Not because they
were friends. Just because sitting alone after practicing together felt
counterproductive. Inefficient.
Reya appeared halfway through the meal. Dropped into the
seat beside Aki without asking, tray in hand, that same casual confidence she
always carried.
"Hey. Lira. Aki." She started eating like this was
completely normal. "Productive afternoon?"
"Define productive," Aki said.
"Didn't explode. Didn't get expelled. Maintained
consciousness through an entire weapons class on day one." Her hazel eyes were
amused, warm. "Low bar, but we're Forsaken. We celebrate not dying as a win."
Lira almost smiled. Almost.
They ate in silence for a moment. The dining hall buzzed
with conversation around them—Fated students discussing classes, assignments,
weekend plans. Normal things that didn't involve constant risk of explosion.
Then Reya spoke again, her tone shifting slightly. More
serious.
"Thursday. Forest training. Team Seven." She looked at Aki.
"Two weeks away now. You ready?"
"No."
"Honest. I appreciate that." She took another bite,
unbothered. "Neither is Jorin. Neither is Destin. Neither is Sol—kid's
terrified, won't stop apologizing for existing. Neither am I, if we're being
real. But we're doing it anyway. Four hours. Three checkpoints. Unknown
terrain. And if we fail, we all fail together."
"Inspiring," Aki said flatly.
"I know. I'm basically a motivational speaker. Should start
a podcast." Reya finished her food with efficient speed. Stood. Grabbed her
tray. "See you Thursday. 1300. Don't be late. And Aki?"
He looked up.
"Bring the suppression kit. Keep it close. Trust me on
this."
She left before he could respond.
Aki stared at his tray. The suppression kit. One dose.
Thirty minutes of stability.
Insurance against destabilization.
Or a reminder that everyone expected him to fail.
Lira spoke quietly. "She's not wrong. About the kit."
"I know."
"Then stop looking like it's an insult." Her pale blue eyes
met his. "It's not about you being weak. It's about all of us being smart. Any
of us could destabilize. Better to have it and not need it than need it and
watch someone die."
Aki's jaw tightened. But she was right.
The kit wasn't an insult. It was survival.
And survival mattered more than pride. Always had. Always
would.
They finished eating in silence. Left the dining hall
together. Walked back to the Forsaken residence through lengthening shadows and
cooling air.
Three hundred meters between rooms. Isolation by design.
Safety protocol that felt like punishment but probably kept them alive.
Aki reached his door first. Lira's was further down the
hall.
She stopped before walking away. Looked back at him.
"Thanks. For practicing. For not making it weird. For stopping when I was
destabilizing."
"Same."
She nodded once. Then walked away, her blue scars glowing
faintly in the dim hallway.
Aki entered his room. Locked the door behind him. The space
was small, sparse, functional. Everything he needed. Nothing he wanted.
The schedule sat on his desk. Thursday loomed two weeks away
now.
Two weeks of training. Of learning to work with a sword,
with a team, with his own instability. Two weeks to master fundamentals he'd
never touched before. Two weeks to prove he could function under pressure
without exploding.
Two weeks until the forest. Until Team Seven faced terrain
that didn't care about Thread levels or Path types or whether they survived.
Three checkpoints. Four hours. Unknown variables. Five team
members who barely knew each other.
And Aki—the Thread 3 anomaly everyone expected to explode.
He sat on the bed. Looked at his hands. The gold scars
glowed faintly in the dim light, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
Two weeks felt simultaneously too long and not long enough.
Too long to maintain this level of constant vigilance, this
exhausting performance of control. Not long enough to master even basic
fundamentals, let alone become competent.
But complaining about time didn't change it.
Garrick's words echoed in his head.
*Survival of the fittest. The world sorts you into two
categories: those who survive and those who don't.*
Aki had been fighting that sorting his entire life. Fighting
to stay in the first category when everything—poverty, powerlessness, the
system itself—tried to push him into the second.
The forest exercise would be another fight. Another test.
Another chance to prove he belonged among the survivors.
The anger pulsed in his chest. Steady. Controlled. Always
there, always burning, always threatening to consume him.
But underneath it, something else. Not hope—hope was
dangerous, hope led to disappointment.
Just the stubborn refusal to die quietly that had kept him
alive for eighteen years.
Two weeks.
Then he'd find out if Team Seven could adapt together.
Or if natural selection would sort them the way it always
did.
Into survivors.
And casualties.
Aki lay back on the bed. Stared at the ceiling.
*Partnership, not domination.*
Aurelia's words. Genuine. Direct. Spoken like she actually
believed he could succeed instead of just saying what was required.
He didn't trust it. Didn't trust her interest or her
encouragement or the way she'd looked at him like he was worth investing time
in.
But maybe—*maybe*—he didn't have to trust it to learn from
it.
Maybe that was enough.
His eyes closed. Exhaustion pulling him down.
Tomorrow: more classes. More training. More proving he could
survive one more day without exploding.
But tonight, he'd survived day one.
And that was something.
-----