The wind howled again.
Not through the broken alleys of the slums this time, but through the wide stone courtyards of U.A. High — clean, vast, and alive with energy. It carried the scent of steel and ozone, a faint whisper of Quirks in use, of sparks and sweat and ambition.
Auron stood before the towering front gates, his golden eyes tracing the sprawling buildings beyond. The sunlight reflected off the polished glass and metal, almost blinding after the dimness of the slums. To Lyra, it looked like heaven.
To Auron, it looked like another battlefield waiting to be understood.
Students moved across the courtyard, laughter echoing through the open space. Some floated through the air, others conjured flames or frost from their hands — displays of Quirks without restraint. Auron watched in silence, his mind already dissecting their movements, estimating reaction times, and calculating threat levels. Every motion was data. Every Quirk was a variable.
Eraser Head's voice cut through his focus. "You'll get used to it. Eventually."
Auron glanced at him. "It's… loud."
"That's what life feels like when you're not running for your life," the hero said dryly, his tired eyes softening just a little. "Follow me."
The trio walked across the open yard, boots clicking on the polished stone. Lyra's wide eyes darted from student to student, mesmerized. "They're amazing," she whispered, clutching her brother's sleeve.
Auron's expression didn't change. "They're reckless," he murmured back. "No discipline."
They passed through the main building — corridors lined with banners, sunlight streaming through high windows. The air smelled faintly of chalk, sweat, and something electric — the scent of Quirk energy woven into every wall. Auron's gaze flicked upward, tracking the hum of security drones floating silently near the ceiling. He noticed everything.
Eraser Head led them toward a vast open field surrounded by tall training walls. The ground was scarred — dark scorch marks, frozen patches of grass, and shattered tiles told stories of power unleashed. At the center stood an arena‑sized ring of reinforced steel, its surface polished smooth but marred by claw marks and cracks.
"The training grounds," Eraser Head said simply. "You'll get your assessment here. If you can't control that Quirk of yours, we'll know fast."
The wind picked up again, whistling between the tall structures like a restless spirit. Auron inhaled slowly, feeling it press against his face. It was clean, sharp — the wind of open space, not the rot of the slums. But beneath the clarity, he sensed weight. Power. Challenge.
Lyra stood just behind him, her small frame trembling slightly. "Big brother, do you think… you'll be okay?"
Auron didn't look back. "I'm not here to be okay," he said quietly. "I'm here to win."
Eraser Head motioned to a nearby console, his scarf swaying. "Let's see what you can do. You said your Quirk's called Aetherion, right? Show me."
Auron nodded once. He stepped forward onto the steel floor, the sound of his boots echoing across the arena. The faint mark on his wrist glowed, threads of blue energy coiling like veins of light beneath his skin.
He raised one hand. The air around him shimmered — distorted, rippling like heat haze. A low hum filled the air as faint rings of azure energy materialized, spinning around his arm.
Lyra gasped. "It's so pretty…"
To her, it was beautiful.
To Auron, it was control.
He focused, recalling every failure, every spark that had burned him during his sleepless nights. Slowly, the rings expanded, forming a circular gate before him — a perfect Aether Gate, stable and gleaming like liquid glass. Through it, the air rippled with an otherworldly blue light.
Eraser Head raised an eyebrow. "Spatial manipulation… rare. How stable is it?"
"Enough," Auron replied. His voice was calm, cold.
He extended his other hand, forming a second gate behind a distant target dummy. The two portals flared in sync — and a stream of energy arced between them like a bolt of condensed lightning. The dummy exploded into shimmering particles of light.
The air shuddered, then fell silent. The echo of the impact faded slowly.
Eraser Head's scarf fluttered in the aftermath. "Not bad. You've got precision. But you're burning stamina fast — I can see it."
Auron exhaled, his breath visible in the cool air. His hands trembled slightly, but he didn't let them falter. "I can handle it."
The hero studied him quietly. There was something in the boy's eyes — a coldness that didn't belong in someone so young. "You're too calm for someone who nearly burned out their Quirk yesterday," he said finally.
Auron met his gaze evenly. "Calm keeps you alive."
Lyra looked between them, sensing the tension. "Big brother just wants to help people," she said softly.
For the first time, Auron hesitated. His eyes softened — barely. "I just don't want you to cry again," he murmured.
The wind swept through the training field once more, carrying away the echo of his words.
Eraser Head turned, his tone unreadable. "Get some rest. You'll need it. Tomorrow, we see if you can handle combat drills with real opponents."
As he walked away, Auron remained standing in the center of the arena, his reflection faintly mirrored in the steel floor. Around him, the blue motes of Aetherion shimmered faintly like dying stars.
He flexed his fingers, watching them dance across his palm. Every power has a limit. I need to find mine before someone else does.
Lyra approached quietly, her small steps barely making a sound. She handed him a half‑eaten piece of bread she had saved from breakfast. "You should eat, big brother."
He looked down at it, then at her hopeful smile. For a moment, the cold mask cracked. "You eat it," he said, pushing it back gently.
"I'm not hungry."
He sighed, faintly amused despite himself. "Liar."
She grinned, then sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder as the sun rose higher. For the first time in years, the warmth didn't feel foreign.
Above them, the sky shimmered with the same blue hue that lived inside his Quirk. Maybe fate had a sense of irony — the boy who had once known only the darkness of alleys now wielded the light of another dimension.
But even here, in this clean, ordered place, Auron could feel it — the weight of the vow he carried, heavy as the wind that howled through the training fields.
He would rise. He would master Aetherion. And he would never let the world take anything from them again.