Rafe collapsed halfway down the corridor.
Not dramatically.Not loudly.
His legs simply stopped responding.
The world tilted, then vanished.
He woke to a dull, rhythmic pain behind his eyes.
Not sharp.Not fading.
Persistent.
Like something tapping from the inside of his skull, reminding him it was still there.
The ceiling above him wasn't his room.
White stone.Soft runes.A faint hum of stabilizing magic.
Medical wing.
Rafe exhaled slowly and immediately regretted it.
Pain flared across his chest, radiating outward from the anchor point like a spiderweb of ache.
"…Idiot," he muttered.
"Correct."
Elyra's voice came from his left.
Rafe turned his head carefully.
She stood near the window, arms crossed, expression calm but eyes sharp.
"How long?" Rafe asked.
"Twenty-three minutes unconscious," she replied. "Long enough to make a statement. Not long enough to be an accident."
Rafe closed his eyes.
"So Dhal got what he wanted."
Elyra didn't deny it.
"He wanted data," she said. "He got it."
Rafe opened his eyes again.
"And you?"
Elyra met his gaze.
"I got confirmation."
She stepped closer.
"The Unassigned state isn't just a technique," she continued. "It's a response pattern. Your mind compresses reality around you when overwhelmed."
Rafe swallowed.
"And that's bad."
"It's dangerous," Elyra corrected. "Because the Academy will push you until it either stabilizes… or breaks you."
Rafe stared at the ceiling.
"Like a weapon."
"Yes," Elyra said simply.
The door slid open.
Instructor Dhal entered without hesitation, his heavy steps echoing faintly against the stone floor.
"You shouldn't have pushed him that far," Elyra said coldly.
Dhal snorted.
"He didn't die."
"That's not the metric," Elyra snapped. "You induced neurological backlash."
Dhal crossed his arms.
"And now we know where his threshold is."
Rafe turned his head slightly.
"…You planned that."
Dhal looked at him.
"Of course," the instructor said. "Variables don't get comfort. They get stress."
Elyra's eyes burned.
"You're not the one who pays the cost."
Dhal shrugged.
"That's how refinement works."
Silence stretched.
Then Elyra spoke quietly.
"If you keep escalating, he won't break the way you expect."
Dhal tilted his head.
"Oh?"
"He won't explode," Elyra said. "He'll disappear."
That gave Dhal pause.
"…Explain."
Elyra looked at Rafe.
"The Unassigned state reduces his conceptual footprint," she said. "If overused, he won't just suppress power."
She met Dhal's eyes again.
"He'll suppress himself."
Dhal's expression darkened.
"That's… unacceptable."
"For you," Elyra replied. "Or for the Academy?"
Dhal didn't answer.
He turned toward Rafe instead.
"You want to survive here?" he asked bluntly.
Rafe nodded once.
"Then stop trying to avoid pressure," Dhal said. "Learn to carry it."
Rafe's voice was hoarse.
"And if I don't?"
Dhal smiled thinly.
"Then someone else will decide how you're shaped."
He turned and left.
The door sealed behind him.
Elyra exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples.
"You see now," she said. "They're not teaching you."
Rafe stared at his hands.
"They're testing failure modes."
"Yes."
Rafe felt the ache pulse again behind his eyes.
"…How do I stop it?"
Elyra considered him carefully.
"You don't," she said. "You redirect it."
She leaned closer.
"Compression is only half of it. The other half is release—controlled, minimal, intentional."
Rafe frowned.
"Like breathing."
Elyra smiled faintly.
"Exactly like breathing."
A soft chime echoed in the room.
Elyra's expression shifted.
She tapped a crystal at her wrist.
"…I see."
Rafe watched her.
"What?"
She met his gaze.
"The Commission accessed the pressure-test data," she said. "They're interested."
Rafe's jaw tightened.
"So now they know."
"They know you didn't break," Elyra replied. "And they know the Academy is hiding you."
Rafe closed his eyes briefly.
"…That was inevitable."
Elyra straightened.
"Rest," she said. "Tonight, you'll feel worse. Tomorrow, you'll feel clearer."
She paused at the door.
"And Rafe?"
"Yes?"
"You're not being trained to fight," she said quietly.
"You're being trained to endure existence."
The door closed.
Rafe lay back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.
The ache behind his eyes pulsed again.
But beneath it—
Something steadier formed.
Not power.
Not defiance.
Understanding.
If pressure shaped him—
Then he would decide what shape remained.