"This Grand Convergence is going to be a bloodbath."
Rowan Mercer reached that conclusion long before he finished scrolling.
Night pressed against the windows as he sat alone, phone glowing faintly in his hand, methodically reading every serious discussion thread related to the upcoming event. Most posts were speculation, recycled rumors, or half-informed bravado. But once enough fragments piled up, a coherent picture emerged.
At the center of everything was a term that kept resurfacing.
The Eight Anomalies.
They weren't techniques in the ordinary sense. Each one represented a fundamental breakthrough, a method that pushed a specific discipline to its absolute limit. Not incremental improvements. Not clever refinements. These were structural shortcuts, the kind that rewrote what was considered possible.
Three of them were mentioned most often.
One radically optimized the interaction between the body and internal energy.
One granted authority over non-physical entities in a way no conventional method could replicate.
And one allowed the instant construction of complex sigils, bypassing preparation, tools, and ritual entirely.
Any one of them was enough to elevate an individual or an organization overnight.
Decades earlier, when these methods first surfaced, they'd thrown the hidden world into chaos. Alliances shifted. Groups collapsed. Others rose to prominence purely because they managed to secure one of the Eight. The scars of that era were still visible in today's power structure.
Which was why the current situation was so dangerous.
Normally, the Grand Convergence was little more than a ceremonial affair. A succession-focused gathering tied to a single legacy institution. Most enhanced individuals treated it as background noise. Something to observe from afar, if at all.
This year, everything changed because of one person.
A college student named Evan Clarke.
Until a few months ago, Clarke had been invisible. No reputation. No known backing. Just another name in a system filled with names. Then, almost overnight, he became the most discussed figure on every forum Rowan visited.
The reason was simple and terrifying.
Evan Clarke was rumored to carry one of the Eight Anomalies.
That single fact transformed him into a walking prize.
If someone could control him, manipulate him, or break him, they wouldn't need to search for lost knowledge. It would come to them willingly or otherwise. History had shown what happened to people in that position.
Possession alone was enough to justify destruction.
Under normal circumstances, someone like Clarke wouldn't last long.
But Clarke wasn't alone.
He had deep ties to the institution hosting the Convergence. Not only did he demonstrate techniques associated with that lineage, he'd reportedly mastered skills normally restricted to senior members. That wasn't an accident. It was protection.
If Clarke succeeded and formally inherited leadership, the matter would end there. No group would dare move against him afterward. The political cost would be catastrophic.
Which explained the counterplay.
Several of the most powerful figures in the enhanced world pushed to change the rules entirely. The Convergence was opened up. Age restrictions were set. Participation expanded. What had once been a controlled succession ritual became an open competition.
The goal was obvious.
If Clarke could be eliminated early, succession would fail. And without that shield, everything became negotiable again.
That was when someone escalated the situation beyond control.
Instead of blocking the changes, one of the old powerbrokers threw gasoline on the fire. He offered another Anomaly as the prize.
Not a symbolic reward. Not influence or favors.
Another of the Eight.
A method that allowed instantaneous sigil construction, without setup or delay. A technique theoretically equal in value to the one Clarke carried.
The effect was immediate.
Every faction now had a reason to compete seriously. Cooperation became impossible. No one could afford to hold back when winning meant securing a method that could redefine their future.
It was transparent manipulation.
Everyone could see it.
And no one could refuse.
Rowan locked his phone and stared at the ceiling.
"So that's the game," he said quietly. "Fine."
If the technique was valued that highly, ignoring it would be stupidity. And this time, there was a legitimate path to acquire it. No coercion. No theft. No shortcuts taken in the dark.
That mattered.
His thoughts drifted briefly to Marcus Hale and the institute's methods. Strengthening both the body and the mind in tandem was undeniably useful. A week earlier, Rowan would've taken the fastest route available and justified it later.
Now, he didn't need to.
This wasn't survival. It was optimization.
And when survival wasn't at stake, restraint was easy.
There were better options.
If he won and fully mastered the technique, nothing prevented him from trading access later. Knowledge didn't vanish when learned. Organizations desperate enough would gladly exchange guarded teachings for even a chance at something like that.
As long as terms were controlled, it was efficient.
Besides, high-level methods didn't turn everyone into monsters. Mastery still depended on the individual. That truth followed Rowan across every world he'd ever known.
With his foundation and experience, he liked his odds.
The week passed quickly.
Rowan split his time between visiting Marcus at the institute and accompanying Vivian Bellamy through social engagements that blended together into polite conversations and practiced smiles. He saw his mother a few times in passing. Brief meetings. Efficient. Distant, but not cold.
There was care there. Just unfamiliarity.
It didn't trouble him.
On the morning of departure, Rowan arrived at the airport with a single backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Over here!"
Marcus Hale waved enthusiastically from near the entrance. Lewis Grant stood behind him, arms crossed, expression resigned.
"Didn't expect you two to beat me here," Rowan said as he approached.
"This one," Grant said, jerking a thumb at Marcus, "has been pacing since dawn."
Marcus grinned. "Can you blame me?"
Rowan smiled back.
Whatever waited at the Convergence, it wouldn't be boring.
...
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