The corridor swallowed sound.
Stone walls closed in on both sides, etched with faint runes that pulsed dimly as the group was led forward. Each step echoed too softly, as if the passage itself refused to carry noise. The air smelled faintly metallic, old and sterile.
Phaeros counted his steps without meaning to.
Habit.
Ahead of him, Rhaelis walked with her shoulders straight, her pace steady. She didn't look frightened — only alert. Her hands were clenched at her sides, fingers flexing slightly, as though testing an invisible resistance.
There were six of them in total.
Six who had been deemed uncertain.
That word always sounded kinder than it was.
They stopped before a circular chamber. The attendants stepped aside, and the heavy doors slid shut behind them with a low, final sound.
The room was wide but bare. Smooth stone floor. A domed ceiling etched with concentric rings of symbols that pulsed faintly, like slow breathing. At the center stood a narrow platform surrounded by a thin ring of light.
Three figures waited there.
Instructors.
Their robes were darker than the priests', trimmed with muted silver. Their expressions were unreadable — not hostile, not kind. Evaluators.
Phaeros felt the pressure immediately.
Not a physical force, but a weight on his awareness. Something probing. Measuring.
One of the instructors stepped forward, a tall man with ash-colored hair and eyes like polished stone.
"Remain calm," he said evenly. "This is a secondary evaluation. Nothing more."
His gaze moved across the group, pausing briefly on each face.
When it reached Phaeros, it lingered a fraction longer.
Just enough to be noticed.
Phaeros met his eyes without flinching.
The man's brow twitched — not in anger, but in faint surprise.
Interesting.
The instructor looked away first.
"Your awakenings displayed instability," he continued. "This does not mean failure. It means uncertainty. Our role is to determine whether that uncertainty presents risk."
A subtle pause.
"Or potential."
The word carried weight.
A ripple of unease moved through the group.
One of the boys swallowed hard. Another shifted his stance, sweat beading at his temple.
Rhaelis remained still.
The instructor gestured toward the center platform. "You will step forward one at a time. The array will respond to your manifestation. Do not resist."
Phaeros exhaled slowly.
So this was the real test.
The first candidate was called. A nervous girl stepped onto the platform. Light rose, flickered, then stabilized. Symbols flared briefly before dimming.
"Low-grade spatial distortion," the instructor announced. "Unstable, but manageable."
She was guided aside.
Next came a boy whose power flared violently before collapsing in on itself, leaving him pale and shaking. Another was dismissed quickly, their manifestation too weak to register.
Phaeros watched without expression.
He remembered this room.
Not clearly — only impressions. A sense of pressure. A decision made quietly behind closed doors. A path narrowing.
He felt it again now, faint but unmistakable.
When his name was called, the air seemed to tighten.
"Phaeros."
He stepped forward.
The platform's surface was cool beneath his boots.
The ring of light brightened, rising slowly until it hovered at chest height. Symbols shimmered into existence, drifting lazily in a slow orbit.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the air shifted.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
It hesitated.
The symbols wavered.
A faint distortion rippled through the space around him, like heat above stone.
The instructors stiffened.
Phaeros felt it then — a quiet pressure at the back of his mind, familiar and restrained. Something deep within him stirred, responding not with hunger or resistance, but recognition.
Again? it seemed to ask.
He swallowed.
Don't.
He let his thoughts loosen, withdrawing just enough to avoid resistance. Not pushing. Not pulling.
The symbols trembled.
Then — instead of flaring — they dimmed.
One by one, the runes faded until only a faint outline remained.
The light ring flickered uncertainly.
Silence fell.
The instructors exchanged glances.
"That's… unusual," one of them murmured.
The ash-haired instructor narrowed his eyes. "The array can't read him."
A quiet stir rippled through the chamber.
The platform hummed faintly, as if attempting to recalibrate.
Phaeros felt a faint warmth pulse beneath his collarbone — a warning, not a surge.
Careful.
He relaxed further, allowing his awareness to fold inward.
The warmth receded.
The array steadied.
The light dimmed to a pale glow and finally extinguished.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the instructor exhaled slowly.
"Classification: unresolved."
A pause.
"Provisional status."
Another glance at the symbols.
"Observation required."
Phaeros stepped back as instructed, heart steady despite the scrutiny burning into him.
He felt eyes on his back as he returned to the others.
Rhaelis watched him closely.
"That was… different," she murmured.
"So I've been told."
She hesitated, then asked quietly, "Did it hurt?"
"No."
Her gaze sharpened. "That's not normal."
He almost smiled.
Before he could respond, the final candidate was evaluated. The procedure concluded shortly after, and the instructors conferred in low voices.
When they turned back, the ash-haired man spoke again.
"Those selected for provisional evaluation will be assigned to a temporary cohort. Your conduct will be monitored. Your training will begin immediately."
His eyes swept over the group — lingering, once again, on Phaeros.
"You will be escorted to the inner academy wing."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Inner.
That wasn't common.
Rhaelis glanced at Phaeros again, this time with unmistakable concern.
"That's… fast," she muttered.
"Yes," he agreed quietly. "It is."
The doors at the far end of the chamber opened, revealing a dim corridor lined with faintly glowing sigils. The air beyond felt heavier, older.
As they began to move, Phaeros felt it again.
That subtle, watchful presence.
Closer now.
Curious.
Almost amused.
A whisper brushed the edge of his thoughts — not words, not sound, but intention.
You came back smaller than before.
His steps didn't falter.
But still carrying the same weight.
The pressure eased.
Phaeros exhaled slowly.
So the world remembered him.
Or something in it did.
Either way, the game had already begun.
Ahead, the corridor bent downward into shadow.
Behind him, the plaza faded into noise and light.
And somewhere, deep beneath his awareness, something ancient shifted — not waking, not sleeping — waiting for the moment it would be needed again.
The door at the end of the corridor began to open.
And with it, the next part of his life.