The crowd dispersed slowly.
Some students left the plaza with heads held high, surrounded by congratulations and whispered admiration. Others drifted away alone, shoulders tense, already calculating what their newly revealed limitations meant for their future.
Aerin walked neither fast nor slow.
Average awakenings did not draw attention—good or bad. That invisibility wrapped around him like a familiar cloak.
Rethan caught up to him near the outer steps of the plaza.
"Dual-wielder," he said, shaking his head. "Didn't expect that from you."
"Neither did I," Aerin replied.
"That's not true," Rethan said after a moment. "You always look like you expect everything."
Aerin didn't deny it.
"And you?" he asked.
Rethan shrugged. "Weapon affinity. Heavy type. Instructor says it suits me."
There was pride there—but also uncertainty.
"Congratulations," Aerin said sincerely.
Rethan grinned. "Guess we'll both survive another term."
The academy adjusted immediately.
Schedules changed. Classes split. Students were assigned pathways based on awakening results. Weapon wielders were directed toward physical conditioning halls. Elemental mages toward controlled chambers. Dual-wielders—few but not rare—were placed in mixed curriculum tracks.
Aerin's name appeared on the list without emphasis.
Balanced Dual Pathway — Standard Track.
He studied the notice board briefly, then turned away.
Standard meant fewer resources.
But also fewer expectations.
That afternoon, he attended his first post-awakening practical session.
The hall was wide, reinforced with layered enchantments and retractable barriers. Training weapons lined the walls—swords, spears, bows, shields—each designed to resonate safely with mana.
The instructor, a tall woman with silver-threaded hair and eyes like polished steel, surveyed the class.
"Instructor Vael," she introduced herself. "You've awakened. That doesn't make you warriors."
Her gaze sharpened.
"It makes you dangerous—to yourselves."
A few students shifted uncomfortably.
"You will start from the beginning," Vael continued. "Grip. Stance. Breath. Anyone who thinks this is beneath them can leave."
No one moved.
Vael gestured toward the weapon racks. "Choose."
Aerin approached without hesitation and selected a simple sword—balanced, unadorned, slightly worn. It felt right in his hand.
He didn't channel mana.
He didn't need to.
Vael noticed.
"So," she said, stopping behind him, "you've held one before."
"A little," Aerin replied.
"Show me."
He took his stance.
Nothing flashy. Feet planted. Shoulders relaxed. The blade aligned naturally with his center.
Vael watched closely.
"Begin."
Aerin moved.
The sword cut through the air in smooth, controlled arcs—basic forms, executed with precision. No wasted motion. No forced power. Just efficiency.
Vael nodded once.
"Good," she said. "Now add mana."
Aerin hesitated—just for a fraction of a second.
Then he let a thin stream of mana flow along the blade.
Not much.
Just enough.
The sword hummed softly, the edge sharpening, the weight stabilizing. His movements slowed slightly—but grew heavier, more deliberate.
Vael's eyes narrowed.
"You're restraining yourself."
"Yes," Aerin said.
"Why?"
"Because," he replied, "I don't yet know how much is too much."
Silence fell around them.
Then Vael smiled faintly.
"Smart answer."
By evening, Aerin's arms ached—not from strain, but from repetition. That kind of pain was honest. Productive.
As he left the training hall, the sky had begun to darken, painted in shades of amber and violet. The city lights flickered on one by one.
He paused on a balcony overlooking the lower districts.
Power had been measured.
Paths had been assigned.
And yet—
He touched the base of his neck unconsciously.
The sealed presence remained quiet.
Patient.
The academy believed it understood what Aerin Solvane was capable of.
That misunderstanding, he realized, might be his greatest advantage.
The echoes had passed the awakening.
What came next would go far beyond it.