The words, dripping with condescending venom, hung in the stale air of the tiny room. Pet monster. Ren didn't move. His mind, honed by years of assessing threats in the unforgiving wilderness, cataloged the situation with cold efficiency. Three opponents. All appeared to be first-year Initiates like himself. They were fresh-faced, well-fed, and radiated the easy confidence of those who had never faced a true life-or-death struggle.
The leader, Lin Fei, was a peacock, his power in his family name, not his fists. The two behind him were jackals, followers drawn to a perceived alpha. Ren was exhausted, his body a battlefield of suppression and absorption. He was under strict orders not to circulate a single wisp of Aether. A physical fight was not only forbidden, it was unwinnable.
Lin Fei swaggered into the room as if he owned it, his cronies blocking the doorway. He kicked at Ren's worn travel pack, sending it tumbling off the cot. Its meager contents—a spare tunic, a whetstone, and a small, carefully wrapped oilskin pouch—spilled onto the dusty floor.
"Look at this trash," one of the jackals sneered. "Did you pick this up from a battlefield?"
"He probably caused the battlefield," Lin Fei added, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "What was that the Elder said? 'Primordial nature'? That's just a fancy word for a freak. A piece of raw, unstable ore that's more likely to explode than be forged into anything useful."
They were prodding him, trying to ignite his temper, to bait him into a foolish display of power that would surely earn the Elder's wrath. They saw a cornered animal and expected it to snarl.
Ren's face remained a mask of indifference. His unyielding will, forged in the crucible of a world-shattering tragedy, was a fortress they couldn't begin to comprehend. He moved slowly, deliberately, and knelt, his joints aching from the strain of his ongoing suppression. With economical movements, he began to gather his scattered belongings, his focus absolute, as if the three arrogant nobles standing over him were nothing more than furniture.
His utter lack of reaction was more infuriating to Lin Fei than any retort could have been. The noble boy's face flushed with anger. He was used to being feared, or at least acknowledged. To be ignored was an intolerable insult.
"Are you deaf, mud-blood?" Lin Fei snapped, stepping forward to shove Ren's shoulder.
The shove was weak, more insult than assault, but it was physical contact. Ren stopped picking up his things. He remained kneeling but slowly tilted his head up, his eyes meeting Lin Fei's for the first time.
There was no Aetheric glow in them, no spark of his chaotic lightning. They were just… still. As cold and empty as a winter sky over a field of graves. They held the profound stillness of a survivor who had stared into the heart of an Aether Rift and watched real monsters tear reality apart. These pampered, posturing children were nothing.
Ren's voice, when it came, was flat and devoid of emotion. "Are you done?"
The simple question, delivered with unnerving calm, took Lin Fei aback. Before he could formulate a response, Ren added, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
"Wasting your energy on me won't change your Innate Power. It's still 68."
The number, spoken so plainly, struck Lin Fei like a physical blow. His public assessment score. A perfectly respectable number for any other student, but a mark of mediocrity for a scion of a noble house, especially when compared to Anya Volkov's 85 or, worse, the freakish 95 of the commoner before him. Ren had targeted the one thing his Aether-less state couldn't diminish: Lin Fei's pride.
Pure, unthinking rage contorted the noble's features. He raised his hand, Aether beginning to glow faintly around his knuckles. "You—!"
Before he could strike, one of his companions grabbed his arm, his eyes wide with alarm. "Fei, stop! Not here! The Elder will hear about it!"
The warning cut through the haze of Lin Fei's fury. He froze, his hand trembling in mid-air. He was his clan's heir, but even his father would not dare to anger a member of the GAMA High Council over a petty squabble. Defeated without a single blow being thrown, he lowered his arm. The venom in his eyes, however, promised retribution.
"This isn't over, commoner," he spat, the words a hiss. "Enjoy your kennel. It's all you'll ever have."
He turned on his heel and stormed out, his followers scrambling to keep up. The door slammed shut, leaving Ren alone in the sudden, heavy silence. He had won the first skirmish, but the threat lingered, a promise of a war for his place in an academy that did not want him.