Kael's voice cut the stillness like a thrown blade.
"Who the hell are you?"
The figure in the doorway didn't answer.
He lingered there, letting the question hang. Evening light spilled in from behind him, stretching his shadow across the floor. The edges of his coat brushed the ground with each slow step, the fabric moving like it had weathered more than wind.
His boots made no sound, yet the room felt quieter with each pace he took. Silver hair—unruly in some places, tied back in others—caught the faint glow from the ceiling. His eyes were pale, almost metallic, moving from face to face without a flicker of expression.
Theo sat forward slightly, frowning. Liora's gaze narrowed. Myren didn't move at all, but his attention sharpened. Rai simply watched, not blinking.
Finally, the man stopped just inside the threshold.
When he spoke, it wasn't loud—but the words carried like weight dropped into still water.
"I'm your mentor."
The statement drew a few exchanged glances, but he kept going before anyone could ask.
"Lucan Thorne." His gaze swept them again. "From Concord."
The shift in the air was instant. The name meant something—even to those who didn't fully understand why.
The name hit like a subtle strike—soft, but jarring enough to make Kael's shoulders tense. Theo's brow twitched, though he masked it quickly. Zeyra, however, didn't bother hiding her reaction; her eyes narrowed as if weighing the truth of his claim.
Lucan stepped further in, the door sliding shut behind him with a muted hiss. "This is your Unit now," he said, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. "Sector 3, Unit 6."
He let the designation hang for a heartbeat before continuing.
"You've been evaluated."
Rai tilted his head slightly, as though the words were both aimed at him and somehow missing their mark.
Lucan's gaze moved across them once more. "Your time pretending this place is a school…" he paused, "…is over."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was heavy. It pressed down.
Theo shifted in his seat but stayed quiet. Kael's jaw worked as if fighting to say something reckless. Myren leaned back, unreadable, while Liora's eyes stayed locked on Lucan, unblinking.
He didn't slow. "You six are under my watch." His tone sharpened—not cruel, but edged like a blade meant for precision. "It's a responsibility—on your part. Not mine."
He came to a stop near the central table. His coat swayed once before settling, its frayed edges brushing the floor like tired shadows.
"I won't waste your time with soft introductions," Lucan said. "So let's begin."
He lifted one hand, tracing shapes in the air—lines and arcs that didn't glow, yet felt present, like the outline of something immense pressing against the skin of reality.
"This world you live in," he began, "is only one layer of something far greater. The Mundus Ipsum. It isn't made of continents or oceans—it's made of strata. Five of them. Each one is called an Aether."
He let the word hang, watching if any of them reacted.
"You live in the Aether Quintus," he said finally. "It's the lowest stratum—the one most people believe is the only world there is. Streets, cities, wars, peace… it all happens here. But above it lies the Aether Quartus. Everything below Aether Quartus is mundane. Static. It's in Quartus where Concord operates. Where your Eidon stops being just a part of you… and starts shaping you."
His eyes moved slowly around the table, studying their faces, before pausing—just for a breath—on Liora.
"Aether Tertius," Lucan continued, "belongs to those who ascend—those whose mastery over themselves and their Eidon has broken past mortal limits. Aether Secundus belongs to those who transcend entirely. And Aether Primus…" He paused here, the silence deliberate, as if to weigh the word before speaking it. "I won't say much about it. But knowing it exists should change how you see everything beneath it."
The room was quiet enough to hear the faint hum of the facility's vents. No one interrupted.
"Your goal," Lucan said, "isn't just to survive here."
He didn't raise his voice, yet everyone in the room seemed to listen to him.
"Your real goal is to understand that what you are now… isn't enough."
He let that hang in the air, eyes moving slowly from one face to the next.
"The Eidons you've awakened are still echoes—reflections of the truth within you. Raw. Unfinished. They can shatter if pushed too hard. They can turn against you if you don't understand them."
Theo's fingers twitched against the arm of his chair. Zeyra didn't blink. Mira's gaze narrowed slightly, though his posture stayed loose.
"In time," Lucan continued, "your Eidon will become your will made manifest. And when that happens, you'll stop following the shape of the world… and start shaping it yourself."
He took a few slow steps toward them, boots whispering over the polished floor. The room didn't feel warm anymore.
"There are four stages to an Eidon," he said. "Awakening—you've all reached that. Personification—when the idea stabilizes into a fixed identity, becoming something others can recognize… and fear. Ascendence—where even space bends around you, and the laws you thought unbreakable… bend with it. And Transcendence…" He stopped walking. "…where the rules stop applying altogether."
He folded his arms, his coat shifting with the movement.
"You will train to rise. If you don't—" his voice sharpened like a blade sliding free of its sheath, "—you're replaced. Sector Tournaments begin soon. Each Sector sends its strongest Unit. The rest stay behind."
No one spoke. Even Kael, who had opened his mouth earlier, closed it again.
Lucan's eyes passed over them one by one, cold and precise.
"There are two tournaments in Idryma," he said at last. "The first is the intra-sector tournament—a battle within your own ranks. Thirty-six students per sector. Only one unit of six moves forward."
The weight of the number seemed to settle on them. Liora's brow furrowed faintly; Myren's expression didn't change at all.
Lucan went on, voice even but heavy. "The second, and true trial, is the inter-sector tournament. Sector against sector. Six sectors. Six chosen representatives. Only one sector wins. The others?" He paused, letting the silence expand. "Well... You'll find out."
From the far end of the table, Kael muttered under his breath, "Nice odds."
Lucan didn't even glance at him.
"You were not selected to be protected." His voice carried no rise, no fall—just a flat, unyielding edge that cut straight through the air. "You were selected to be broken, tested, and—if you're worth anything—reforged. The inter-sector tournament is a crucible. The Concord watches. The entire academy does. It is where failures die quiet, their names swallowed and forgotten, and where legends carve themselves into the memory of the world."
The words didn't echo. They didn't need to.
Lucan's eyes moved slowly, measuring each of them in turn like a craftsman deciding which pieces of raw stone could survive the chisel.
"You have six months until it begins."
His gaze brushed over them all, but when it reached Rai, it stayed—just long enough to leave a faint pressure behind, like a hand on the back of the neck. Then it moved on.
"Some of you will awaken. Some will fall apart. That's the nature of power. The tournament doesn't care. Neither do I."
A faint, humorless scoff broke the stillness. Kael leaned back in his seat, the shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "So we're some kind of chess pieces?"
Lucan's head tilted fractionally toward him. "You're rooklings," he said, without a hint of humor. "You can become kings… or be discarded as pawns that never learned to move. That choice is yours alone."
Theo spoke next, voice quiet but clear. "Are we the only ones with mentors from the Concord?"
Lucan gave a single, deliberate nod. "Each Unit receives one. The Concord oversees Eidon development, ensures you aren't simply left to drown in what you've awakened. But make no mistake—we are not your instructors. We are here to prepare you for what this place can't… or won't."
The quiet that followed wasn't simply absence of sound—it was anticipation, as though the air itself leaned forward to hear what would come next.
Until Rai broke it. "Prepare us… for what?"
Lucan's gaze shifted. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied Rai with an unreadable stillness, as if the question itself revealed more than the answer ever could.
"There are things beyond this academy," Lucan said, his voice dropping into something colder. "Threats your instructors won't speak of. To understand them, you first need to know who stands between you and oblivion."
He took a step forward, the faint echo of his boots cutting through the silence.
"The Concord—we are the ones who handle Eidon disturbances, crises, and the matters no one else can touch. When something threatens the balance, we answer. It's why we're here—to shape you into weapons, or shields, or whatever the world needs before it swallows you whole."
His gaze darkened slightly. "Above us, there is the Covenant—the overseers of all Eidon. They're not our superiors in the sense you might imagine—the Concord isn't theirs to command. But they hold the authority to judge, to decide what is worthy of existence. They allow us to nurture young Eidon wielders in Idryma, but when they see someone they deem… exceptional, they extend an invitation. If you accept, you become one of them—and your life will never again be your own."
A faint pause, his eyes narrowing as though weighing whether to continue.
"And then," his tone hardened, "there are the Nullborn. Those who have cast aside form, discarded identity, and severed themselves from the very truth that birthed their Eidon. They are not misguided—they are ruin made flesh. The Covenant exists to enforce identity's laws. The Nullborn exist to shatter them."
Only then did Zeyra speak, her brow furrowed. "And we're supposed to face them?"
"You're supposed to survive them," Lucan said flatly. "Eventually."
He turned as if the discussion was over, but then paused.
"Now," he said, his tone carrying the weight of a command. "Tell me your Eidons."
One by one, the answers came.
Kael stepped forward first, his chin lifted just slightly. "Tabes."
Theo followed, his voice calm but steady. "Visus."
Zeyra spoke without hesitation, her gaze unblinking. "Arbitris."
Liora's tone was softer, but not uncertain. "Memoria."
Myren barely raised his head, the word almost a whisper. "Silens."
And finally, all eyes turned to Rai as he said. "Nullis."
For the briefest heartbeat, Lucan's expression shifted—something unreadable passing across his face before it was gone.
When Rai's voice faded, the silence that followed felt heavier than before. Six names, six raw sparks of identity. Some had been spoken with pride, others with the careful restraint of those still measuring their worth. Yet each name seemed to linger in the air, as if the truth behind them had briefly taken shape in the room.
Lucan's gaze swept across them, sharp yet distant, as though he was seeing beyond the people standing there. One heartbeat passed. Then another.
"No wonder you six were grouped together," he said at last, voice low, deliberate.
They exchanged glances—some confused, some wary, some quietly intrigued.
"You're all too volatile," Lucan continued, almost as if speaking to himself. "But sometimes…" His eyes narrowed slightly. "…broken pieces form sharper edges."
He lingered, letting the silence tighten.
"An Eidon is not a weapon. It's a mirror. In the tournament, that mirror will be turned on you—whether you're ready to face it or not."
Only then did he take two measured steps toward the door, the sound echoing faintly on the floor.
"Training starts tomorrow, you'll learn more by then" he said without turning.
"Nice meeting you all."
His eyes swept across them one last time, unreadable, before the door sealed shut.
And just like that, he was gone.
◇ ◇ ◇
As the door hissed shut behind Lucan Thorne, a thick silence pooled in his absence.
No one moved. The six stood in the wide main area as though the floor beneath them might vanish if they shifted too quickly. The stillness was thick—like the last vibration of a warning still reverberating in their bones.
Zeyra crossed her arms, her mouth curling into a faint smirk. "Well," she muttered, "that wasn't dramatic at all."
Theo leaned against the couch, blowing out a long breath. "Not what I pictured."
Kael paced a few slow steps, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guy walks in, drops a universe-worth of bad news, and leaves. Seriously, who does that?"
"He said he was from the Concord," Rai murmured, almost to himself.
"That explains the ego," Zeyra said dryly.
Liora's gaze lingered on the sealed door. "He said there's going to be a tournament, and that each unit gets a mentor… from the Concord. That's supposed to be him?"
Theo gave a short nod. "Starting tomorrow, apparently."
Kael let out a low whistle. "So this is real—like all of it. The tournament. The Nullborn. The Covenant."
Rai's eyes were distant. "And the stages… Awakening. Personification. Ascendence. Transcendence."
Zeyra frowned. "That wasn't a lesson. That was a threat with a lecture wrapped around it."
"I don't think he believes in sugarcoating," Theo said.
Off to the side, Myren hadn't moved from the bench. Hood low, arms folded, his stillness was deliberate—listening, weighing. Liora's eyes flicked toward him but she didn't speak. Myren didn't ask questions. He never had.
Kael kept pacing. "But what did he mean by, 'No wonder you six were grouped together'? Was that just some cryptic Concord thing, or…?"
"It means," Rai said quietly, "someone thinks we belong together. That there's a reason."
Theo crossed his arms. "Well... Training starts tomorrow, with a mentor who clearly has no interest in holding our hands."
"Or saving us if we fall," Zeyra added.
Myren shifted just enough to be noticed, but stayed silent.
"We're not ready for any of this,"Kael muttered, half-laughing. "He threw 'Nullborn' into the conversation like it was a household word."
"They sound like an enemy," Liora said quietly.
"Or a warning," Theo replied.
The room fell silent again, broken only by the low hum of the overhead lights.
The room stayed still for a few breaths longer before Theo finally broke it.
"You know," he said, glancing between them, "yesterday we were fighting for our lives in that trial. And today—on what was supposed to be our first actual free day—we get this dumped on us."
Kael groaned. "Free day, huh?"
"Feels like we're being tested without even knowing the rules," Liora added.
"That's the point," Zeyra said. "Keep you off-balance."
Theo sighed and leaned back against the couch. "Fine. Whatever. Speaking of balance… what's for dinner?"
Zeyra's mouth twitched into something that might've been a smirk. "Leftover soup. I'll warm it up."
"Bless you," Theo said.
"But," she added, looking at Kael, "I'm not serving anyone until you do the dishes."
Kael froze mid-step. "What? Why me?"
"Because you're the one who's supposed to do them."
"That was before the mentor came!"
Zeyra crossed her arms. "And yet, somehow, the dishes are still there."
Kael groaned louder. "This is cruel and unusual punishment."
"Welcome to training," Zeyra said, already walking toward the kitchen.
◇ ◇ ◇
Lucan's boots echoed along the sterile corridor as he left Facility 6, the door sliding shut behind him with a hydraulic hiss. The silence outside contrasted sharply with the weight of the six gazes he'd just left behind.
As he ascended the narrow lift to the upper levels, his mind wasn't entirely on the students. He had given them truths, yes—but only enough to set the right fractures. The rest would come, piece by piece, when pressure and time did their work.
The lift doors opened to a quiet hallway—brighter, cleaner, less worn by student presence. This floor housed administration, data links, and the few private offices reserved for Concord affiliates. The faint hum of the building's conduits vibrated through the walls, an almost imperceptible reminder that Idryma itself was alive in its own way.
He didn't knock. The door to Vail's office recognized his biometric trace and slid open with a muted click.
Inside, Instructor Vail sat at his cluttered desk, legs up, the blue shimmer of a holo-interface casting shifting patterns over his face. The air carried the sharp scent of roasted synth-coffee—rich, bitter, grounding.
"You're late," Vail said without looking up, his voice a lazy drawl with a wire of sharpness beneath it. "Didn't scare the kids too much, did you?"
Lucan stepped in, letting the door seal behind him. "I gave them clarity. That's more than most get on their first day."
Vail snorted, swiping away a floating document before leaning back in his chair. Arms folded behind his head, he studied Lucan with the casualness of an old comrade.
"You still talk like Concord's perched on your shoulder," Vail said. "Been a while, Wren."
Lucan's eyes flicked to him, the faintest pause in his stride. "Don't call me that." His voice was even, but the corner of his mouth pulled upward for a heartbeat.
Vail's grin widened. "Some things never change."
Lucan didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted to the datapads stacked on Vail's desk, one of them displaying sealed files tagged with Covenant insignia.
"You've seen the roster?" Lucan asked finally.
Vail tapped the screen, his grin fading into something sharper. "Yeah. Six names. Six headaches. You're either very lucky… or very screwed."
Lucan's expression remained unreadable. "Both are useful in the right hands."
"So… what do you think?" Vail asked, his usual half-smirk gone. His voice was low now, stripped of the casual banter from earlier. "Are they worth it?"
Lucan didn't answer right away. His eyes moved past Vail to the wide panel window that framed the edge of the campus. Artificial lights bathed the treeline in a faint blue haze, the shimmer of the academy's perimeter barrier bending the air like heat above stone.
"They're dangerous," Lucan said at last. "Not just to others—to themselves. But if they survive the early stages…"
Vail's brows lifted slightly. "You think they'll reach that place?"
Lucan's gaze hardened, sharp as drawn steel. "That's why they're here, isn't it?"
Vail hesitated, then nodded once. "Yeah. That's the game."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was aged, settled, heavy with the kind of history that didn't need retelling.
"I hope you're not going to be too hard on them," Vail said eventually, leaning back. "They're still just kids."
Lucan's face darkened. "They don't have time to be kids. Not anymore."
That name made Vail look away, his jaw tightening like a reflex. "…So you've seen the signs too."
Lucan gave a slow, deliberate nod. "It's starting. The Covenant's already shifting its posture. This isn't training for its own sake—we're all positioned right in the center of whatever's coming."
Vail leaned forward, elbows on the desk, folding his hands. "And what's your plan?"
Lucan's eyes narrowed, voice like a blade meeting the whetstone. "I forge them."
Vail's brow furrowed. "Forge them? You mean break them until they're too numb to fail?"
Lucan didn't blink. "If they break, they were never meant to stand in the first place."
Vail sat back, the leather of his chair creaking. "You talk like this is war already."
Lucan's gaze drifted back to the forest beyond the barrier. "It is. The moment the Nullborn make their first move, it won't matter who's ready and who's not—they'll all be thrown into it. I'd rather shatter them now and see what's left than watch them die untested."
"That's a fine way to lose more than you save," Vail muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.
Lucan finally looked at him, eyes flat but burning underneath. "If they survive me, Vail, they'll survive anything."
Vail held his gaze for a moment, then leaned back in his chair with a slow exhale. "Just don't break them before they've had a chance to fight."
Lucan didn't answer. He was already walking away, coat brushing the floor, each step measured and deliberate.
Somewhere beyond the office walls, the academy's hum seemed to shift—as if the air itself had caught the scent of change. The pieces were moving now, and there would be no stopping them.