The detention hall of Crest Academy wasn't what Kael expected. No desks. No paperwork. Just a stone room buried under the east tower, walls humming faintly with sealing runes.
A single lantern burned in the center, casting restless shadows.
Kael sat on a wooden bench, arms folded. Across from him, Lucen leaned against the wall, glaring at nothing. They hadn't spoken since Calen dragged them here.
"Think he'll actually make us mop the floors?" Kael asked finally.
Lucen gave a sharp look. "You think this is funny?"
"Not really. I just get nervous in dungeons."
Lucen scoffed and looked away. The air between them stayed thick — not just with tension, but mana. The whole place felt like it was suppressing something.
Moments later, footsteps echoed down the stairs.
A woman appeared — tall, black hair tied back, wearing a worn instructor's coat with no crest emblem. Her steps were unhurried, eyes sharp.
"Kael Draven. Lucen Valeor," she said. "You two cause quite a bit of noise for first-years."
Kael straightened. "Are you here to assign cleaning duty or execution?"
Her lips curved slightly. "Neither. I'm Instructor Nyra. You're in my care until further notice."
Lucen frowned. "I've never heard of your class."
"That's the point."
She gestured for them to follow. The stairs led deeper, into a corridor lined with training chambers. Mana suppression fields pulsed through the floor, keeping everything eerily quiet.
When they reached a sealed door, Nyra pressed her hand against the rune. "Welcome to the academy's maintenance division — or as most call it, Detention Class."
The door hissed open.
Inside was a wide chamber filled with odd contraptions, sparring dummies, and students wearing dark uniforms. None looked like they belonged.
One boy's crest flickered uncontrollably across his skin; another's arms were covered in runic burns. Every face carried the same wary focus.
Nyra said calmly, "These are the students whose Crests don't fit the academy's public image. Unstable. Dangerous. Useful."
Kael glanced around. "You mean rejects."
"Assets," Nyra corrected. "The academy can't afford to expel rare Crests. So we train them here — off record."
Lucen's jaw tightened. "I'm not part of this circus."
"You are now," she said. "You both broke curfew with crest activation. Regulation requires containment observation. Congratulations."
Kael muttered, "Containment sounds reassuring."
Nyra's eyes landed on him. "Yours especially. The Mimic Soul — unstable lineage, fluctuating mana pattern, and apparently self-evolving. That makes you interesting."
Kael didn't like her tone. "Is that a compliment or a diagnosis?"
"Both." She threw a pair of weighted bands at him. "Put these on."
Kael caught them, feeling the faint mana resistance built inside. "Training gear?"
"Regulators. They'll limit your crest flow by seventy percent. If it still functions, then you're not a fluke."
He slipped them on. The bands tightened instantly — heavy, suffocating. It felt like swimming through mud.
Nyra gestured to the center ring. "Spar with him."
She pointed to a tall student at the far end — silver hair, emotionless eyes, faint shimmer of frost across his arm.
Lucen's frown deepened. "You're testing him again?"
Nyra said, "No. I'm testing both of you. You'll fight him next."
Kael stepped into the ring, the weight dragging every move. The silver-haired student raised a hand — frost mist curling outward.
> Observed ability detected.
Skill: Frost Vein (Intermediate).
Replication impossible — Mana Restrained.
Kael smirked faintly. "So that's what seventy percent feels like."
The frost came fast. Kael rolled aside, barely avoiding the shards forming along the floor. The limiter bands dulled his reflexes, his copied memory of Lucen's Air Surge sluggish and incomplete.
Still, he adapted — shifting, testing timing. Every failed dodge taught him something.
Nyra watched quietly, taking notes on a glowing pad.
Lucen's impatience finally broke. "You're going to freeze him!"
Nyra didn't even look up. "Then he should learn faster."
Kael's eyes narrowed. The frost lunged again — this time he met it head-on, slamming his palm forward with what little mana he could pull.
> Adaptive Resonance — Minor Trigger.
Partial replication achieved.
His hand glowed faint blue. The next frost strike shattered midair.
The silver-haired opponent stepped back, eyes wide for the first time.
Nyra's stylus stopped moving.
Kael's breath came rough. "Seventy percent, huh? Guess we'll call it good enough."
Nyra's expression changed slightly — curiosity, approval, and calculation. "You're done for today. Both of you."
Lucen stepped forward. "Why am I even here?"
She handed him a folder. "You're here because your Crest synchronization exceeded safe output. You'll help monitor him. Consider it restitution."
Lucen looked ready to argue, then saw the look in her eyes and stopped.
Nyra turned back to Kael. "Report here every evening. If your Crest continues to evolve at this rate, I'll need to know what it's turning into."
Kael nodded slowly. "And if it doesn't?"
"Then we find out what happens when it breaks."
She walked off, leaving both of them in silence.
Lucen finally muttered, "You attract trouble like it's a hobby."
Kael smiled faintly. "I try to stay consistent."
---
That night, back in his dorm, Kael stared at the limiter bands sitting on his desk. Their faint hum filled the room.
His Crest pulsed beneath his skin, faint lines forming new patterns — not stable, not random. Almost like it was listening.
He whispered under his breath, "Adaptive Resona
nce… what are you trying to become?"
No answer came — only a low vibration, deep in his palm, like distant thunder waiting to break.