The evening before had ended with a warm, fuzzy sensation. Oliver had even used his newly activated Guild Card to send a brief, text-only message to his aunt mira public terminal at the bookshop: "Academy is intense. Food is magical. Made friends. Learning a lot. Don't worry. -O." Her reply had been a simple. He'd gone to bed with a renewed, if cautious, motivation.
That motivation was met with a cool, misty morning. After another astonishing breakfast that now felt like a necessary fuel rather than a luxury, the bronze cohort gathered again at the sprawling physical training grounds. The atmosphere was different from the first anxious day. Students mingled freely now, the initial barriers eroded by shared meals and shared revelations. Oliver stood with Leo, Elara, and Ilana, chatting with a few others about the forum and Instructor Kael's "hypothesis" theory. A fragile, hopeful camaraderie had taken root.
The training ground itself had changed. Yesterday it was merely a muddy track. Today, various stations were arranged: obstacle courses of bizarre, magically-enhanced apparatus, pools of viscous liquid that shimmered oddly, and simple, clear areas marked for calisthenics. It looked systematic, and purposefully grueling.
A familiar, loud horn blast silenced all conversation.
Proctor Grath stood on a raised stone platform, his mountainous form casting a long shadow in the morning sun. His expression was not just stern; it was carved from granite disappointment, as if he already foresaw their collective failure.
"Look at you all," his voice boomed, devoid of the analytical quiet he'd used in his hidden observations. It was pure, uncompromising volume. "Settled. Mingling. Making little friends. You've had a taste of good food and grand ideas. Let me provide the counterweight."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over them like a physical weight. The hopeful chatter died down replace by sudden suffocating
"This is your one and only warning. The World Government is not a charity. The blessing of this academy, funded by the Thirteen Sages, is not an entitlement. It is an investment. And investors demand returns." He leaned forward slightly. "You have one year. One year from your Awakening Day. If, by that day, any one of you has not advanced from a latent spark to a confirmed Stage 1 Novice—if you cannot reliably manifest and control your affinity to a measurable degree—you will be sent home. Your Guild Card will be deactivated to all but basic citizen functions. Your path as an adventurer, or in any Guild-adjacent profession, ends."
A collective, icy chill swept through the sixty recruits. The hopeful energy of the morning evaporated, replaced by a sobering, metallic taste of fear. Elara's vibrant smile vanished.
Ilana's hands clenched at her sides. Leo's confident posture stiffened. Oliver felt the pronouncement settle in his stomach like a stone. One year.
"Do not mistake this for cruelty," Grath continued, though his tone offered no comfort. "It is efficiency. It is the process that separates wheat from chaff. If you cannot seize this opportunity with both hands and wrest growth from it, you do not deserve the power you seek. Remember that when your muscles scream and your mind begs for rest."
He let the ultimatum hang, ensuring it sank into the marrow of every student.
"Now. To today's lesson. A question for you optimistic theorists: why do we waste your precious time with physical training? Why not just drill your mental strength, push your 'affinity resonance percentage' higher?" He scoffed, a sound like grinding rocks. "You could not be more wrong."
He jumped down from the platform, landing with a solid thud that vibrated through the ground. "You do not cast magic from your mind. You cast it through your body." He tapped his own thick chest. "Ambient mana is drawn in, filtered through your unique mana signature, and aligned to your affinity through resonant intent. But this entire process—the draw, the channeling, the release—happens *here.*" He swept a hand down his own form. "Your body is the conduit. Your flesh and bone are the storage medium for elemental energy. A weak conduit cracks. A frail medium ruptures."
He began pacing before them, his words clinical and terrifying. "Consequences of a body unprepared for the strain of its own magic: Least case—mana fatigue. muscle tremors, chronic nausea. You become a liability on any team. Mild case—elemental mana poisoning. Your own fire burns your veins. Your own water drowns your cells. A slow, painful degradation. Worse case…"
He stopped, turning to face them fully, his eyes grim. "Mana Corruption. The affinity itself, without a strong vessel to contain its intent, turns wild. It warps the conduit from the inside out. A Fire-Kin becomes a living wildfire with no mind to control it. A Terra(earth)-Kin becomes a dissolving slurry of stone and flesh. The Guild hunts down the Corrupted. It is a mercy. For you, and for everyone near you."
The training ground was so quiet Oliver could hear the distant cry of a roc from the advanced flight fields. The horror of the image was absolute.
"So your first, and most important lesson, is not a race for percentage points," Proctor Grath concluded, his voice lowering to a deadly serious register. "It is the balance path. You will temper your body to match the growth of your spirit. You will forge your conduit to be as resilient as your will. You do this not for me. You do this to survive yourselves."
He gave a sharp, final nod. "Class dismissed. Report here after your midday meal for your first session of Body Tempering. The theory is over. The forge is hot."
He turned and strode away, leaving sixty stunned, silent students in his wake. The light atmosphere was gone, shattered. The investment they'd felt in the good food and advanced classrooms now felt like a debt come due, with a terrifyingly high interest rate.
Oliver looked at his friends. Leo's face was set in determined calculation. Ilana looked pale but resolute. Elara met his eyes, her usual energy now focused into a hard glint.
They had been given a map, a hypothesis, and a community. Now, they had been given a clock, ticking loudly toward a make-or-break deadline, and a stark, physiological reason to push their limits. The academy's kindness had just revealed its steel teeth.
As they walked silently back toward the campus buildings, the morning mist finally burning away, Oliver's hand went to his chest. His body. His conduit. For a Grey-Weaver, what did that even mean? What kind of strain would his inert mana place on it? The questions were new, and frightening. But as he walked, his initial fear began to crystallize into a sharp, clear focus.
The balance path. He would walk it. He had to.
End of Chapter