Breakfast was quiet—the kind of quiet that usually precedes a structural collapse.
I was currently engaged in a heated mental debate with myself over the footnotes of my latest paper on "Sub-Soil Filtration," while Arin was systematically deconstructing his pancake into perfect equilateral triangles.
"Arin," I said, finally looking up. "I forgot to mention. I received a very strange internal memo from Principal Albrecht's office late last night. Apparently, the Academy is expecting 'Emergency Transfers' from the Northern Border Academy."
Avaris stopped pouring the tea. The stream of water hit the cup with a sudden, sharp splash. "Transfers? To this village? Why?"
"The memo was... vague," I said, adjusting my spectacles. "Something about 'Redistribution of Talent' and 'Unforeseen Geological Incidents' at their previous school. Apparently, two students are arriving today. They've been assigned to the same 'Remedial' block as Arin and Lysa."
Arin's triangle-pancake stopped mid-air. He looked at Lysa. Lysa didn't look back; she was staring at the front door as if she could see through the wood.
"Why our block?" Avaris asked. Her voice was calm, but I noticed her hand was resting near the bread knife. Not in a threatening way, just... ready.
"Albrecht claims it's for 'Efficient Resource Management,'" I explained. "He thinks Arin's... unique physical presence... would be a good influence on them. He called it a 'peer-group of specialists.'"
"Specialists in what?" Lysa asked.
"Falling down, apparently," I chuckled. "The memo said they both have 'severe coordination anomalies.' One of them is a boy who supposedly can't walk three steps without calculating the wind speed, and the other is a girl who... well, the report says she has a tendency to 'blend into the background' to a disruptive degree."
Avaris sat down slowly. "Northern Border Academy is a military-adjacent school, Ilyas. They don't send children here for 'coordination' issues. They send them here to be hidden."
"Nonsense, dear! It's just a bureaucracy shuffle," I said, patting her hand. "The North is cold. Maybe they just wanted to see some green grass and learn about irrigation. Arin, you'll be a good host, won't you? Show them how we do things in the Verne household."
Arin gave a slow, deliberate nod. "I'll show them exactly how boring we are, Father. I'll be so boring they'll want to transfer back to the North by lunchtime."
"That's my boy," I said, standing up and grabbing my satchel. "Efficiency, Mediocrity, and proper Footnotes. The three pillars of a happy life!"
As I walked out the door, I didn't see the way the "Scholar's House" transformed behind me. Avaris wasn't looking at the tea anymore. She was looking at the children, and for the first time, she wasn't just worried about the Empire.
She was worried about the competition.
The Academy courtyard was a theater of the absurd.
Instructor Kael stood in the center of the yard, his clipboard shaking. He had been told to "assess" the two new arrivals. He hadn't been told that one would look at the yard like it was a complex physics equation, and the other would look at it like it didn't exist.
"The remedial group," Kael barked, trying to find his authority. "Form a line. Verne, Arin. Verne, Lysa. Cyrus... whatever-your-last-name-is. And... and... where is the girl?"
"I'm here, Instructor," Mira said. She was standing six inches to his left.
Kael jumped, nearly dropping his pen. "Don't do that! Stand with the others!"
The four children lined up. Arin was vibrating with the effort of looking "boring." He had intentionally untied one shoelace and let a smudge of ink stay on his nose—the classic 'Distracted Student' look.
Beside him, Cyrus was staring at the courtyard's sundial. "It's two minutes slow," the boy muttered. "The tilt of the earth this season dictates a more acute shadow. This school is operating on a temporal lie."
"Cyrus, shut up," Arin whispered. "Just look at the floor and act like you're worried about falling."
"I am worried about falling," Cyrus countered. "I've calculated that the structural integrity of these paving stones is compromised. There's a hollow point exactly four meters ahead. If we step there, we'll trigger a resonance frequency that—"
"Quiet!" Kael yelled. "The exercise is simple. Walk to the other side of the yard. I want to see your... posture. Your natural movement."
Arin went first. He put on his best "Newborn Calf" performance. He stumbled. He over-corrected. He flailed his arms like a windmill in a gale. It was a masterpiece of fake clumsiness.
He reached the other side and looked back, beaming. "Did I do it, Instructor? Was I mediocre?"
Kael sighed, rubbing his temples. "It was... excessive, Verne. Next!"
Mira went next. She didn't stumble. She didn't even seem to walk. She just... arrived on the other side. Kael blinked, and she was simply gone from the starting line and present at the finish.
"Wait," Kael said, squinting. "How did you get there? I didn't see you move."
"I took the path of least resistance," Mira said, her voice like a breeze through dry grass. "People don't look at paths. They look at things on paths. I am not a thing."
Lysa watched the exchange, her eyes narrowing. She realized she was looking at a professional. Mira wasn't just "hiding"; she was manipulating the very concept of being noticed.
"My turn," Cyrus announced. He stepped onto the stones. He didn't stumble. He walked with a strange, jerky rhythm, pausing every three steps to tap his foot.
"What are you doing, boy?" Kael asked.
"Navigating the hollows, sir," Cyrus said, eyes darting. "If I step on the joints, the sound will carry to the Principal's office. If I step on the center of the stones, the vibration will disturb the ants. I am currently 88% silent."
Lysa stepped out last. She didn't flail like Arin, and she didn't vanish like Mira. She walked with a steady, dull rhythm. She was the only one who looked "normal," but to the other three, her "normalcy" was so polished it was practically a weapon.
The four of them stood at the far wall, looking back at the bewildered Instructor.
"You four," Kael said, his voice dropping. "You aren't remedial. You're... you're a headache."
"Statistically, we're a migraine," Cyrus corrected.
"We just need more practice, Instructor," Arin said, his fake-innocent smile wider than ever. "Maybe we should go behind the library where there's more... dirt? For better grip?"
Kael waved them away, defeated. "Go. Just... don't break anything. If I see one more speck of granite dust, I'm retiring to a farm."