The stone was still broken when I returned the next morning.
No one had bothered to fix it yet. The cracks spread across the platform like frozen lightning, cutting through the training ground in uneven lines. I stood at the edge and stared down at the damage, my chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with mana.
I had done that.
Not on purpose. Not with control. But the stone did not care about intent.
Other trainees gathered nearby, whispering as they passed. Some glanced at the cracks. Some glanced at me. Most pretended to do neither, which somehow felt worse.
Rethan arrived first.
He jogged toward me with the same careless energy as always, his steps light, his aura faintly stirring around his legs. He slowed when he reached the platform and let out a low whistle.
"That looks even better in daylight," he said. "I told you yesterday was impressive."
"It was not supposed to happen," I replied.
He waved a hand. "Nothing good ever is."
Sil came next.
He did not smile. He did not comment on the damage. He simply walked to the edge of the cracked stone and crouched, running his fingers along the fracture. His violet aura flickered briefly as he focused.
"This was not just force," he said quietly. "There is distortion in the resonance."
Rethan frowned. "You always make things sound worse than they are."
Sil stood and looked at me. "Because sometimes they are."
Before either of them could say more, the instructor's voice cut through the air.
"Kavien."
I turned.
He stood several steps away, hands clasped behind his back. His aura was steady, disciplined. The kind that never wavered.
"You will come with me."
Rethan opened his mouth. I shook my head slightly.
"I will catch up," I said.
He did not look pleased, but he backed off. Sil's gaze followed me as I walked away.
The instructor led me past the main grounds, through a narrow path that few trainees used. We stopped near a low wall overlooking the city.
"You know why I called you," he said.
"Yes."
"You are unstable."
The word landed heavier than I expected.
"I am careful," I replied.
He shook his head. "Care is not the same as control."
I clenched my fists. The pressure in my chest stirred faintly, then settled again. I did not let it rise.
"You caused damage," he continued. "Public damage. People saw it. That matters."
"I did not hurt anyone."
"Not this time."
I looked at the city below. Blue haze drifted through the air, thin and constant. Mana everywhere. Order everywhere.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"For now, observation," he said. "Limited training. No sparring without supervision. You will not push yourself."
"And if I do?"
His gaze hardened. "Then we will decide whether you should continue training at all."
That was the real threat.
He dismissed me without another word.
When I returned to the grounds, Rethan was pacing. He stopped when he saw my face.
"They told you to slow down," he guessed.
"Yes."
He scoffed. "That is ridiculous. You finally show potential and they panic."
"They are not wrong," Sil said from nearby. "Something about his power does not follow expected behavior."
Rethan rounded on him. "So what? You want him to stop?"
Sil met his glare calmly. "I want him alive."
The three of us fell silent.
I broke it first. "I will train. Just differently."
Rethan grinned. "Good. I would hate to lose my favorite sparring partner."
I did not return the smile.
The rest of the day passed slowly. I avoided drawing attention. I followed instructions exactly. When training ended, I left without waiting for anyone.
At home, my father sat at the table, his shoulders slumped. His hands trembled slightly as he held his cup.
"You are late," he said.
"I stayed back."
He nodded. "People talk."
I froze.
"They always do," he added quickly. "Do not let it get to you."
I wanted to ask him what he had heard. I did not.
That night, I did not train.
I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to my own breathing. The pressure in my chest felt heavier, like it was waiting for permission.
I did not give it any.
The next few days followed the same pattern.
Observation.
Restriction.
Whispers.
Rethan remained loud, joking, unconcerned. He talked about advancing stages, about how close he was to stabilizing his Aero flow.
Sil watched more closely than before. He asked questions without asking them, listening for things I did not say.
I kept my answers short.
On the fourth day, we trained movement drills.
Jumping.
Landing.
Balance.
I moved carefully, measuring each step. The pressure stayed quiet. The instructor watched me the entire time.
Rethan finished early and leaned against a pillar. "You are holding back."
"I am doing what I was told."
He shook his head. "You are suffocating yourself."
Sil interrupted before I could respond. "Sometimes pressure builds strength. Sometimes it breaks things."
Rethan frowned. "Which do you think this is?"
Sil looked at me. "That depends on how long he is forced to wait."
After training, we sat on the edge of the grounds, legs dangling over the drop.
"I do not like how they look at you now," Rethan said.
"They always looked at me like that," I replied.
"No," he said. "Before, they did not look at you at all."
That night, I tried again.
Not absorption. Not training.
Just listening.
I sat in the dark and focused inward, feeling the pressure without resisting it. It did not push. It did not pull.
It waited.
I opened my eyes, heart pounding.
"You are not supposed to be there," I whispered.
The pressure pulsed once, faint but undeniable.
I exhaled slowly.
The next morning, the cracks in the stone were gone.
Repaired. Smoothed. Erased.
As if nothing had happened.
But people still looked at me.
And I knew something else had broken instead. That evening, I ran into Sil again.
Not at the training grounds. Not anywhere official.
He was sitting on the low wall near the supply paths, legs folded, a small stone spinning slowly between his fingers. Each rotation sent a faint vibration through the air, barely noticeable unless you were paying attention.
"You are avoiding people," he said without looking up.
"I am walking home," I replied.
"Same thing," he said.
I stopped beside him. The city lights below flickered softly, mana haze drifting between buildings like slow breath.
"They are watching you now," Sil continued. "Not just instructors. Others too."
"I know."
"You should be careful."
I let out a short breath. "I have been careful my whole life."
Sil finally looked at me. His eyes were sharp, focused in a way that made it hard to lie.
"That is exactly what worries me," he said. "People like you do not break loudly. You break quietly."
The stone in his hand cracked with a soft snap. He frowned at it, then let the fragments fall.
"I do not think you are dangerous," he said. "But I think the system will decide that you are."
I did not respond.
What was there to say?
We walked the rest of the way in silence. When we parted, Sil paused.
"If something feels wrong," he said, "tell me. Do not wait until it explodes."
I nodded.
Later, lying in bed, his words stayed with me.
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the familiar pressure beneath my ribs. It did not push back. It did not resist.
It felt patient.
As if it had all the time in the world.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the problem was not that I was unstable.
But that I was being held back from becoming something else entirely.