The second test—Control—proved less dramatic but no less revealing.
Candidates were led to a chamber where Master Hadrian, the healer, had prepared a series of challenges designed to measure precision in Pneuma manipulation. Glass spheres filled with colored sand sat on pedestals, each sphere divided into quarters by thin barriers. The task was simple in concept but devilishly difficult in execution: use Pneuma to move the sand from one quarter to another without breaking the glass, without mixing colors, without spilling a single grain.
It required absolute control—the ability to apply force with surgical precision, to sense the resistance of each tiny particle, to adjust pressure moment by moment. Most candidates managed to move some sand, creating crude swirls and clumps. A few of the more talented ones successfully transferred entire color sections, though with notable spillage and mixing.
Thorwald approached his sphere with characteristic determination. His golden Pneuma flowed into the glass like sunlight through water, and grain by grain, he began moving the red sand from bottom-left to top-right. It was methodical, patient work, and while not the fastest, his precision was remarkable—barely a dozen grains lost, no colors mixed.
Master Hadrian nodded approvingly. "Your capacity for healing will be significant, should you choose that path. The steadiness of hand required for battlefield medicine is evident in you."
Cassius Tiberion went next, and his performance was characteristically aggressive. Rather than moving grain by grain, he created a Pneuma current that lifted entire sections of sand like a controlled whirlwind, spinning them through the air and depositing them precisely where they belonged. It was showy, spectacular, and undeniably effective—though Master Hadrian's expression suggested he found the technique somewhat brutish.
"Adequate control," Hadrian said neutrally. "Though you rely on overwhelming power rather than finesse. Against a more delicate task—say, extracting poison from a wound without damaging surrounding tissue—such methods would prove lethal to the patient."
Cassius's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
When Kami's turn came, he approached the sphere with trepidation. The problem he faced was unique: how did a Devourer demonstrate control when his Pneuma naturally pulled inward rather than pushing outward?
He placed his hands on either side of the glass sphere and concentrated. Instead of trying to push the sand with Pneuma he did not naturally project, he created a vacuum—a carefully controlled absence of Pneuma on one side of the sphere. The sand, seeking equilibrium, flowed toward that emptiness. By shifting the vacuum's location with microscopic precision, he could guide each grain exactly where he wanted it.
The sand moved in perfect streams, colors separating and reorganizing with mechanical precision. No grains were lost. No colors mixed. In less than a minute, the sphere's contents had been completely rearranged—faster and cleaner than any previous candidate.
Master Hadrian stared. Then, slowly, he smiled. "I have never seen that technique. You manipulate through absence rather than presence, creating negative space and allowing the natural world to flow into it. Brilliant. Dangerous, but brilliant."
"All Devourer techniques are dangerous, Master Hadrian," Kami replied softly. "That is our nature. We can only choose whether we are dangerous to our enemies or to everyone."
The third test—Versatility—took place in the Arena of Practice, a vast circular space with marble floors marked by geometric patterns. Here, Master Quintus and Mistress Octavia administered challenges designed to reveal the range of each candidate's abilities.
"Pneuma is not merely a weapon," Mistress Octavia announced, her purple robes swirling as she paced the arena's edge. "It is the breath of life, the force that animates all things. A truly versatile wielder can apply it to any task—combat, healing, construction, communication, even art. We will present you with scenarios. Your solutions will be judged not on power but on creativity and effectiveness."
The first scenario was simple: cross a twenty-foot gap using only Pneuma. No running start, no physical jumping, just the application of life-force.
Most candidates chose straightforward approaches. Some enhanced their leg strength and leaped across. Others created Pneuma platforms beneath their feet, stepping on solidified air. A few of the more scholarly types created currents that carried them across like wind beneath a bird's wings.
Thorwald combined strength enhancement with a mid-air platform, leaping halfway and then creating a stepping stone to complete the distance. Clean, efficient, effective.
Cassius scorned such simple methods. He gathered Pneuma into his legs until they blazed with white light, then exploded forward with such force that the marble cracked beneath him. He didn't just cross the gap—he flew across it like an arrow, landing with perfect balance on the far side and turning to smirk at the watching candidates.
"Effective but wasteful," Master Quintus noted. "In a battle, you have just announced your position to every enemy within a hundred yards and exhausted enough Pneuma for three normal crossings. Useful for intimidation, perhaps, but tactically questionable."
When Kami's turn came, he stood at the gap's edge for a long moment, considering. Then he knelt and placed both hands flat against the marble floor.
Those watching felt it immediately—a pulling sensation, as though the very air wanted to flow toward Kami. The geometric patterns carved into the marble began to glow faintly as he drew Pneuma from the arena's ancient stones, from the residual life-force that centuries of training had soaked into this place.
With that stolen power, he created not a platform but a bridge—a construct of pure Pneuma that solidified from his position to the far side, resembling glass made from concentrated life-force. He walked across it calmly, the bridge dissolving behind him as he released the borrowed energy back into the arena.
"You drained the arena's accumulated Pneuma and then returned it," Mistress Octavia breathed. "You borrowed power without truly consuming it. I did not know that was possible for a Devourer."
"Most Devourers in the histories only knew how to take," Kami replied. "I am learning to borrow."
The scenarios grew more complex. Create fire without burning yourself. Lift a boulder twice your weight. Communicate a complex message to someone across the arena without speaking. Heal a minor wound. Detect an invisible opponent.
Kami's solutions were invariably unorthodox. For fire, he did not generate flame through Pneuma excitation like the others—instead, he drew the heat from the surrounding air, concentrating it until combustion occurred naturally. For the boulder, he reduced its effective weight by creating a Pneuma vacuum beneath it, making it float like a boat on water. For communication, he created pressure differences in the air itself, generating words through controlled vibration.
But it was the final scenario that truly set him apart.
"Before you stands a volunteer," Master Quintus announced, gesturing to a young Academy student who stepped into the arena. "This student has been poisoned—not fatally, but enough to cause discomfort and disorientation. Your task: remove the poison using only Pneuma. You may not touch the patient physically."
This was a healer's task, requiring incredible precision and knowledge of human biology. The poison had to be identified, isolated, and extracted without damaging the patient's own Pneuma network—a challenge that stumped most candidates entirely.
Those who attempted it used variations of the same technique: creating Pneuma currents within the patient's body to flush the poison toward the skin, where it could be sweated out. Messy, slow, and only partially effective.
Thorwald declined to even attempt it, recognizing it was beyond his current skill. "I am a warrior, not a healer," he said honestly. "I will not risk harming the patient through ignorance."
Cassius attempted it through brute force, flooding the patient's system with so much Pneuma that the poison was diluted to near-harmlessness—effective but dangerous, leaving the patient gasping and pale.
When Kami approached, the volunteer student visibly flinched. "Please," the young man whispered. "Don't... don't drain me."
"I will not," Kami promised. "Trust me for one minute. That is all I ask."
He held his hands near the student's torso—not touching, but close enough to sense the flow of Pneuma within. And there, tangled in the student's life-force like dark threads in golden cloth, he found the poison. It had its own Pneuma signature, foreign and discordant.
What Kami did next made several Masters gasp.
He did not try to push the poison out. Instead, he drew it out—but only the poison. His Devourer nature, so often a curse, became a surgical tool. He pulled on the discordant Pneuma of the toxin while carefully avoiding the student's own life-force, extracting the poison through the skin as though drawing venom from a wound.
The black substance appeared as a mist around Kami's hands, the poison's Pneuma made briefly visible as he pulled it free. Then, having extracted it, he consumed it—taking the toxic energy into himself where his Devourer nature could break it down harmlessly.
The student sagged with relief, the color returning to his face immediately. "I feel... completely recovered. Better than before, even."
"You removed a foreign Pneuma signature with perfect precision," Master Hadrian said, his healer's eyes wide. "That should not be possible. The level of discrimination required, the control needed to separate poison from patient... even I could not do it so cleanly."
"Devourers are very good at taking things," Kami said quietly. "I am simply learning to be selective about what I take."
The fourth and final test was Resonance.
This test took place in a special chamber beneath the Arena, a circular room with walls inscribed with thousands of ancient symbols—amplification runes that had been empowering the Academy's training for centuries. Candidates were divided into groups of five and instructed to synchronize their Pneuma, to blend their individual life-forces into a single unified current.
Resonance was the foundation of the Legion's power. A century of soldiers with perfect Resonance could channel their combined Pneuma through their Centurion, transforming him temporarily into a being of godlike strength. It was why the Empire's armies could defeat barbarian hordes ten times their size, why disciplined organization triumphed over individual prowess.
But Resonance required trust, harmony, and compatibility. The participants had to open themselves to each other, to let their Pneuma mingle and merge without resistance.
Thorwald's group achieved Resonance quickly. His steady, golden Pneuma served as an anchor point that others could sync to easily. The five of them created a combined aura that blazed like a small star, their individual signatures harmonizing into something greater. Master Quintus approved with a rare smile.
"Excellent. Natural leadership qualities. You will make Centurion before thirty if you survive that long."
Cassius's group struggled initially—his Pneuma was so powerful and aggressive that it tended to overwhelm his partners rather than harmonize with them. But through sheer force of will and aristocratic authority, he bullied the synchronization into existence. The result was impressive in raw power but visibly unstable, their combined aura flickering and surging unevenly.
"Functional but forced," Mistress Octavia observed. "Your partners submit to your dominance rather than truly harmonizing. Effective for short bursts, but it will exhaust them quickly."
Then came Kami's group.
The moment the five candidates were announced, three of them immediately protested. "I will not synchronize with a Devourer!" one boy shouted. "He'll drain us all!"
"Cowards may withdraw," Master Severus said coldly. "But understand that refusing to attempt Resonance is an automatic failure of this test."
Two withdrew anyway, preferring failure to the risk. That left Kami with only two partners—a nervous girl named Julia from a minor merchant house, and a stocky boy named Marcus who seemed more curious than afraid.
"Can you even achieve Resonance?" Julia asked, her voice shaking. "Devourers pull inward. Resonance requires opening outward, sharing your Pneuma. Aren't those... opposite?"
"Yes," Kami admitted. "I do not know if this will work. But I promise I will not deliberately harm you."
They formed a triangle in the chamber's center, hands not quite touching, and attempted to sync their Pneuma. Julia's was a gentle silver stream, Marcus's a solid brown current like fertile earth. And Kami's...
Kami's Pneuma was a void, a pulling emptiness that immediately began drawing on his partners' life-force. Julia cried out and broke contact, stumbling back. Marcus gritted his teeth but held position, his Pneuma draining steadily into Kami's infinite hunger.
"It's not working," Master Severus said, moving to end the exercise. "The boy cannot—"
But Kami wasn't finished. He had drawn his partners' Pneuma into himself—now he did something unprecedented. He gave it back.
Not as their original life-force, but transformed. He had taken their Pneuma, merged it with his own strange nature, and now he projected it outward again—not pushed, but released, like opening a dam. The returned Pneuma still bore traces of Julia and Marcus, but now it also carried Kami's signature, his essence.
And when that transformed Pneuma flowed back into his partners, something extraordinary happened.
They achieved Resonance—but not the normal kind. Instead of three separate streams merging into one, they became a circuit. Pneuma flowed from Julia to Kami, from Kami to Marcus, from Marcus back to Julia in an endless loop, each pass through Kami amplifying and transforming the energy. The effect was like nothing the Masters had ever seen—a spiral of violet, silver, and brown that grew stronger with each rotation.
"Impossible," Grand Master Maximus whispered, leaning forward in his observation seat. "He has created a Devourer Resonance. Instead of combining forces horizontally, he is cycling them through himself as a nexus, using his hunger to pull and his will to release. It should not work. It violates the Second Law of Pneumatic Equilibrium."
The spiral of energy grew brighter, faster, until the three children at its center began to glow with power far beyond their individual capacities. Julia laughed with sudden exhilaration, feeling strength flood her limbs. Marcus gasped as his Pneuma, normally slow and steady, accelerated to lightning speed through the circuit.
Then Kami, showing the control that defined him, slowly stopped the cycle. The Pneuma returned to each participant in exactly the proportions they had contributed, and the three of them stood gasping but unharmed, their eyes wide with wonder.
"That was..." Julia struggled for words. "That was incredible. I felt powerful. I felt like I could fight a Legion."
"The Academy has never seen Resonance configured in this manner," Mistress Portia said, making rapid notes on her scroll. "A Devourer functioning as a Pneuma nexus, cycling energy rather than simply consuming it. The strategic applications are... significant."
But Master Severus's expression was dark. "Or the danger is significant. What happens if the Devourer at the nexus decides not to return the Pneuma? What happens if he drains his partners dry and keeps their life-force for himself? You have just demonstrated that you can touch the Pneuma of others and take it at will."
"I demonstrated that I can touch it and choose not to take it," Kami corrected quietly. "That is the point. Control. Choice. Discipline."
The testing was complete.
As the sun set over Aurelius, the candidates gathered in the courtyard to hear their fates. Master Portia read from her scroll, announcing those who had passed and those who had failed. Many names were called to collect their rejection notices with dignity and return home. Others received provisional acceptance—they would train at the Academy but were not considered exceptional.
Then came the scholarships—full Academy training with stipends, reserved for those judged to have the highest potential.
"Thorwald Van Hellsin," Portia announced. "Full scholarship. Warrior-track with secondary classification in leadership and healing. The Academy welcomes you."
Thorwald bowed, his face showing quiet pride.
"Cassius Tiberion. Full scholarship. Command-track with secondary classification in combat and administration. The Academy welcomes you."
Cassius didn't bow—he simply nodded as though it had never been in question.
More names followed. Julia and Marcus both received provisional acceptance, still shaking from their Resonance experience with Kami.
Then Portia paused, looking up from her scroll to find Kami in the crowd. "Kami Van Hellsin. The Masters have debated your case extensively. Your abilities are unprecedented. Your control is remarkable. Your potential is... difficult to quantify."
She glanced at Grand Master Maximus, who nodded for her to continue.
"You are accepted to the Academy. But not on scholarship. And not on any standard track. You will be a special case, studying under Grand Master Maximus directly. Your curriculum will be designed specifically for your unique nature. And you will be monitored constantly, both for your protection and for the protection of others."
"Meaning I will be a prisoner as much as a student," Kami said.
"Meaning you will be watched," Maximus corrected, rising from his seat. "Because you are dangerous, boy. You proved that today—not through violence, but through potential. You demonstrated abilities that could make you either the Empire's greatest weapon or its worst nightmare. We will teach you which to become."
Kami met the Grand Master's ancient eyes and saw something there he hadn't expected: not fear, not hatred, but curiosity. The old man wanted to see what Kami would become, wanted to discover if a Devourer could truly transcend his nature.
"I accept," Kami said.
"Then welcome to the Imperial Academy," Maximus replied. "May the gods have mercy on us all."
That night, in the villa Grimwald had rented, the Van Hellsin family gathered for what might be their last dinner together for years. The Academy would claim the brothers in the morning. Their childhood was over.
"I am proud of you both," Grimwald said, his soldier's voice rough with emotion he rarely showed. "You have honored our house."
Bera said nothing, but she held her sons' hands tight across the table, and tears ran silently down her face.
Thorwald raised his cup. "To brotherhood. To the Van Hellsin name. And to whatever future we forge."
Kami raised his own cup, meeting his brother's eyes. "To brotherhood," he echoed. "Always."
But later, alone in his room, Kami stood at the window looking out over the Academy's blazing towers and thought about the day's revelations. He had proven he could control his hunger, could borrow instead of steal, could return instead of consume.
But he had also tasted what it felt like to touch the Pneuma of others, to feel their life-force flowing through him, to know that with the smallest twist of will he could drain them dry.
And some dark part of him—the part that would always be Devourer, would always be predator—had liked it.
The question was not whether he could control his nature. The question was: how long could he choose to?
In the shadows outside Kami's window, a figure watched. Cassius Tiberion, unable to sleep, had come to observe his enemy. And as he watched the Devourer standing silhouetted against the city's light, Cassius made a vow.
One day, somehow, he would destroy Kami Van Hellsin. Before the monster grew too powerful to stop. Before the Academy succeeded in weaponizing an abomination.
He would kill the Devourer.
Or die trying