Morning came like a verdict.
Raien stood at the edge of the inner courtyard, wrists bare but skin still aching where the runic chains had been. The Astra dampeners were gone, yet he felt smaller without them—like a fire forced to remember it could burn.
Across the stone expanse, candidates trained in tight formations. Clean movements. Controlled breaths. Everything Raien wasn't.
"Don't slouch."
The voice was sharp. Female.
Raien looked up to see a girl about his age, posture perfect, dark hair bound high, eyes like polished steel. Her uniform bore a fresh insignia—Realm-ranked. Already certified.
"You're obstructing the flow path," she said. "It's distracting."
Raien blinked. "Good morning to you too."
She frowned. "You're the trial failure."
"Wow. Straight to the point."
"Mira Solen," she said. "And you're the reason the elders canceled drills last night."
Raien rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about that."
Her gaze flicked to his hands. Then lingered.
"You didn't die," she said quietly. "That shouldn't be possible."
Raien shrugged. "Story of my life."
High above them, behind layered screens of crystal and seal-script, the elders convened.
"The boy destabilizes Astra fields simply by existing," Elder Karesh said. "Keeping him here endangers the Realm."
"He also survived a resonance that shattered a Nine-Step Circle," countered Elder Nima. "That is unprecedented."
"Unacceptable," Karesh snapped. "Power without discipline breeds calamity."
Oruin leaned against a pillar, arms folded, eyes half-lidded.
"Then teach him discipline," he said. "Or admit you're afraid."
Silence.
"The seal within him," another elder said carefully. "It resembles pre-Sundering constructs."
That drew attention.
"Those are myths," Karesh said.
Oruin smiled thinly. "So was the Sundering. Until it happened."
A decision crystal flared.
"Raien Vale will remain," Elder Nima declared. "Provisionally."
Karesh scowled. "Under strict surveillance."
Oruin inclined his head. "I'll accept the burden."
Raien felt it before he saw it.
The mark burned.
He staggered, gripping his chest as heat crawled beneath his skin. Mira stepped back instinctively, Astra flaring defensively around her palms.
"Hey—hey, it's fine," Raien gasped. "Just… give it a second."
The pain faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind a dull throb.
Mira stared. "What was that?"
Raien opened his tunic slightly.
A symbol—jagged, circular, like a coiled flame—had etched itself over his heart. Not ink. Not a wound.
A brand.
"That," Raien said softly, "is new."
Inside him, the presence chuckled.
They've noticed you, it said. Marks tend to do that.
Raien clenched his jaw. Stop talking.
You're the one who woke me, it replied.
That evening, Master Oruin led Raien through the outer corridors, away from the main halls.
"People will watch you now," Oruin said. "Some with fear. Some with envy. Most with knives behind their smiles."
"Comforting."
"You need to learn faster than the others," Oruin continued. "Failing again won't earn you chains. It'll earn you a grave."
Raien stopped walking. "Why me?"
Oruin didn't turn.
"Because you're already burning," he said. "And the world is dry."
They reached a sealed gate etched with ancient script.
"Tomorrow," Oruin said, pressing his palm to the door, "you join a unit."
Raien swallowed. "With who?"
Oruin's mouth curved slightly.
"The disciplined prodigy who doesn't trust you," he said. "And a boy who hasn't spoken your name—but already knows how to kill you."
The gate opened with a groan.
Raien stared into the dark beyond.
For the first time, fear outweighed excitement.