With only a week left before the Awakening Exams, the Academy thrummed with a tension that clung to the walls like humidity before a storm. Every hallway crackled with nervous mana, every glance lingered with unspoken comparisons. And yet… Elijah was doing less than ever.
Well, sort of.
Kat had ordered him into a deload week—a term she used like a commandment from on high. Reduced training intensity. Recovery-focused movements. No combat drills. She said overexertion now would sabotage his exam performance. Elijah, naturally, hated it.
"This feels like blasphemy," he grumbled to himself, slow-pushing a weighted sled across the gym floor at half his usual resistance. "Like studying for finals by napping aggressively."
Kat, across the room, didn't comment. She didn't need to. Her raised eyebrow from where she observed was enough to make Elijah mutter and push harder.
Still, he knew better than to argue too much. If Kat said rest, he rested—reluctantly, but obediently. After four months under her brutal guidance, he'd come to trust her judgment, even when it made him want to tear his hair out.
It was during lunch, a couple days before the exams, that the pressure really started to get to him. The cafeteria was more crowded than usual, voices hushed but buzzing. Every table seemed to be whispering about predictions, odds, and placements. Forks tapped nervously against trays. Whole groups sat in silence, staring into space like death row inmates.
Elijah and Tim sat at their usual corner table, each poking at half-eaten meals with the enthusiasm of wet paper.
"You feel that?" Elijah asked, glancing around.
"The air pressure?" Tim said, then leaned in, whispering, "Yeah. It's like the anxiety's so thick you could bottle it, slap a mana core on it, and call it a weapon."
Elijah smirked. "Or toast. You could spread it on toast."
Tim let out a sharp laugh before sighing. "Gods, man. Exams are close."
"Speaking of," Elijah said, nudging him. "You still haven't told me what your trials were last year. I know spectators only got to see the final tournament, but you had to go through stuff before that, right? How bad was it?"
Tim grimaced and pushed his tray away like it offended him. "Ugh. Don't make me relive it. First-year trials might not matter as much in terms of placement, but they were brutal. Besides, the Council changes the trials every year to keep people guessing."
"So that's a no."
"That's a hell no," Tim said, shaking his head. "Not 'cause I don't want to help. Just… still not over it."
Elijah chuckled. "Fair enough. I still can't imagine what the Seniors go through. Next year's trials must be nightmares."
Tim gave him a look that suggested he'd grown a second head. "Bro. Focus. We still have to survive this year's exams first. You're already thinking about the next round?"
Elijah slumped forward with a groan, face buried in his hands. "I was trying not to think about this one directly."
Tim leaned back, stretching his arms. "You've been training like a man possessed for four months. You'll be fine."
Elijah peeked through his fingers. "And what happened to all your cocky bravado, huh? Mr. 'Future Top 100' looking a little pale lately."
Tim shuddered. "Gone. Vanished. Disintegrated under exam anticipation. I still plan to beat Claro's smug face into the dirt, but everything else? Yeah. No confidence left. Especially after remembering the written portion."
Elijah blinked. "The written part? That's the one that scares you?"
Tim gave him a look of utter betrayal. "You're a nerd. You were built for written tests. Me? I'm more of a 'punch the problem until it goes away' kind of guy."
"Smarticle particles not your thing?"
"Don't ever say that again."
Elijah chuckled. "But seriously, how bad was it?"
Tim glanced around as if the walls might remember. "Let's just say I still see some of those questions in my nightmares. Arcane Theory. Combat Law. World History. Mana Architecture. That was not a test built for Enhancers."
The smile faded from Elijah's face. "We're screwed, aren't we?"
Tim exhaled slowly, his usual smirk thinning into a straight line. "Yeah… but so is everyone else."
Meanwhile, similar conversations echoed across every table in the cafeteria. Everyone was nervous. Even the prodigies. No one really knew what the trials would look like this year—only that the last one would end in a live tournament. Every other portion? A mystery wrapped in dread.
Well, almost everyone was nervous.
Kat Gravelle sat alone in a meditation chamber, cross-legged on a floating stone disk that gently hummed with gravitational runes. The soft glow of the glyphs bathed the room in twilight-blue light as she hovered half a meter off the ground, limbs motionless, breath calm.
She didn't eat lunch. She didn't need to. As an Initial Adept, her body required less food, less sleep, less downtime than the average student. Her mana fed her cells in ways few others could match yet. She'd long surpassed her year's average. In fact, only three students in the senior year posed any challenge at all—each of them Initial Adepts as well. And she was stronger than all but one of them.
The Academy didn't even pretend anymore. It was already decided she would not only compete in the Junior tournament… but also as a seeded entry in the Senior bracket.
Assuming she won her own year, of course. As if there was any doubt.
No, Kat didn't train for victory.
She trained for freedom.
Her family's grip reached deep—wealth, tradition, influence. All of it coiled around her neck like a leash she couldn't sever. The only thing they respected more than obedience was overwhelming power. So she chased strength the way a drowning girl might chase the surface.
The training disk beneath her dimmed, signaling the end of her meditation cycle. Kat opened her eyes and gently floated to the ground. Her boots touched the stone floor without a sound.
She stood and straightened her uniform. "Time to help teach another class of my 'peers,'" she said under her breath.
But as she reached for the door, the image of a certain stubborn boy flashed in her mind. The one who cracked jokes even while collapsing under pressure drills. The one who—despite everything—never backed down.
A small smile flickered across her face before disappearing just as quickly. "Maybe teaching isn't all bad," she murmured.
And with that, she stepped out into the hall.
After school, the gym buzzed with energy—not just from the mana-powered machines or rune-lit gravity chambers, but from the dozens of students moving like live wires, too anxious to sit still, too amped to sleep. Elijah and Tim, as usual, had claimed a corner mat and were going through the motions of a spar.
"Careful now," Tim said, circling. "Kat'll kill me if I let you walk into the exam with a limp."
"How generous," Elijah replied, lunging forward. "I'll remember your mercy when I'm cleaning your blood off the arena floor."
Tim deflected the attack with a light parry and side-stepped with almost lazy precision. "Bold words from someone who still trips on his own adhesive."
"Once. That happened once."
They both laughed. But true to Kat's orders, they kept the spar light—sharp enough to stay sharp, but not enough to strain. Still, Elijah could feel the power behind every movement Tim made. He might have been holding back, but his speed, his balance… it was like fighting a coiled spring.
"Okay," Elijah said, stepping back. "We've been dancing around this for a while now, but I gotta know—what are your actual stats?"
Tim's grin widened like a curtain lifting on opening night. "Knew you'd cave. Alright, prepare to be blinded by glory." He tapped his chest, and a shimmering screen projected into Elijah's field of view, synced from Tim's own implant.
[GovStat – User Profile: Timothy Thomas]
Age: 14
Tier: Initial Apprentice
Class Pathway: Enhancer (Resonant Subtype)
Registered Ability: Resonant Pulse [Beta Tier]
Mana Core Stability: 80%
Mana Capacity: 122 Units
Vitality: 21
Strength: 20
Endurance: 20
Dexterity: 22
Control: 21
Stat Total: 105 / 200
Skill Nodes:
– Vibratory Step [Battle-Ready]
– Fault Line Shuffle [Refined Execution]
– Pulse Guard Counter [Stable]
– Sonic Joint Rattle [Unstable]
Current Ranking (Age 14 Cohort): #100
Elijah whistled low. "Damn. You actually broke into the Apprentice tier. No wonder sparring with you feels like trying to survive a hurricane."
Tim puffed out his chest dramatically. "That's right. You're standing in the presence of greatness. Be humbled."
"Okay, let's not get carried away. But seriously—how'd you break through? You were at max mana saturation weeks ago."
"True," Tim said, nodding. "But saturation isn't enough. I had to get my core stability above 75% first. Otherwise, trying to absorb more mana would've ruptured it."
"I know that much," Elijah said, waving him on. "But you're the least still person I know. How the hell did you raise your stability without throwing yourself off a cliff in boredom?"
Tim's grin turned knowing. "That's the secret. Mr. Clancy saw me struggling with traditional meditation. Said my mana was too 'kinetic.' So he taught me an old technique—mana flow katas. It's a combat-based meditation style. Movement as focus, not stillness."
Elijah's eyebrows rose. "That's a thing?"
"Apparently it's rare," Tim said, shrugging. "Most people do better with seated focus. But for people like me? Flow katas work better. It's rhythmic, physical, but still centers your mana and stimulates the core."
"Can you teach me?"
"Of course, my dear sticky spider."
They cleared the mat and began slowly going through the movements—smooth transitions, controlled breathing, and intentional shifts in mana. Elijah had to admit, it was strange but oddly intuitive. Like tai chi for mana users. His body flowed, stretched, turned… and his internal energy moved with it.
Tim guided him through a few repetitions, then let Elijah try solo. "Feel how your mana pools behind the heartline and rides the breath? That's how I stabilized my core. Took me about two weeks of daily practice."
Elijah nodded, already feeling faint sparks of energy swirl and align. "This… might actually help."
Tim smiled. "Told you."
As they wrapped up, Tim asked, "So… what about you? Any luck breaking through yet?"
Elijah shook his head. "Still in the Upper Initiate range. I'm close, but I don't think I'll reach Apprentice by the exams."
"Don't stress it. You're progressing faster than anyone I've seen. Just don't try to rush it. You're not Claro."
At that name, both boys instinctively glanced around. Claro Nova had been eerily quiet the last few weeks. No taunts, no flexes, no stunts. Just quiet, relentless training.
Too quiet.
—
In another wing of the campus, Claro Nova's fists slammed into a crystalline training dummy with enough force to crack the reinforced walls. Shards of his own power coated the chamber like shattered glass. His body, half-wrapped in armor made of living crystal, trembled with raw strain.
Still not enough.
He roared and punched again—harder, faster. Each blow chipped away at the dummy… and at himself.
His knuckles bled where the crystals had cracked and fused with his skin. He hadn't been able to control the armor's feedback loops since the last forced breakthrough. It burned. It throbbed. It screamed against his nervous system. But he couldn't stop. Not now. Not with Elijah creeping up in the rankings. Not with Tim clawing at his heels.
Not with his family watching.
"Claro Nova," a voice said from the shadows.
Claro turned, eyes bloodshot.
A man in faculty robes stepped into the light. His badge marked him as an advisor—but not from Claro's division.
"I've been watching your progress," the man said smoothly. "Impressive aggression. But raw power alone won't be enough."
"Then give me more," Claro snapped. "Whatever it takes."
The man's lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. "Very well."
A small rune crystal pulsed in his palm. "Just sign here."
Claro didn't hesitate. He didn't ask questions. He didn't read the fine print.
He just took the pen and signed.
—
Across the academy, students were pushing to their limits.
Brax—the living stone boy—stood in the middle of a spell-scorched ring, letting attack after attack slam into his granite-clad body. "I will not fall this time," he muttered, knuckles clenched.
Elsewhere, a heat manipulator cloaked herself in rippling mirages, dancing around foes who struck at illusions until they collapsed from exhaustion. "Let them chase ghosts," she whispered. "I'll be the storm they never see."
A shadow jumper darted between cover points, warping from beam to beam in a testing arena filled with obstacles and projectile turrets. His voice, cold and unreadable, echoed only in his mind. "I'll be a ghost among ghosts."
And so, across campus, the countdown ticked lower. The buzz grew louder. Tomorrow would bring orientation. The next day? The trials would begin.