The School of Beliefs stood like a monolith above the rest of Nurael.
Not grand. Just old.
Stone columns scarred by weather. Ink-stained wood floors. Candles that never really went out, even when no one was watching.
It wasn't a school for the noble or elite. It wasn't designed to make anyone "special." It existed to do one thing:
help people understand their belief-born abilities.
Students came in with sparks behind their eyes, shouting things like:
> "I believe I can cut through lies!"
"I believe I will never be caged!"
"I believe I am made of thunder!"
And the Veil of Belief often answered them — with power, form, meaning.
But not for Biji.
She didn't shout.
She didn't even want to enroll.
But a messenger came one day — dusty cloak, old sandals, not much older than her. He handed her a sealed scroll. It had the stamp of the Arcane Inquisition.
A formal summons.
> "You've awakened. You must be evaluated."
She didn't argue. She just packed her things — not much — and walked uphill.
---
The Evaluation Room was circular, dim, and cold. The walls had seen a thousand awakenings. They bore names, etched by hand: Ares, Flame-Tongued. Myla, the Dream Echo. Sefrin, Mirrorblade. All names attached to known beliefs. Known powers. Known paths.
Biji stepped inside. The room felt like it was watching her.
An instructor stood by the sigil-ringed podium, his robes hanging loose.
His name was Instructor Haldein, a man who had once believed he could never forget anything. And so far, he hadn't.
He stared at her file, frowning. He looked at her. Then back at the paper.
Then back at her.
> "You… don't have a classification."
She said nothing.
> "Your belief… it was 'I can adapt and overcome.' Not rare. But what manifested from it…" He squinted. "Just question marks. Literally. Five of them."
He turned the paper for her to see.
Sure enough:
Ability: ?????
Not "Unknown." Not "Undefined." Just a series of printed question marks.
No aura readings. No elemental affinity. No effect logs.
Nothing.
He looked at her, almost offended.
> "Miss Biji, forgive the bluntness, but… what did happen to you?"
She shrugged.
> "Light came through the window. My hand felt heavy."
> "Did something appear?"
> "No."
> "Did something change?"
> "I don't know."
> "Do you feel… different?"
She paused. Then finally said:
> "I feel like the world flinched."
---
They kept her anyway. Gave her a room. Gave her a uniform.
She sat in classes while others learned how to throw stones with thoughts or walk on walls or bend words into ropes.
She didn't do anything.
Still, every instructor had her under quiet observation. And in the corner of every scroll, under every lesson plan, under every lunch report, someone had scribbled the same word:
"Observe ?????"
No one understood her.
Not even Biji.
And yet…
The Veil around the school grew thinner each day.
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