Ren was cleared to leave the medical wing three days later—and took his first careful steps out.
"Cleared" didn't mean whole.
His body still ached in ways he didn't have names for—deep, internal soreness that flared when he moved too fast or breathed too hard. The healers had warned him plainly: the damage wasn't visible, but it had been real. His meridians had been strained under force they weren't meant to carry yet.
So they let him walk.
Slowly.
With supervision.
Lior waited for him on the steps outside the medical hall, hands folded behind his back, posture relaxed but attentive. He wore the academy uniform easily—as if it belonged to him.
"Ready?" Lior asked.
Ren nodded.
They stepped out into the academy proper.
The scale of it hit him all at once.
From where Ren stood, wide stone paths cut between towering halls, every surface shaped with deliberate care. Training yards stretched farther than Ren could see—some carved into the earth itself, others raised on platforms ringed with faintly glowing runes. The air hummed with distant motion: impacts, shouted instructions, bursts of controlled mana.
But it wasn't just training.
It was discipline, enforced at every step.
A pair of students moved through a sparring pattern in perfect silence—no shouting, no flourish. Short bursts of wind snapped at their ankles, sharpening footwork beyond what muscle alone could manage. Every pivot was too clean. Every stop too precise.
Nearby, an instructor barked corrections at a line of students holding a low stance until their thighs trembled. Earth mana pressed into their legs like invisible weights, forcing their bodies to adapt or collapse. One student buckled; the stone beneath them thrummed and steadied them just enough to keep bones from cracking.
Farther down the courtyard, controlled strikes landed against reinforced targets—measured impacts, deliberate pacing. A ribbon of force snapped forward and split a hanging marker clean in two. Another student shaped a defensive plate mid-motion, caught a blow on it, then let it dissolve back into nothing.
Ren watched it all with his hands at his sides.
This isn't life, he thought.
This is preparation.
Then the air around them tightened.
Not heat yet.
Pressure.
A pulse rippled outward—mana brushing the skin like a passing wave. Warm. Fleeting.
Ren felt it before he understood it.
Lior's head turned at the same time.
Another pulse followed.
Stronger.
This one carried heat with it, faint but unmistakable, like a breath from a banked fire. The stone beneath Ren's feet hummed softly, a low vibration rising as if the ground itself was listening.
A third pulse rolled out.
Sharper.
Blue light flickered near the edge of a training ring.
Ren turned fully toward it.
Near the ring's edge, one student sat, legs crossed, back straight, hands resting loosely on their knees. Their eyes were closed. Sweat darkened their collar. Their breathing was slow and deliberate, each inhale dragged in like it had to push through resistance.
The air around them wavered.
Then it happened.
A wash of blue flame flickered around their body—thin and unstable, licking across arms and shoulders like it didn't know where to settle. Heat rolled outward in uneven waves, sharp enough to prickle Ren's skin.
The student's shoulders tensed.
Focused.
The flame surged once—wild—then snapped inward as if pulled by an unseen hand. The blue fire compressed under visible strain in a controlled rush.
Silence held for half a second.
Then the courtyard breathed again.
The student opened their eyes, chest heaving, staring down at their hands like they didn't quite trust them.
Slowly, cautiously, they lifted one palm.
A small blue flame sparked to life above it.
Controlled.
They fed it a careful push of mana.
The flame answered instantly—flaring larger, brighter, heat snapping outward in a clean surge that made nearby students gasp and take a step back. The improvement was obvious. Sharper. Stronger. Real.
The student laughed, short and breathless, and let the flame fade.
Hands clapped shoulders. Someone let out a low whistle. A few murmured comments passed through the crowd, impressed despite themselves.
Lior exhaled quietly beside Ren.
"This is what the academy's for," Lior said. "Breaking your own barriers."
Ren swallowed.
That wasn't talent.
It had been earned.
And suddenly, the academy didn't just feel overwhelming.
It felt inevitable.
He felt eyes on him—not staring, not openly hostile.
Measuring.
Whispers drifted past from nearby students.
"…that's him—headmaster took him anyway—"
"…missed the third trial, didn't he?"
"…so why's he here?"
"…must've seen something in him…"
Ren kept walking, jaw tight.
Each word landed wrong—not because they were cruel, but because they made it feel like he'd been carried across a line he hadn't earned on his feet.
Lior didn't slow.
He didn't explain.
He walked as if Ren was meant to be there beside him.
Ren felt it more than he expected.
They passed a row of lecture halls, doors standing open to the morning light. Ren caught fragments as they walked by—terms he recognized, others he didn't. Diagrams of meridian pathways hovered above slate boards in pale light. Students leaned forward in their seats, pens moving quickly.
So this is where it starts, he thought.
They continued on, the academy unfolding layer by layer until the dormitory towers rose before them—clean vertical stone, windows catching the light, banners marking different wings. Everything was orderly. Intentional. Built for people who planned to stay.
Lior led him inside and up a broad stairwell worn smooth by generations of use.
"This is your room," Lior said, stopping before a door etched with a simple sigil.
He handed Ren a small pouch.
"You missed your initial allowance while you were unconscious. This covers the first cycle. After that, you'll collect it yourself from the registrar near the treasury hall."
Ren took the pouch automatically.
It was heavier than he expected.
Later, alone, he would count it and feel his stomach drop at the number. More money than he'd ever held at once. Enough to matter.
Enough to send home.
But for now, he just nodded. "Thank you."
Lior hesitated, then added, "Classes begin next week. You'll be told where to go. You won't miss it."
He turned to leave—then paused.
"If you need somewhere quiet," Lior said, not looking back, "there's a terrace beyond the east wing. Fewer people pass through there."
Ren looked up. "Why tell me that?"
Lior smiled faintly.
"Because I needed it."
Then he left.
Ren closed the door behind him.
The room was small.
Bare.
Real.
He sat on the edge of the bed and let the silence settle.
After a moment, he looked out the narrow window toward the academy towers rising beyond the stone.
He stayed there, breathing slowly, knowing this place wasn't given.
It was something he'd have to earn.