The gray dust wouldn't wash off.
Cassian stood over the basin in his dormitory room, scrubbing his left hand with a rough brush and soap. The water in the bowl turned cloudy, then dark. Tiny flakes of skin floated on the surface, like ash from a burned letter. They didn't dissolve. They sat there, inert.
He scrubbed harder. The skin beneath was smooth, hard, and cold. No blood welled up. No pain registered. He was exfoliating a surface that wasn't fully alive.
Julian watched from his bed. He hadn't spoken since Cassian returned from the wards. He was staring at the basin.
"You're killing the water," Julian said quietly.
Cassian stopped scrubbing. He looked at the bowl. The water had stopped rippling. It looked viscous, thickened by the residue.
"It's just dirt," Cassian said.
"It's not dirt," Julian said. He stood up, keeping his back to the wall. "I saw what you did to the dummy. Wood doesn't explode like that unless there's mana involved. But you don't have mana. Verra said so."
Cassian dried his hand on a towel. The gray dust remained embedded in the fabric. He would have to burn it later.
"Verra sees what she wants to see," Cassian said. He pulled on a fresh glove. Leather, thick, dark. It covered the hand completely. "Don't talk about the dummy."
"If Thorne talks—"
"Thorne is afraid," Cassian said. He turned to face Julian. The boy flinched. Cassian hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't moved aggressively. But the air in the room felt heavy, pressurized. "He pushed me. He felt the resistance. He knows I'm not normal. Fear keeps mouths shut longer than loyalty."
Julian swallowed. He sat back down on his bed. "A summons came. While you were out."
Cassian stiffened. "From who?"
"Instructor Kael. His office. One hour."
Cassian checked the clock on the wall. Forty minutes.
He packed the towel into his satchel. He would burn it in the furnace later. He couldn't leave traces. If the academy analyzed the skin, they would find the density anomalies. They would find the foreign cellular structure. He would be in a cage before sunset.
"Thanks," Cassian said.
"Don't get expelled," Julian muttered. "I don't want a new roommate. They're always worse."
Cassian left the room.
The corridors were busy now. Students moved in clusters, laughing, shouting. Cassian walked through them like a stone in a stream. They parted instinctively. They sensed the weight of him. The densified bones made him heavier. His footsteps cracked the flagstones slightly. He focused on walking lightly, dampening the impact. It required constant concentration. Every step was a calculation.
He reached Instructor Kael's office. The door was oak, reinforced with iron bands. He knocked.
"Enter."
Cassian opened the door. Kael sat behind a desk covered in reports. He was a large man, scarred from decades of service on the borderlands. He didn't look up when Cassian entered. He finished writing a line, dipped his quill, then set it down.
"Close the door."
Cassian obeyed. The room was warm, heated by a mana-crystal in the corner. It made Cassian's skin itch. The heat aggravated the adaptation.
"Sit," Kael said.
Cassian sat. The chair creaked under his weight.
Kael leaned forward. He interlaced his fingers. His eyes were gray, flat, unreadable.
"Thorne filed a complaint," Kael said. "Assault. Coercion. Use of forbidden arts."
"Thorne pushed me," Cassian said. "I didn't move. He fell."
"Physics suggests otherwise," Kael said. He stood up. He walked around the desk. He stopped in front of Cassian. "I watched the duel. I watched the infirmary report. Verra says non-magical trauma. I say bullshit."
Cassian kept his hands on his knees. He kept his breathing steady.
"I don't care about rules, Vane," Kael said. He leaned in close. Cassian could smell tobacco and old sweat. "I care about results. The academy produces weapons. You look like a weapon. But weapons that misfire get melted down."
"I don't misfire," Cassian said.
"Prove it."
Kael extended his hand. He wasn't offering a handshake. He was offering a challenge. He placed his palm on Cassian's gloved left hand.
"Take off the glove."
Cassian hesitated. If Kael touched the skin, he would feel the cold. The hardness. The lack of pulse.
"Now," Kael said.
Cassian peeled off the glove.
The gray skin was visible in the dim light. It looked like scar tissue, but uniform. Kael pressed his thumb into Cassian's palm. He pushed hard.
Cassian's body reacted. The flesh beneath Kael's thumb hardened instantly, pushing back against the pressure. It was involuntary. A defensive reflex.
Kael's eyes widened. He felt it. He pressed harder. His own mana flared, a subtle pressure trying to penetrate Cassian's skin.
Cassian's body wanted to adapt. It wanted to analyze the mana, harden against it, consume it. He had to force it down. He had to stop the evolution.
He clenched his jaw. The effort felt like holding back a sneeze while bleeding. He suppressed the reflex. He kept his skin soft, pliable, human.
The strain sent a spike of pain through his skull. His nose began to bleed. Warm blood dripped onto his lap.
Kael pulled his hand away. He looked at his own thumb. There was a red mark where he had pressed. As if he had pushed against stone.
"Interesting," Kael said. He wiped his thumb on his robe. "Your body rejects external force. Kinetic and magical."
"It's a condition," Cassian said. He wiped his nose. The blood was dark, thick. "Family bloodline."
"Vane doesn't have a bloodline like this," Kael said. He walked back to his desk. "But I'm not Verra. I don't care about health codes. I care about the Dungeon Trial."
Cassian said nothing.
"You're going in," Kael said. It wasn't a question. "Most first-years stick to the entrance. Gather herbs. Kill rats. You're going deeper."
"Why?"
"Because I need data," Kael said. He sat down. "There are anomalies in the Northern Sector. Mana readings spiking. Students go in, they come out wrong. Or they don't come out."
Cassian felt a cold chill. In the book, the anomalies were caused by the *Sunheart Blade* waking up. Elian triggered them.
"If I find something?" Cassian asked.
"Bring it to me," Kael said. "Not the Headmaster. Me. I'll protect you from the politics. You give me the artifacts, I give you immunity."
It was a deal with a devil. But Cassian needed immunity. He needed the time to secure the blade before Elian arrived.
"What if I keep it?" Cassian asked.
Kael smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Then I tell the council about the skin. About the dummy. About the way you walk."
Cassian stood up. His legs felt heavy. The suppression had cost him. He could feel the gray tissue shifting beneath his clothes, agitated.
"I'll bring it to you," Cassian said.
"Good," Kael said. He picked up his quill. "Dismissed. And Vane? Wear the glove. You're making the other students nervous."
Cassian put the glove on. He pulled the leather tight over the dead fingers.
He walked out of the office. The corridor was cooler than the room. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes.
The nosebleed had stopped. He touched his lip. The skin there was hardening too. The adaptation was spreading to his face.
He had twenty-five days.
He pushed off the wall and started walking. He needed to prepare. The dungeon wasn't just beasts. It was the environment. The air itself was toxic deep down.
He needed to adapt his lungs.
The thought made him pause. To adapt his lungs, he needed to damage them. Suffocation. Poison.
He looked at his gloved hand. He flexed the fingers. They moved silently.
He was becoming a tool. A tool didn't need to breathe. A tool didn't need to feel.
He walked toward the library again. He needed to find the chemical composition of the dungeon air. He needed to know exactly what poison to inhale.
The sun was setting. The shadows stretched long across the stone flags. Cassian's shadow looked wrong. It was too broad. Too heavy.
He ignored it. He kept walking.
He had a list to make. *Lungs. Eyes. Heart.*
He would break them all. One by one. Until there was nothing left to break but the story itself.