The first trial for the new intake was held in the "Sub-Zero Vault," a pocket of stabilized space pulled from an ancient sect's ruin. The air inside wasn't air; it was a physical weight. As the heavy iron doors groaned open, a wave of pressure rolled out, causing the "Genius" students in the front row to stumble.
"Thirty minutes," the Proctor announced, his own voice strained. "If you can't breathe, you don't belong here."
Teyrin entered first, his Solar Flow flaring like a torch to push back the weight. Others followed, their movements sluggish, their faces turning a panicked shade of red. To them, the vault was a vacuum.
Kael walked in last. He didn't flare any energy. He didn't struggle. To a boy who had spent sixteen years rowing against the Iron-Vein's mercury currents, this wasn't pressure—it was a homecoming. He walked past Teyrin, who was currently on one knee, gasping for air that felt like liquid lead.
Kael reached the center of the vault and sat down. He closed his eyes. He didn't "cultivate" in the way they understood. He simply let his body settle. The internal hammer of his Stage 3 foundation met the external pressure of the vault. The sound of his bones settling was like the crack of a whip in the silent chamber.
"He's... he's sleeping," someone wheezed from the floor.
Kael wasn't sleeping. He was feeling the way the ancient pressure tried to find a flaw in his structure. It found none. While the "Kings" of the Academy fought for every breath, Kael breathed deeply, his lungs expanding against the crushing weight without a single tremor. He was the only one who didn't leave the room when the doors opened; they had to drag the others out.