The Sensariel Capital was silent the morning after the Double Bloom.
Not the usual quiet of dawn — this was engineered silence.Guards patrolled without speaking. Windows were shuttered. The clan's inner research district had been sealed to all but high elders.
Because today, Cirel Nazrawre would undergo his First Calibration Trial.
A trial that all sensariel new blooms must undergo to gain a deeper understanding of their awakened Biological system and or Divine Technique.
The Calibration Hall
The Calibration Hall was the most secure chamber in Sensariel territory — a spherical vault reinforced with composite metals, layered sound-deadening fields, and sensory dampeners designed specifically to test anomalous children.
Cirel walked beside two attendants, feet soft on the white floors. He wore a thin, sleeveless tunic — no ornament, no clan crest, no symbols that suggested expectation.
His eyes, pale and geometric, reflected everything.
Every vibration. Every temperature gradient. Every subtle pressure change.
Behind the observation glass, elders filled the room — anxious, stiff, whispering behind tablets.
His mother stood somewhere among them. Her heartbeat was shaky but steady.His father's was calm — forced, perhaps, but calm.
The Matriarch stood at the center, arms folded.
"Cirel Nazrawre," she called through the intercom. "Do you understand what this trial is for?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He looked around the chamber. He read the physics. He mapped the airflow patterns, the humidity, the material density of the floor beneath him.
He answered only after he finished.
"You want to explore the depths of my Eyes Lojun coupled with my Divine Technique "
Several elders tensed.
The Matriarch smiled faintly. "Yes."
The First Trial: Motion Transfiguration
The walls shifted. Pillars rose from the floor, forming a simple obstacle grid.
"We will begin with low-level stimuli," the Matriarch said. "Move through the course at a normal pace. Nothing more."
Cirel nodded.
He took one step.
Then another.
The world read like a full equation — force → motion → air displacement → friction → impact → response.
He didn't accelerate. He didn't flaunt speed. He simply walked.
But with each step, physics bent in ways no one could see.
Friction lessened gently under his soles.
The air parted more efficiently around his body.
The ground's resistance shifted ever so slightly to balance his posture.
He wasn't "using his power."
His perception was correcting the world passively.
An elder whispered:
"He's optimizing motion… subconsciously."
Another murmured:
"No effort… no activation… it's just happening."
Cirel reached the end of the grid in seconds.
He hadn't run.
He hadn't even tried.
He just existed — and that was enough to break the simulation's predictive models.
Trial Two: Kinetic Stress
The pillars sunk back into the floor.
From above, a mechanical arm descended, holding a dense vibranium-alloy sphere.
The Matriarch spoke:
"This device will strike you with controlled force. The impact is non-lethal, calibrated for durability testing. You must not avoid or negate it intentionally. Simply brace your body."
The elders expected him to be frightened.
He wasn't.
He observed the device. He watched the sphere's momentum curve, exactly three seconds from impact.
He let the machine swing—
And the moment it touched him…
The sphere slowed.
Not stopped. Slowed.
Cirel hadn't lifted a hand.He hadn't consciously rewritten anything.
Idle Rewrite had reacted on instinct — a flicker of transfiguration responding to perceived harm.
The kinetic force dissolved, bleeding harmlessly into air currents that curled away like mist dispersing.
The sphere tapped his shoulder like a soft nudge.
The machine detected the anomaly and shuddered to a halt.
Silence filled the hall.
The Matriarch exhaled sharply.
"He didn't resist the strike."
"No," an elder whispered, voice trembling. "The physics changed around the strike."
Another swallowed audibly:
"It didn't hit him because it couldn't."
Cirel looked down at his shoulder, analyzing the space that had shifted.
So that is the instinctive layer, he thought. Part of my Biology… or part of the Technique?
He couldn't tell. Not yet.
But it felt correct.
Like breathing.
Trial Three: Environmental Manipulation
This time, the room's temperature dropped.Frost built along the walls, and wind vortexes formed in the chamber's center.
"A basic climate simulation," the Matriarch said. "Observe and describe."
Cirel narrowed his eyes.
The equations were everywhere — swirling around pressure gradients, thermal distribution, humidity concentration.
He lifted his hand.
Just one finger moved.
The vortex dissolved.
The frost cracked silently.
The temperature normalized.
Not violently. Not aggressively. Gently — like a soft correction of flawed math.
The elders froze.
"He changed the environment."
The Fear That Spread Through the Glass
The Matriarch pressed her palm to the control panel.
"Cirel," she said quietly, "how did you change the temperature?"
He blinked once.
"It was inefficient."
She inhaled slowly.
"And…what did you do?"
"I rewrote the distribution of thermal energy. Only a little."
"Only a little," an elder echoed, horrified.
A child had casually performed a feat many warriors would fail at attempting.
A feat that required entire laboratories, satellites, and climate towers…
…Cirel had fixed because it bothered him.
The realization sank into the elders' bones like ice.
This boy…
Had no concept of what "impossible" meant.
The Matriarch Steps Forward
The chamber door slid open.
The Matriarch walked inside alone.
The guards stiffened, unsure whether to intervene.
She ignored them.
Cirel watched her footstep pattern — the slight shift in her center of mass — the way her breathing slowed to mask tension.
She stopped before him.
"Cirel Nazrawre," she said softly. "Your power is not dangerous because it is strong."
He tilted his head.
She continued:
"It is dangerous because it is effortless."
That made him pause.
Not because he disagreed.
But because it was the first time an adult had said something that felt like the truth.
"Do you worry I will misuse it?" he asked.
"No," she said.
"Then why—"
"I worry you will use it without realizing you have used it."
He went quiet.
She crouched to meet his eye level.
"You must learn restraint before you learn power. The world outside this capital is not ready for a child who can rewrite its rules while breathing."
Cirel listened.
And, for the first time since the Blooming, he felt something faintly unfamiliar.
Not fear. Not pride.
Responsibility.
A large, frightening shape of it — growing like a shadow behind the edges of his mind.
He nodded.
"I understand."
The Matriarch stood.
"Good," she said. "Then we begin your true training tomorrow."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"And, Cirel…"
He looked up.
"Do not use Idle Rewrite tonight. Not even by accident."
A low smile touched her lips.
"Try, at least."
She left the hall.
Cirel stared at the empty space she'd been standing in.
Do not use it…
He exhaled.
That would be the hardest test he'd faced yet.
Because now that he could feel physics…
…it begged to be rewritten.