Chapter 40 – Shadow of the Second Trial
When Seryn finished the line "First Trial Notes – Not power, but trace," the ink was still wet.
There was a faint tremor in the fingers holding the pen, but his mind was steady. The exam questions, the formation hanging like a net above their heads, the Temple gallery… all of it remained sharp in his memory.
The candle on the desk was nearly burned down. Its flame leaned with every breath he took, then straightened again, stubbornly clinging to its shape.
Seryn listened to the gray vibration beneath his ribs. Just like during the exam—not fully awake, not fully dormant.
Three firm knocks cut through the silence.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He set the pen down. "Come in."
The door opened; the footsteps that entered were not a servant's. Wrapped in violet robes, Seraphine stepped into the dim light—sharp features, unshaken posture.
"It's not lesson hour," Seryn said. "It's late."
"This isn't a lesson," Seraphine replied. "It's preparation. For tomorrow's control trial."
She paused a moment, her eyes sliding over the scattered notes on his desk. "There are others waiting for you downstairs. Come."
There was no frantic urgency in her tone, but the fact that she had come herself, at this hour, said enough.
Seryn rose and threw his cloak over his shoulders. "Temple or Empire?"
"Both," she said. "But the ones in the room are us. They're only watching."
That was not exactly comforting.
---
The chill of the northern stairwell climbed from his soles to his knees as they descended.
The corridors were empty; only a patrol of guards passed in the distance, spears glinting in the torchlight. Even at night, the Academy never truly slept—it just breathed more carefully.
They reached the small laboratory under the ritual wing.
Someone waited at the door, red robes and a cold gaze: Calden Mire.
"Right on time," Calden said. "Good."
Seraphine opened the door. "Inside."
The moment Seryn stepped in, he felt it—the difference in the air. A thin metallic scent of mana, the warmth of freshly inscribed stones, and… a different, clinical clarity. Temple work.
Three more figures lined the wall. Two priests, heads slightly bowed. Between them, in green-black embroidered robes, stood Inquisitor Atheon.
His smile was once again silk-smooth, his voice too calm, too measured.
"Congratulations on your little fluctuation today, Seryn Daskal," he said. "The formation tried to talk to you, and you answered. That is a rare… aptitude."
"Or a nightmare," Seryn thought, without letting it show.
He kept his voice level. "I just breathed. The formation did the overthinking."
Atheon chuckled. "Even breathing leaves a trace. We're only trying to understand its shape."
Seraphine stepped in, her tone sharp as ice. "Let's not forget the limits. This is not the official control exam. This 'pre-measurement' is for Academy records only."
"Of course," Atheon said smoothly. "Only the Academy."
His eyes did not treat "only" as a real word.
Calden gestured to a crystalline sphere on the table. "Hand on the crystal, Seryn. Simple sync test. Mind exercise, mana control, breath alignment. A small rehearsal for tomorrow."
Seryn studied the crystal. It was large, but the light inside was tight and narrow, folded into a dense line at the center. Temple-calibrated—just like the desk-stones, only more direct.
"Only you and the crystal," Seraphine said. "I'll give the cues."
That eased him, if only slightly. At least she would be the one steering.
Seryn placed his hand on the crystal. The glass was cold, but the mana within felt more like dry heat than true frost.
"Ready?" Seraphine asked.
"Yes."
"Three breaths," she said. "Four short in, two short out. The rhythm you know."
Seryn shut his eyes. Inhale: four short counts.
Exhale: two short.
The light inside the crystal dimmed, then brightened again. It shifted between gray and white, curling in fine lines. Unusual, but not chaotic.
Calden made a note. "No spike. No collapse. Interesting…"
Atheon tilted his head. "Let's go a little deeper."
Seraphine's gaze hardened for a heartbeat. "We know the limit."
"I have infinite respect for your laboratory," Atheon said. "But if tomorrow's trial is going to explode, it would be useful to know today."
Seraphine did not answer; she only looked at Seryn. "Continue. But your border is your own."
My own border.
It was one of the few phrases he'd always needed to hear.
---
"Second phase," Seraphine said. "Widen the flow, same breathing. Don't let it pick up speed on its own."
Seryn pushed the gray current out from his chest to his arm in a thin line. Normal mana and the gray power did not want to mix; they spoke in different tongues. He stood between them, a translator.
The light in the crystal swelled. For a heartbeat, a sharp gray flash. Then it softened.
He felt the net then: an invisible film testing the pressure. This wasn't the same wide net from the exam—it was narrower, local, a probing lens.
"Good," said Calden. "Still under his own control. Pressure curve stable."
Atheon ran his fingers along a string of prayer beads. "And yet… outside the ordinary."
One of the priests whispered, "It doesn't resist, but it doesn't fully harmonize either."
Seryn opened his eyes slowly. "If I'm supposed to fit into a convenient shape for you," he said quietly, "I'm in the wrong building."
Seraphine smiled despite herself. Calden's eyebrow ticked upward.
Atheon's smile did not change.
"On the contrary," Atheon replied. "That's exactly why you're interesting here."
The follow-up added no comfort.
"Final phase," Seraphine said. "Stand on the border of your flow. Neither push nor choke it. That's the line you'll be walking tomorrow."
Seryn held the gray power in the center of his chest. One more step and he might disrupt any formation they put on him; one step back and he would look like an ordinary student.
He chose the middle.
Neither fully hidden, nor fully bared.
The crystal seemed to hang in place. The light inside flickered three times and settled—not bright, not extinguished, just lowered to a muted tone.
Calden glanced at Seraphine. "This result…?"
Seraphine thought for a heartbeat. Then simply said:
"Tomorrow's control exam… won't blow up."
"At last, a modest goal," Atheon remarked dryly.
"Right now, it's the most important one," Seraphine replied.
Seryn lifted his hand off the crystal. A faint tingling remained in his fingertips.
Atheon stepped closer; the distance was polite, but mana-wise uncomfortably tight.
"Remember this," he said softly. "No matter how much you hide, one day everything comes out. Light. Shadow. All of it."
Seryn did not look away. "When that day comes, I'd prefer to decide whose eyes are watching."
For the first time, Atheon fell silent for a moment.
"We'll see," he said at last.
---
By the time Seryn left the laboratory, night had thickened. Seraphine and Calden remained inside; the priests vanished down side corridors, Atheon slipped through another door.
As he turned into the northern hall, he spotted a figure waiting by the wall.
The lantern light didn't reveal the face at once, but the posture was familiar.
Lucien.
"Of course you'd be down there," Lucien said. "Not surprised."
"You were listening," Seryn replied.
"I didn't have to," Lucien answered. "Seeing Temple robes on their feet at this hour says enough."
His voice carried no mockery, only fatigue and a drawn wire's tension.
"You were the one who stirred the formation during the theory exam," Lucien continued. "I recognized some faces in the gallery. They whispered your name."
"Names are always whispered," Seryn said. "By the time they're shouted, someone's usually dead."
Lucien's lips thinned. "I work. I prepare. I follow the rules. And still, you're the one everyone talks about. Do you know why?"
"Because you can't stop watching me," Seryn said. "That doesn't exactly help."
The words were sharp, but his tone remained calm. Lucien was silent for a second, then let out a breath.
"No," he said quietly. "Because you look like a sign of something none of us understand. The Temple looks at you. The Empire looks at you. Even Valen… watches you more closely than he watches me. It bothers me."
"It bothers me too," Seryn said. "The difference is: I'm getting used to it. You're still fighting it."
Lucien's gaze didn't soften, but it didn't harden further either. "Tomorrow is the control exam. If something happens and it all falls on our heads… will I find you in front of me or next to me?"
It was a naked question.
Seryn didn't take long to answer. "In the exam… I don't want anyone in front of me. But if something snaps, I'll defend the line I set for myself. If that puts us on opposite sides, that will be your choice as much as mine."
"At least you're honest," Lucien muttered.
The distance between them didn't disappear, but the ground beneath it felt clearer.
"Prepare well, Daskal," Lucien said. "Tomorrow isn't just about control. Tomorrow decides who writes 'problem' next to your name."
"I know," Seryn replied.
Lucien turned and walked away; his steps echoed on the stone. Seryn remained where he was for a moment, letting the words settle.
---
Back in his room, he didn't relight the candles. Moonlight slipping through the window traced the edge of the desk, the cracks in the wall, the tired rise of the mattress.
He sat on the bed and leaned back against the wall. The gray light stirred softly in his chest.
He had hidden it in the theory exam.
Held it at the border in the lab.
What would he do tomorrow, in the control hall?
Suppress it completely and become the neat "mana profile" they wanted?
Or throw it wide open and invite not just notes and suspicion, but possibly something much worse?
Walking the middle—neither fully exposed, nor fully erased—looked like the hardest path.
And the only livable one.
He spoke aloud, louder than a whisper, to the empty room.
"It's not about hiding the gray," he said. "It's about not letting anyone else hold it."
He folded his arms across his chest and began counting breaths.
Four short in. Two short out.
Tomorrow, in the control hall, he would breathe to the same rhythm.
But this time, he intended to make his decision before the formation tried to make one for him:
He would choose how much to show. How much to keep his own.
Outside, the bell rang for watch rotation.
Only a few hours remained until dawn.
Seryn closed his eyes.
He was not resting for sleep.
He was resting for the line he'd walk.
---
💬 Author's Note (EN):
This chapter dug deeper into the gap between "being measured" and "choosing what to reveal." Seryn is no longer just trying to survive exams; he's actively shaping the way others can read him. In the next chapter, we'll step into the control trial itself—where the real conflict won't be raw strength, but whether Seryn's will or the Temple's systems define what his power is allowed to be. ⚔️