Chapter 6: Control and Chaos
The essence control trial took place in the academy's inner courtyard, where smooth stone had been carved with measurement circles. Each circle pulsed with faint luminescence, designed to react to essence output. Simple in concept, brutal in execution.
Instructor Kael stood beside a table loaded with glass orbs, each one hollow and waiting. "Essence control measures three factors: capacity, purity, and manipulation. You'll channel essence into these orbs. The orb will display your output as colored light. Green minimum for passage. Blue is exceptional. Purple is prodigy level."
She held up an orb, demonstrating. "Black or red indicates contamination. Immediate failure and possible medical intervention."
Orin's stomach clenched. The void stone absorbed contaminated essence and purified it, but output was different from storage. He had no idea what would happen if he pushed essence outward instead of pulling it in.
"Candidates will be tested alphabetically. Step forward when called."
The first candidate was a green-stone named Aldric, built like a siege weapon and probably as subtle. He placed his hand on the orb. His birthstone flared, essence flooding through the connection. The orb lit up green, bright and steady.
"Adequate capacity, good purity," Kael announced. "Pass."
More candidates cycled through. Green-stones produced green light, occasionally touching blue. Blue-stones managed pale green, their lesser capacity evident but sufficient. One blue-stone girl pushed hard enough that her orb flickered blue for three seconds before exhaustion dropped it back to green.
Then the first blackstone was called.
The boy approached the orb like it might bite him. Probably accurate. He pressed his palm to the glass, face straining with concentration. His birthstone barely glowed. The orb remained dark for five seconds, then produced a light so dim it was almost gray.
"Insufficient capacity," Kael said, not unkindly. "Dismissed."
The boy left, shoulders bent under invisible weight.
Two more blackstones tried. Both failed. The crowd's mood shifted from anticipation to confirmation. Of course blackstones couldn't pass. Their stones were fundamentally insufficient. Watching them try was like watching someone drown slowly while pretending they might suddenly grow gills.
"Orin Fox."
The courtyard's attention shifted to him with the lazy interest of people watching predetermined outcomes. Even the green-stones who'd finished looked over, probably enjoying the entertainment value of watching poverty fail publicly.
Orin approached the orb. Up close, it was larger than he'd thought, the glass perfectly smooth and cold beneath his fingers. Inside, faint essence residue from previous candidates swirled like smoke.
*Just enough,* he told himself. *Push enough to pass, not enough to question.*
The problem was he had no baseline for comparison. No idea what his actual capacity looked like, how the void stone would interpret an outward flow instead of the constant inward hunger it preferred.
He closed his eyes, focused on the birthstone embedded in his palm. The silver specks were moving faster now, agitated by proximity to the orb or maybe sensing his intention.
*Push. Gently.*
He felt essence move inside him, not like liquid but like potential made tangible. It flowed from wherever the void stone stored it, through channels in his hand, toward the orb's waiting emptiness.
The orb lit up.
Green. Solid, steady green that held without flickering.
The courtyard went quiet.
Orin kept pushing, maintaining the flow, counting seconds. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The orb's light remained constant, neither dimming nor brightening.
"Adequate capacity," Kael said, her voice carefully neutral. "Maintain for thirty seconds total."
Twenty seconds. Twenty-five. Orin felt no strain, no exhaustion. The void stone seemed content to feed essence to the orb like it was just another absorption in reverse. Unlimited storage meant unlimited output, apparently.
Thirty seconds.
He released the connection. The orb's light faded slowly, reluctant to surrender the essence.
Kael was staring at him with an expression that suggested she was recalculating everything she thought she knew about birthstones. "Purity is exceptional. Output duration well above blackstone standard." She paused. "Step aside."
Orin moved to the passed candidates section, feeling eyes on him like targeting markers. Caius Vermillion was watching with open interest now, his handsome face arranged into something approaching respect. The other green-stones looked confused, annoyed that their assumptions about blackstones had been challenged.
Maya, still in the failed section, looked like she'd seen a ghost. Her lips formed his name without sound.
The remaining candidates completed their trials. Two more blackstones failed, confirming the natural order. Then testing finished, and Kael was tallying results with an assistant.
"Seventeen passed," she announced. "Final trial begins in one hour. Combat evaluation. You'll face a controlled opponent and demonstrate fighting capability. Survival is mandatory. Victory is preferred."
The candidates dispersed. Orin found a corner, tried to process what the void stone had just done. The essence output had felt natural, effortless. Like the stone could manipulate flow in both directions without strain.
*What else can it do?*
The question sat in his mind like a splinter. He'd been so focused on absorption and attributes that he hadn't explored actual capabilities. Could he manipulate elements like green-stones? Project his essence as attacks? The void stone interface showed an affinity as "Void Manipulation [LOCKED]." What did unlocking require?
"That was quite a performance."
Orin looked up. Caius stood there, arms crossed, studying him like a puzzle that had just revealed an unexpected piece.
"Just passed the trial."
"Just barely exceeded every blackstone on record." Caius sat uninvited, close enough to make the proximity deliberate. "You know what I think? I think that weaving ceremony damaged your birthstone in an interesting way. Broke something that was supposed to limit you."
"Or maybe blackstones just need better opportunities."
"Maybe." Caius didn't sound convinced. "Tell me, Fox. What's your plan here? Pass the exams, can't afford tuition, go home with a story about almosts? Or are you playing a longer game?"
Orin met his eyes, finding calculation there. Not hostility exactly, but the cold assessment of someone deciding if you were threat or tool. "Why do you care?"
"Because anomalies interest me. Because the system is broken and stagnant, and anything that breaks patterns might be useful." Caius leaned back, casual as discussing weather. "My family has resources. Scholarships for promising candidates. If you survive the combat trial and demonstrate real potential, I could arrange sponsorship."
The offer landed like a blade hidden in silk. Generous on the surface, obligations underneath. "In exchange for what?"
"Loyalty. Service. Nothing dramatic. Just remembering who helped when you were nothing." Caius smiled, all aristocratic charm and underlying steel. "Think about it. Better than dying poor and forgotten."
He stood, left without waiting for response. The conversation felt like a trap that hadn't sprung yet, just sat there waiting for Orin to put a step wrong.
*Resources. Training. A path forward.*
The temptation was physical, a hunger separate from the void stone's demands. But accepting help from people like Caius meant accepting their definitions of payment. Debt was just slavery with paperwork.
"Candidates, assemble for combat trial!"
The courtyard had been rearranged. Now it held a combat circle, twenty feet across, marked with white paint that probably had some ceremonial significance. Around the circle's edge, practice weapons were stacked: wooden swords, blunted spears, padded clubs.
Instructor Kael stood beside a man Orin hadn't seen before. Tall, scarred, his green birthstone visible on a hand that looked like it had broken people professionally. His eyes were dead calm, the particular emptiness that came from seeing too much violence and deciding emotions were optional.
"This is Instructor Varen," Kael announced. "Combat veteran, he specializes in essence-enhanced martial techniques. He'll be your opponent. The fight lasts three minutes or until submission. Demonstrate combat capability and survival instinct. Lethal force is prohibited. Permanent maiming is discouraged."
Varen smiled at that last part. Discouraged wasn't prohibited.
"First candidate."
Aldric stepped forward, selected a wooden sword. He entered the circle, essence already flooding his system. His muscles swelled, green-stone enhancement making him dangerous.
Varen picked up a practice staff with the casual ease of someone holding a favorite toy.
The fight lasted forty seconds. Varen moved with economy that made Aldric's trained aggression look like flailing. Three strikes: kneecap, solar plexus, throat. Aldric went down choking, defeated but alive.
"Pass. Adequate form, predictable technique, acceptable resilience."
Candidate after candidate entered the circle. Green-stones lasted longest, their essence enhancement giving them speed and power that almost made them competitive. Blue-stones fought hard, lost harder.
Varen was dismantling them with clinical precision, finding weaknesses, exploiting them, teaching lessons through controlled brutality.
One green-stone girl managed to land a hit, catching Varen's shoulder with a staff strike. He nodded approval, then swept her legs and put her down anyway.
"Pass. Good adaptation, needs refinement."
Then it was Orin's turn.
He selected a wooden sword, testing its weight. Lighter than expected, balanced for speed over power. He entered the circle, feeling seventeen sets of eyes watching for entertainment or confirmation.
Varen studied him with professional interest. "Blackstone. Don't see many of you this far into trials."
"Trying to change that."
"Admirable." Varen's staff moved in a lazy circle, testing range. "Ready?"
Orin nodded, settling into a guard position he'd learned from fighting in the streets. Not proper form, but functional. Adaptable.
Varen attacked.
The staff came fast, a probing strike at Orin's knee. He shifted, letting it pass close enough to feel wind resistance. He then countered with a sword thrust that Varen deflected casually.
"Good instinct. Too slow."
Another strike, higher. Orin blocked, felt the impact shudder through his arms. Thirty-seven strength kept his grip from breaking. He circled, looking for openings that probably didn't exist.
Varen pressed forward, staff work flowing like water, each strike connecting to the next in patterns Orin couldn't predict. He blocked some, dodged others, took hits on his shoulder and thigh that would've crippled him a week ago.
Thirty-seven durability turned crippling blows into painful bruises.
"You're tough," Varen observed, increasing tempo. "Tougher than blackstones should be."
The staff swept low. Orin jumped, brought his sword down in an overhead strike that Varen deflected. But the deflection created space, and space meant opportunity.
Orin pressed forward, using the sword like a bludgeon rather than a blade. Fast strikes, no technique, just aggression backed by attributes that shouldn't exist. He caught Varen's ribs with a solid hit that made the instructor grunt.
"Better. Still messy, but better."
Varen's counterattack was educational. The staff became a blur, striking angles Orin couldn't track. His sword went flying. A strike to his stomach folded him. Another to his back put him on the ground.
He rolled, avoiding the finishing blow, came up empty-handed and gasping.
Thirty seconds left.
Varen advanced, staff ready. Orin grabbed dirt, threw it. Cheap trick, street fighting at its finest. It bought two seconds while Varen blinked the grit away.
Orin closed distance, got inside the staff's reach, grabbed Varen's wrist. Thirty-seven strength versus green-stone enhancement. They were nearly equal.
Varen looked surprised for half a heartbeat. Then he smiled, genuinely pleased, and headbutted Orin.
The world flashed white. Orin tasted copper, felt his grip breaking. Varen threw him, casual as discarding trash. He hit the circle's edge, rolled, got his feet under him through sheer spite.
Ten seconds.
"Time!" Kael called.
Orin stood there, bleeding from his nose, ribs screaming, everything hurting. But standing. Alive.
Varen walked over, extended a hand. Orin took it and let the instructor pull him up.
"Pass," Varen said. "Unconventional technique, excellent resilience, surprising strength. You fight like someone with nothing to lose."
"Accurate assessment."
"Good. Makes you dangerous." Varen clapped his shoulder, probably intending camaraderie but delivering yet more pain. "See you in classes.. thats if you can afford them of course." He said with a genuine smile.
Orin left the circle, joined the passed candidates. Seventeen had entered the final trial. Fourteen were still standing. Him included.
Kael reviewed her notes, then addressed them. "Congratulations. You've passed entrance requirements. Conditional acceptance pending tuition payment of twenty gold marks per term. Payment due in three days."
Twenty gold marks. Might as well have said twenty thousand. The number was fantasy, impossible.
Around him, candidates celebrated or calculated. Green-stones looked satisfied. Blue-stones looked worried but hopeful.
Orin looked at his hands, at the void stone hidden beneath cloth, and wondered if power without resources was just another kind of poverty.
Caius caught his eye across the courtyard, raised an eyebrow. The offer hung there, unspoken and patient.
Twenty gold marks or servitude to nobility. Freedom starving in the streets or survival on someone else's leash.