Vane was the first one out of Training Dome 3, expelled from the ring twenty minutes before the session was officially scheduled to end. He walked away from the arena, the heat of humiliation still burning the back of his neck. He could feel the eyes of the golden children boring into his back until the automatic doors hissed shut behind him.
He had time to kill before his next class.
He wandered through the academic sector of Zenith. It felt less like a school and more like a monument to impossible wealth. The walkways were sweeping arcs of white marble suspended over nothing but clouds and the distant, churning blue of the Abyssal Ocean miles below. The railings were filigreed gold, set with softly glowing mana stones that pulsed with a steady rhythm.
Everything was clean. There was no soot, no mud, no smell of unwashed bodies or cheap alchemical runoff like in Oakhaven. The air here was thin, cold, and smelled only of ozone and crushed pine.
Huge vaulted archways led to different sector buildings, each one a fortress of knowledge built from materials that would bankupt a small kingdom. He passed the Great Library, a towering spire of stained glass that seemed to trap the sunlight inside it. He passed the Artificer Halls, where the sound of dwarven hammers ringing against star-metal echoed like church bells.
He was a rat running through a palace built for gods. He didn't belong here. Rowan had seen it instantly. He had the uniform and the rank, but underneath, he was still just a thug holding a weapon he didn't understand.
He eventually found Sector 7, a squat, bunker-like building made of dark, mana-dampening basalt. The sign above the heavy iron door read: Mana Control & Resonance Lab.
The door was unlocked. Vane stepped inside.
The lab was cavernous and circular, the air noticeably heavier than outside. The walls were lined with complex baffling meant to absorb stray magical discharges. In the center of the polished stone floor was a large circular diagram inlaid with silver, divided into twenty segments.
Vane was alone. He walked to one of the segments near the back wall and sat down on the cold stone, crossing his legs. He waited.
Ten minutes later, the door opened. The rest of Class 1-A filed in. The chatter died instantly when they saw him already seated. They gave him a wide berth as they found their own spots on the diagram. Anastasia took the position directly facing the front, radiating serene confidence. Valerica took a spot near the door, moving with careful deliberation.
They looked at him with a new kind of judgment now. Before, he was an unknown threat. Now, after the spear fiasco, he was a known incompetence.
The door closed. No professor entered.
"You are uncomfortable," a voice murmured, seeming to originate from the air right next to Vane's ear.
He flinched, looking around.
A woman materialized in the center of the silver diagram. She hadn't walked in; she had simply faded into existence like a sketch being drawn on the air.
Professor Elara was not what Vane expected. She was old, shrunken with age, her skin like crumpled parchment. She wore heavy, layered robes of unadorned grey wool that looked itchy and practical. Most strikingly, a thick band of golden cloth was wrapped tightly around her eyes, completely blinding her. Her hands, clasped in front of her, were gnarled and covered in fine silvery scars that looked like lightning strikes frozen in flesh.
She didn't turn her head to address the class. She stood perfectly still, yet Vane felt an intrusive, tingling sensation crawl over his skin, as if he were being scanned by thousands of tiny, invisible fingers.
"I do not see your faces," Elara said, her voice scraping like dry leaves. "I see only your resonance. Some of you burn like signal fires. Others flicker like dying candles. And some," her head tilted fractionally toward Valerica, "are dense enough to warp the air around them."
She unclasped her scarred hands.
"Instructor Rowan tests the chassis. Professor Vyla tests the targeting computer. I am here to test the engine. This is a diagnostic lab. Today, we determine your aspect."
She began to walk slowly around the inner circle of the diagram, never stumbling, navigating by a sense Vane couldn't understand.
"Mana manifests in humanity through two primary channels," she lectured. "The Mind, and the Body. Every mage uses both, but very few are born balanced.
"The Mind Aspect is external projection. It is the ability to shape mana outside your body into complex constructs—fireballs, shields, illusions. It requires delicate mental architecture, fine control, and stability.
"The Body Aspect is internal realization. It is the ability to flood your own tissues with mana, reinforcing bone, accelerating healing, and generating raw physical force. It requires robust channels and high tolerance for internal pressure."
She stopped walking.
"The Academy does not expect you to master both. We expect you to master what you are. Today, we find out which one that is. Test one: External Stabilization."
She held out a withered hand. Above her palm, a perfect, motionless sphere of white light manifested. It was dead silent and absolutely stable.
"Form a basic mana sphere. Hold it. Do not let it waver. Begin."
Vane closed his eyes. He reached inside, grabbing a handful of his dense, potent mana. He tried to push it out through his palm and shape it into a ball.
It was agonizing. It felt like trying to sculpt water with chopsticks. A fuzzy, sputtering blob of sickly yellow light appeared over his hand. It pulsed erratically, bleeding energy into the air. He tried to clamp down on it mentally, to force it into a smooth shape, but the harder he tried, the more unstable it became. It hissed and vanished.
He opened his eyes, sweating. He looked around.
Anastasia sat perfectly still. Above her palm floated a sphere of golden light so stable it looked like a solid gold marble. She was a born Mind type.
Isaac was reading a pocket book with one hand, a perfect sphere of ice-blue mana floating idly over the other.
Then there was Valerica.
She was frowning in concentration. Above her hand was a sphere of deep purple mana. It wasn't a sphere so much as a fluctuating blob of terrifyingly dense power. Vane could feel the gravitational tug of it from ten feet away. It vibrated violently, emitting a low, dangerous hum. She was pouring oceans of power into a container meant for a cup of water.
With a sharp crump sound, the sphere collapsed inward and detonated. A wave of purple force rippled out, knocking over the student next to her.
Valerica looked mortified.
Elara didn't even flinch. "Subject Sol. Extremely high density. Zero external containment webbing. Body dominant."
She turned her blindfolded face toward Vane. "Subject Vane. High potency. Poor external modulation. Your mana leaks like a sieve when it leaves your skin."
Vane clenched his jaw. Another failure.
"Test two," Elara announced immediately. "Drop the spheres. Now, turn that mana inward. I want you to cycle your maximum safe output through your primary cardiovascular channels. Reinforce your own bodies. Do not let it leak out."
Vane hesitated. This was what he did when he used [Dash] or [Iron Skin], but those were Skills that did the work for him. He had to do this manually.
He took a breath and pulled the mana from his core, flooding it into his veins instead of pushing it out.
It was effortless.
His mana channels were wide and scarred, abused from years of forcing stolen, high-grade skills through a low-grade body. They were meant for high-volume transport. The mana rushed through him like water in a sluice gate. His skin felt tight, his muscles hummed with latent power, his senses sharpened. He felt strong. He felt capable. He contained the torrent without spilling a drop.
He opened his eyes.
Elara was standing right in front of him.
"Interesting," she whispered. "Your external control is childlike, yet your internal channels are... seasoned. Like an old riverbed that has seen many floods. You are overwhelmingly Body dominant."
She moved on.
Valerica was sitting statue-still. The air around her wasn't warping anymore. Her skin had taken on a faint, metallic sheen. She looked unbreakable. She was perfectly comfortable containing that ocean of power inside herself.
Then Vane looked at Anastasia.
The golden princess was frowning. A faint sheen of sweat appeared on her brow. Her skin glowed softly, but it flickered. She looked uncomfortable, like she had eaten something too rich. Her delicate, refined channels, perfect for weaving intricate spells outside her body, were straining under the pressure of containing raw reinforcement.
"Subject Aurelia," Elara noted dryly. "Mind dominant. Your internal structure is fragile. Do not rely on physical reinforcement in a prolonged engagement; you will burn out your own nerves."
Elara walked back to the center of the diagram.
"The diagnosis is complete. Most of you are hybrids leaning one way or the other. A few of you are extremes."
She turned her blind face toward Vane and Valerica.
"Do not waste your time trying to be what you are not. If you are a hammer, do not try to be a scalpel. From next week, the lab will split. Those with Mind aptitude will focus on complex weaving. Those with Body aptitude will focus on internal compression and reinforcement flow."
She dismissed them with a flick of her scarred hand.
Vane left the basalt bunker, the cool air of the high altitude hitting his flushed face.
He wasn't stupid. He was just using the wrong tools. He had tried to wield a spear like a dagger, and he had tried to cast spells like a mage.
He was a Body aspect thief with no foundation. He had raw stats and stolen abilities, but no idea how to connect them. Rowan had seen the lack of physical foundation. Elara had seen the lack of magical foundation.