The academy ran on measurements.
Astren realized that within his first week of proper classes.
Everything was tracked.
Attendance was tracked.
Progress was tracked.
Reaction time, control variance, output stability—tracked.
Even silence was tracked, somehow, through observation logs and instructor reports.
That morning, Astren sat in the back row of Applied Foundations, a lecture hall that looked more like a laboratory than a classroom. The room was wide and shallow, with long rows of stone desks embedded with thin metal lines. Those lines formed subtle grids, barely visible unless you were looking for them.
Measurement arrays.
Students filtered in, most of them relaxed. This was considered an "easy" class—no combat, no sparring. Just demonstrations and controlled testing.
Astren didn't relax.
He had already learned something important:
when the academy said controlled, it meant contained.
Instructor Halvek stood at the front, sleeves rolled up, his robe marked with neutral insignia. He wasn't Path-aligned openly, which meant he specialized in evaluation rather than combat.
"Today," Halvek said, voice calm, "we establish baselines."
A few students groaned.
"You will each interface with a resonance plate," Halvek continued. "It will record Path alignment, Circle depth, and stability. This is not a test. It is data collection."
Astren felt several people glance his way.
He kept his eyes on the desk.
Resonance plates were wheeled out—flat hexagonal slabs of dull metal, each etched with faint geometric patterns. Assistants placed them at the end of every row.
One by one, students stepped forward.
An Iron Path student pressed his palm down. The plate hummed softly. Numbers appeared in the air above it—clean, steady.
"Second Circle, high stability," Halvek said, nodding.
A Flame Path followed. Heat distortion flickered briefly. The plate adjusted.
"Second Circle, moderate volatility."
Everything worked.
Everything made sense.
Astren's turn came faster than he expected.
"Unassigned candidate," Halvek said, glancing at his slate. "Astren Veyra."
The room quieted—not dramatically, just subtly. Chairs stopped shifting. Breathing slowed.
Astren stood.
He walked to the plate.
Up close, he could see fine scratches along its surface. Old ones. Repaired ones.
This thing had been used on thousands of students.
It has expectations, he thought, and didn't know why.
"Place your hand flat," Halvek instructed. "Do not channel. Just stand."
Astren did.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then the plate emitted a low tone—not loud, but wrong. The etched lines shimmered, then stilled.
The numbers didn't appear.
Halvek frowned. "Again."
Astren lifted his hand and placed it back down.
The plate went silent.
Then—reset.
Lights flickered briefly along the desk grid.
A few students exchanged looks.
"Faulty contact," Halvek said, more to himself than to Astren. "Move along."
Astren stepped back.
Behind him, the next student tested perfectly.
No one laughed.
That was worse.
---
The second half of class involved reactive matrices—devices designed to respond to Path stimuli. Students were grouped in fours, rotating through stations.
Astren was assigned to a group with Calden, Lyra, and a quiet Light Path girl named Seris.
No one commented on the resonance plate incident.
They didn't need to.
At the first station, Calden demonstrated controlled Flow output. The matrix adjusted smoothly, tracking redirection angles and force dampening.
"Excellent," the assistant said. "Textbook."
Lyra followed. Mind Path readings spiked cleanly, forming neat patterns.
Seris went next. Light energy stabilized the matrix instantly, reinforcing its structure.
Then it was Astren's turn.
"This is a passive test," the assistant said. "Stand in the marked area."
Astren did.
He didn't push. Didn't focus. Didn't try.
The matrix hesitated.
Not dramatically—just enough that the assistant frowned.
"Hold," the assistant said.
The device attempted recalibration.
The grid lines beneath Astren's feet dimmed slightly.
Lyra noticed first. "Is it supposed to do that?"
The assistant checked his console. "It's reading interference."
Astren felt pressure behind his eyes—not pain, not dizziness. Just awareness. The space felt… crowded.
"I'm not doing anything," Astren said quietly.
"I know," the assistant replied, distracted. "That's the problem."
The matrix restarted.
This time, the readings spiked briefly—then collapsed into static.
The assistant swore under his breath.
Instructor Halvek approached.
"What's the issue?"
"Inconsistent resonance," the assistant said. "It won't lock onto anything."
Halvek studied Astren for a long moment.
"Step back," he said.
Astren obeyed.
The matrix stabilized instantly.
No one spoke.
Halvek turned to the assistant. "Log it as environmental noise."
The assistant hesitated. "…Yes, sir."
Astren caught Lyra watching him—not with fear, but calculation.
They moved on.
No one joked anymore.
---
The final station was supposed to be harmless.
A stress-response platform—designed to simulate sudden changes in environment while measuring Path reaction time. Non-lethal. Regulated.
Rovan, the Beast Path student, volunteered first.
He stepped onto the platform. The surface shifted slightly, generating uneven resistance.
Rovan adapted easily, muscles flexing.
"Good response," Halvek said. "Next."
Seris followed. Light reinforced her footing.
Calden redirected momentum smoothly.
Then Astren stepped forward.
Halvek hesitated.
Just for a moment.
"Proceed," he said.
Astren stepped onto the platform.
The surface shifted.
Too much.
The resistance spiked—not gradually, but sharply. The platform's stabilizers lagged.
Astren's balance faltered.
At the same moment, the platform recalculated—hard.
The force redirected sideways.
Rovan was still close.
The edge of the platform surged.
Rovan reacted on instinct, reinforcing his body—but the force wasn't aligned. It slipped past reinforcement and slammed into his side.
He was thrown.
Not far.
Far enough.
Rovan hit the stone floor with a sickening thud.
The room froze.
"MEDIC!" someone shouted.
The platform powered down abruptly, smoke rising from one of its seams.
Astren stood still.
His ears rang.
He hadn't moved.
He hadn't done anything.
Instructors flooded the room. Rovan groaned, clutching his ribs, breathing shallow but alive.
Halvek looked at the platform. Then at Astren.
Then away.
"Equipment failure," Halvek said sharply. "Class dismissed."
No one argued.
Astren left in silence.
Behind hi
m, the academy recorded the incident.
Official cause: mechanical malfunction.
Unofficial note: anomaly present.
Astren didn't know any of that yet.
He only knew one thing as he walked back to his quarters:
Nothing had touched him.
And someone still got hurt.