The academy didn't react loudly to what happened.
That was the worst part.
No whispers followed me down corridors. No pointed fingers. No sudden distance from instructors. If anything, the world behaved as if nothing had changed. Classes continued. Bells rang. Meals were served.
But people noticed anyway.
They always do.
My friends tried to act normal at first. Too normal. Louder jokes. Longer conversations. Invitations I didn't remember receiving before. It was like they were compensating for something none of us wanted to name.
At breakfast, the boy from the river provinces shoved a plate toward me. "Eat," he said. "You look like you're about to disappear again."
"I'm fine."
"You weren't."
I picked at the bread. He watched me chew like it mattered.
The vineyard kid leaned back on his chair. "You know," he said, casual, "if you wanted time alone, you could've just said so."
"I didn't want time alone."
"Then what did you want?"
That question lingered longer than it deserved.
"I wanted things to slow down," I said.
They exchanged glances. Not hostile. Confused.
"That's… not how this place works," the girl said quietly. She wasn't accusing me. Just stating a fact.
I knew that. I'd always known that.
After classes, we walked together toward the outer training yards. No one spoke for a while. The academy stones absorbed sound, making footsteps feel heavier than they were.
"You scared us," the river boy said eventually. "We thought you'd done something stupid."
I almost laughed. Almost.
"Next time," he continued, "just tell us."
Next time.
The phrase pressed uncomfortably against my ribs.
That evening, one of them knocked on my door. Just one. The vineyard kid. He leaned against the frame like he didn't want to come in but also didn't want to leave.
"They're watching you," he said.
"I know."
"Not like everyone else. Different."
"I know."
He frowned. "Then why are you acting like this doesn't matter?"
Because if I acknowledged it fully, I'd start planning again. Calculating. Optimizing. Because I'd stop pretending I was normal, and the academy would happily agree.
"It matters," I said. "That's why I'm careful."
He didn't look convinced. "Careful looks a lot like distance."
After he left, I sat alone in the dim light and wondered when caution had started looking like rejection.
The academy lights dimmed outside. Windows went dark, one by one. Somewhere in the administrative wing, papers were being filed. Notes finalized. Names organized.
Mine among them.
I hadn't failed. I hadn't succeeded.
I had unsettled things.
And that kind of imbalance doesn't fade on its own.
...
Slowing down was supposed to help.
That was the logic. Step back. Breathe. Let the world move without me trying to match its pace. In my head, it was simple. Almost elegant.
In practice, it felt like standing still in the middle of a road.
Days passed. I attended classes. Took notes. Answered when called on, but never more than necessary. I made mistakes on purpose sometimes. Small ones. Harmless ones. The kind that proved I was human.
It didn't feel natural.
Every time a question hung in the air, unanswered, my mind filled the silence anyway. I saw the solution before the instructor finished speaking. I traced the reasoning paths automatically, like muscle memory. Holding back wasn't passive. It took effort. Constant, grinding effort.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted in a way studying had never made me before.
My friends noticed.
Not in big ways. In glances. Pauses. The way conversations stalled when I joined them. They still invited me to sit with them, still saved me a spot, still spoke to me like nothing was wrong.
But something was.
"You're different," the girl said one afternoon as we walked back from class. Not accusing. Just… observant.
"I'm the same."
She shook her head. "No. You're trying to be."
That bothered me more than it should have.
At night, I lay awake replaying the meeting in the administrative wing. The way they'd spoken to me. Calm. Precise. As if my withdrawal was just another data point. Not rebellion. Not weakness. Just deviation.
I'd wanted to disappear.
Instead, I'd changed my shape.
And that had drawn attention anyway.
Was slowing down the right move? Or had I just proven that I was something worth monitoring?
The academy didn't punish me. That was clear now. It adjusted around me. Teachers asked fewer open-ended questions when I was present. Group work assignments subtly placed me where my influence was minimized. Not excluded. Managed.
That realization settled heavy in my chest.
Back home, in my previous life, I'd burned out chasing perfection. Here, I was burning out avoiding it.
Different path. Same fatigue.
I started skipping optional activities again. Not fully disappearing this time. Just… thinning myself out. Less presence. Less impact. I told myself it was balance.
But balance shouldn't feel this hollow.
One evening, I caught my reflection in the window. Older than I felt. Younger than I remembered. A boy trying very hard not to become someone.
I didn't know who that someone was anymore.
All I knew was this: doing nothing hadn't freed me.
It had just made me uncertain.
And uncertainty, I was learning, was another kind of weight.
took a walk that night.
No destination. No purpose beyond movement. The academy paths were quiet after curfew, stone lanes lit by soft lanternlight. Shadows stretched long and thin, bending around corners like they were listening.
I replayed everything.
The letter. The gates. The rankings. The silence after I vanished. The way people watched me now, not with awe or resentment, but with calculation. I thought slowing down would make me invisible again.
It hadn't.
It had just made me inconsistent.
And institutions hate inconsistency.
I stopped near the outer wall, where the academy met the world beyond it. Past the stone, the land dipped into darkness, unlit and unstructured. No schedules. No records. No ledgers with names written neatly in ink.
Freedom, maybe.
But I wasn't there.
I was here.
Running hadn't worked. Hiding hadn't worked. Pretending to be less than I was had only fractured me further. I wasn't at peace. I was afraid. And fear, dressed up as caution, was still fear.
I rested my hands on the cold stone and exhaled.
Fine.
If I was going to be watched, I'd at least be consistent.
Not reckless. Not brilliant for the sake of it. But honest. Measured. Present. I'd stop sabotaging myself and let my abilities exist without apology or ambition.
I wasn't returning to who I used to be.
I was choosing who I would be now.
I turned back toward the academy lights, steps steady, mind quiet for the first time in days.
Tomorrow, I would go to class.
And I would stop pretending
I Went back to class the next day.
Not early. Not late. On time.
That alone felt like a statement.
I answered questions when I knew the answer. I stopped pretending not to. I didn't dominate discussion, but I didn't hide either. My hands still moved faster than I liked when solving problems. My thoughts still outran most conversations. But I let it happen.
People noticed. Again.
This time, I didn't flinch.
It was after the last lecture, when the halls thinned and the noise softened, that she finally approached me properly.
"Walking with purpose now?"
Her voice came from my right, calm, almost amused. I stopped and turned.
She stood there with her usual posture. Straight, relaxed, alert. Dark hair tied back cleanly, eyes sharp in a way that suggested she missed very little. Her uniform was immaculate again, but now I realized it wasn't about discipline.
It was control.
"Is that a problem?" I asked.
"For you?" she said. "Probably."
I sighed. "You've been following me."
She didn't deny it. "Observing."
"Same thing."
"Not quite."
There was a pause. Not awkward. Intentional.
"My name is Elira," she said. "Elira Vane."
I nodded. "I know."
Her eyebrow lifted. "You do?"
"People who stand like you don't go unnoticed."
That earned a small smile. Genuine, this time.
"Fair," she said. "And you?"
"You already know who I am."
"Yes," Elira replied. "But I wanted to hear how you'd answer."
I didn't like that. I also didn't hate it.
We walked. Side by side. Not close, not distant. The academy courtyard opened around us, stone paths glowing faintly under lanternlight. Other students passed by, throwing glances they pretended weren't glances.
"You disappeared," she said. "Then you came back different. Then you disappeared again, but only halfway."
"I didn't think it would concern you."
"It didn't," she said easily. "At first."
I waited.
"People who break patterns unintentionally are boring," she continued. "People who do it deliberately are… useful."
There it was.
"So why me?" I asked.
She stopped walking.
I took two more steps before realizing and turned back.
Elira studied me like a problem she hadn't decided how to solve yet.
"Because you're not ambitious," she said. "But you're capable. Because you don't want attention, but you attract it anyway. And because when you stepped back, you didn't collapse."
"That's not a compliment."
"It's not meant to be."
A strange thought crossed my mind. Unwanted. Persistent.
"Is this where you tell me you like me?" I asked, half joking, half defensive.
She blinked. Once.
Then she laughed.
Not mockingly. Not kindly. Just honestly.
"Oh," she said. "No. Don't misunderstand."
My face warmed despite myself. "Then what is this?"
Elira stepped closer. Not invading my space. Claiming it.
"I don't like you," she said plainly. "I don't dislike you either. You're not interesting in that way."
She tilted her head slightly.
"You're interesting because you think like someone who doesn't belong where he is."
My chest tightened.
"You want something from me," I said.
"Yes."
"What?"
She smiled again, sharp and unapologetic.
"Access. Insight. A mind that notices what others ignore."
I stared at her. "So I'm a tool."
"For now," she said. "Tools that know they're being used last longer."
I should have walked away.
Instead, I asked, "And if I refuse?"
Elira's expression softened. Just a little.
"Then I'll stop asking," she said. "And start watching more closely."
Silence settled between us, heavy and deliberate.
She turned to leave, then paused.
"One more thing," she added, without looking back. "Whatever you think this academy is preparing you for… it's not the whole story."
Then she walked away, footsteps steady, unhurried.
I stood there alone, heart beating faster than it had any right to.
I had chosen to stop pretending.
It seemed the world had decided to take advantage of that