The city beyond the Academy wasn't chaotic.
It was unfiltered.
Rafe felt it the moment he crossed the final boundary of wards—no invisible corrections, no subtle guidance. Mana flowed unevenly here, pulled by emotion, ambition, fear. Streets curved where they shouldn't. Sounds carried too far or not at all.
The hooded guide moved ahead without hurry.
"Stay close," they said. "Not for safety. For relevance."
Rafe followed.
They descended into a lower district where training grounds gave way to half-legal facilities—testing sites used by private guilds, sponsored teams, and organizations that preferred results over documentation.
A crowd had gathered around a sunken plaza.
Too many people.Too much tension.
At the center, a containment field flickered erratically. Inside it, a young man knelt, clutching his head, mana surging in violent waves that shattered the ground beneath him.
Unstable awakening.
"Why isn't this sealed?" Rafe asked.
"Because sealing it would kill him," the guide replied. "And letting it continue will kill others."
Rafe scanned the scene.
Local enforcers stood back, weapons lowered. No Academy insignia. No Commission presence.
No one with authority.
"Why me?" Rafe asked quietly.
The guide stopped.
"Because you don't escalate," they said. "You end."
The containment field cracked.
A shockwave rippled outward, throwing spectators back.
Rafe stepped forward.
No one stopped him.
The Anchor tightened—not resisting, not restricting.
Aligning.
Rafe entered the field.
The unstable mana surged toward him instinctively—chaotic, hungry.
Rafe didn't fight it.
He stood still.
He fixed the moment.
The surge slowed.Then stalled.
The young man looked up, eyes wild.
"Make it stop," he begged.
Rafe knelt.
"Breathe," he said calmly. "Match me."
He placed a hand on the ground.
Light and Shadow formed a lattice—not aggressive, not binding. Just present. A stable frame the chaos could lean against.
The surge collapsed inward.
Not violently.
Gently.
The field dissolved.
Silence fell over the plaza.
The young man slumped forward, unconscious but breathing steadily.
Rafe stood.
The crowd stared.
Not cheering.Not afraid.
Reverent.
The guide exhaled.
"That's why," they said.
Sirens echoed faintly in the distance—too late to matter.
Rafe turned to the guide.
"Who sent you?"
The figure hesitated.
"People who don't like the Commission deciding what stability looks like."
Rafe considered that.
"And the Academy?"
The guide shook their head.
"They'll say they knew nothing."
Rafe nodded.
Of course they would.
As enforcers rushed in, the guide faded back into the crowd.
Rafe walked away without being stopped.
No one reached for him.
No one challenged him.
Because the outcome had already decided everything.
Back at the Academy, the maintenance gate opened again.
Rafe stepped through, unnoticed by guards who didn't remember seeing him leave.
Selene waited near the shadows.
"You're back," she said.
"Yes."
She studied his posture, his breathing.
"…Did it cost you?"
Rafe paused.
"No," he said honestly. "It clarified things."
Selene frowned.
"That's worse."
Rafe almost smiled.
He looked up at the Academy towers—symbols of order, of control.
Outside them, he had seen what happened when rules didn't reach.
And he understood now.
He wasn't being trained for the Academy.
He was being positioned beyond it.
Far away, the Director received the final update of the night.
EXTERNAL INTERVENTION: SUCCESSFULCOLLATERAL: ZEROCONTROL METHODS: OBSOLETE
She stared at the report longer than usual.
Then, slowly, she stopped smiling.
"Interesting," she whispered."He's becoming necessary."
And necessity was far harder to control than power.