Change never announced itself loudly.
It crept.
Royushi noticed it first in the mornings.
Not in strength. Not in clarity. Just in weight.
He woke before the Citadel bells now—before the synchronized pulse that marked the beginning of daily rotations. His body no longer felt like it collapsed into sleep and crawled out of it hours later. Instead, he surfaced gradually, awareness returning before thought.
That alone unsettled him.
He sat on the edge of his bed in the dim light of his quarters, elbows resting on his knees, breathing slow. The habit had formed without conscious effort. Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Pause. Not meditation. Not training.
Circulation.
The Shuryoku didn't bloom or flare. It didn't answer like it did for others. It moved quietly, cautiously, tracing faint paths that vanished the moment he tried to focus on them directly.
Like a nervous animal.
Royushi stopped breathing deliberately and stood.
He didn't feel stronger.
But he felt… present.
And presence, he was learning, came with consequences.
The training hall was already active when he arrived.
Groups clustered across the polished floor, instructors pacing between them with practiced indifference. Shuryoku signatures overlapped in the air—some sharp, some heavy, some wildly inefficient. To Royushi, it all felt loud.
He hadn't told anyone about the training.
Not Ishara.Not the instructors.Not even himself, really.
The hologram hadn't returned since the empty chamber two days prior. No pressure. No voice. No correction.
At first, Royushi had assumed that meant he'd failed.
Now, he wasn't so sure.
"Pair up."
The command cut cleanly through the noise.
Royushi hesitated, then moved toward the edge of the group. He was used to being unchosen. That familiarity settled into him like armor.
"Royushi."
He turned.
Ishara Veyl stood a few paces away, arms crossed loosely, eyes sharp. She didn't look annoyed. She didn't look curious either.
She looked… decided.
"You," she said. "With me."
A few heads turned.
Royushi felt the attention immediately—thin threads of interest pulling in his direction.
He nodded once and joined her without comment.
They took position opposite each other on the marked floor. The instructor paced past them, gaze flicking briefly toward Ishara, lingering for half a second longer than it did on Royushi.
"Controlled engagement," the instructor announced. "No output beyond Flowing. Efficiency over dominance."
Royushi exhaled.
Ishara met his eyes.
"You're different," she said quietly.
He blinked. "I don't feel different."
"That's because you don't leak," she replied.
That startled him.
"Most people here bleed Shuryoku," she continued, voice low enough that only he could hear. "Even standing still. It spills through posture. Breath. Intent."
Royushi said nothing.
"You don't," Ishara finished. "You never did. But now it feels… deliberate."
The instructor raised a hand.
"Begin."
Ishara moved first.
Not fast. Not aggressive. Just precise.
Royushi shifted instinctively, stepping aside as her Shuryoku-laced strike passed where his shoulder had been. He didn't counter. Didn't push. Just moved.
Again.
Again.
The floor scuffed beneath his feet. His breathing stayed even.
Murmurs rippled outward.
"She's holding back.""No—he's just not engaging.""What is he doing?"
Ishara's eyes narrowed.
She adjusted.
Her next strike carried more intent—not more power, but more focus. Royushi felt it approach like pressure rather than force. His body reacted before thought, circulation shifting subtly, redirecting the contact just enough to avoid impact.
Not a block.
A deflection.
Ishara froze mid-motion.
The instructor stopped pacing.
"That," Ishara said softly, "wasn't instinct."
Royushi met her gaze, pulse steady.
"I didn't think," he replied honestly. "I just… stayed."
Silence pressed in.
The instructor stepped closer. "Again."
This time, Ishara didn't hold back.
Her Shuryoku flared—not explosively, but with sharp clarity. Condensed, refined, honed by years of discipline. Royushi felt it like a blade cutting the air.
For the first time, he chose to engage.
Circulation shifted.
The faint current in his chest looped faster, smoother, slipping around the internal resistance rather than colliding with it. He didn't push outward. He didn't pull inward.
He let the movement exist.
Ishara's strike met something unseen.
Not a barrier.
A refusal.
Her Shuryoku slid off his center like water over stone, dispersing harmlessly to either side.
The room went quiet.
Royushi stumbled back half a step—not from force, but from surprise.
He looked down at his hands.
They were shaking.
"Enough," the instructor snapped, stepping between them. "That's sufficient."
Ishara didn't look away from Royushi.
Neither did the others.
By midday, the whispers had teeth.
Royushi felt them before he heard them—attention gathering like pressure behind his eyes. He moved through the Citadel halls with his head down, but it didn't help.
Did you see that?He didn't output anything.That shouldn't be possible.Maybe the footage was wrong.
Royushi ducked into a side corridor and leaned against the wall, breathing slow.
I didn't do anything, he told himself.
The lie didn't hold.
The air shifted.
He didn't turn this time.
"You're attracting attention faster than I expected."
The hologram formed beside him, faint but stable. Rikishu Kairo's expression was unreadable.
"I didn't mean to," Royushi said.
"I know," Rikishu replied. "That's the problem."
Royushi clenched his jaw. "I thought this was just circulation."
"It is," Rikishu said. "But circulation reveals what was hidden."
He gestured toward Royushi's chest. "You're no longer sealed."
Royushi swallowed. "So what now?"
"Now," Rikishu said calmly, "the Citadel will try to name what they don't understand."
"And when they do?" Royushi asked.
Rikishu's eyes sharpened.
"They'll try to own it."
The hologram flickered.
"Which is why we add friction."
Royushi frowned. "Friction?"
"Yes," Rikishu said. "Discomfort. Inefficiency. Failure."
"That doesn't sound helpful."
"It is," Rikishu replied. "Because it slows you down."
The idea sank in slowly.
"You don't want me to grow fast," Royushi realized.
"I don't want you to grow loud," Rikishu corrected.
He turned slightly, gaze distant. "There is someone who listens for resonance. Someone who believes potential exists to be claimed."
Royushi felt a chill he couldn't explain.
"Who?" he asked.
Rikishu didn't answer directly.
"He stayed," Rikishu said instead. "When I left."
The pressure deepened.
"And when he notices you," Rikishu continued, "you will feel it."
The hologram began to fade.
"Until then," he added, "you will fail publicly."
Royushi stared. "You want me to fail?"
"Yes."
The word was absolute.
"Because," Rikishu said, voice thinning with distance,"nothing discourages predators like inconsistency."
Then he was gone.
That night, far beyond the Citadel's reach, something stirred.
A presence long accustomed to silence lifted its awareness, attention sliding across invisible thresholds.
A faint distortion rippled outward.
Resonance—not complete, not awakened, but attempted.
Sevran Axiom opened his eyes.
"So," he murmured, sensing the echo of something unfinished,"you finally moved."
The pressure settled.
And the world, quietly, leaned closer.