The gates of Hikari Academy closed behind them with a sound like final judgment.
Kurogane flinched as the massive slabs of white stone slid together, the symbols carved into them pulsing faintly before fading into stillness. The sound echoed in his chest, heavy and absolute. In that moment, the distance between Ashihara village and this place felt immeasurable—as if an entire world had been sealed away behind him.
"This way," Mizuki Yukihana said.
She did not wait for him.
Kurogane hurried to follow, his small footsteps echoing across the wide marble path. The academy grounds stretched endlessly in every direction—towering spires of white and blue stone, floating bridges held aloft by unseen forces, fountains that poured upward instead of down. Students walked in controlled lines, some older, some clearly no more than teenagers, all dressed in academy robes embroidered with elemental crests.
And all of them felt… different.
Kurogane could feel the elements around them reacting—water rippling slightly as Mizuki passed, air stirring around certain students, heat radiating faintly from others. But unlike him, their auras were focused. Contained.
Disciplined.
He clutched the small stone from his home in his pocket.
"Don't wander," Mizuki said without looking back. "The academy is warded. Certain areas respond badly to uncontrolled energy."
That word again.Uncontrolled.
They entered a circular chamber with a ceiling so high Kurogane couldn't see its end. Crystal panels lined the walls, each etched with flowing symbols. The air inside felt thick, heavy—as if pressing down on his chest.
"This is the Assessment Hall," Mizuki said. "Every student begins here."
A man stood at the center of the chamber, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair dark and pulled back into a strict knot. He wore no visible insignia, but the very ground beneath his feet seemed subtly altered—denser, grounded.
"Yukihana," he greeted. His eyes shifted to Kurogane, sharpening instantly. "So this is the child."
"Yes," Mizuki replied. "All four elements. Natural balance."
The man's eyebrow twitched.
"So the reports were true."
He approached Kurogane slowly, stopping a few paces away. The pressure in the room intensified.
"I am Master Ryouzan," he said. "Earth division."
Kurogane swallowed. "I—I'm Kurogane."
"I know," Ryouzan replied. "The name carries weight here. You'd do well to remember that."
Mizuki stepped aside. "Begin the test."
Ryouzan raised one hand.
The ground shifted.
A circular arena rose from the floor, stone forming smooth walls that boxed Kurogane in. He stumbled as the floor tilted, barely managing to stay upright.
"Defensive response," Ryouzan said calmly. "No instruction. React instinctively."
Kurogane's heart pounded.
The memory of the festival flashed through his mind—cracking earth, screaming villagers, his mother's tears.
Don't lose control.
He closed his eyes.
The earth answered immediately.
Stone surged upward around him, forming a crude barrier. Too fast. Too rough. Cracks formed as quickly as the wall rose.
Ryouzan flicked two fingers.
The barrier shattered.
Kurogane gasped as fragments dissolved into sand midair, dispersing harmlessly. Before he could react, the floor beneath him collapsed, reforming into uneven pillars that threw off his balance. He fell hard, skinning his palms.
Pain shot up his arms.
"Again," Ryouzan said. "Control. Not force."
Kurogane tried to summon fire next—but it sputtered weakly in his hand before vanishing. Panic crept in. He reached for wind—
Nothing answered.
His breathing grew erratic.
Too many voices. Too many elements pulling at once.
"Kurogane," Mizuki's voice cut through sharply. "Focus on one."
He tried.
He really did.
But the pressure kept building. The chamber felt smaller. The elements surged chaotically inside him, colliding instead of aligning. The balance he'd never questioned before suddenly felt fragile—like glass stretched too thin.
His knees hit the stone.
"I—can't," he whispered.
Silence filled the hall.
Ryouzan lowered his hand. The arena flattened, returning to its pristine state. The pressure vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
For a moment, no one spoke.
"Interesting," Ryouzan finally said. "Extremely interesting."
Mizuki frowned. "He should not be collapsing this quickly."
"No," Ryouzan agreed. "He shouldn't." His gaze dropped to Kurogane. "But raw power without foundation always breaks first."
Kurogane's vision blurred. He felt small. Smaller than he ever had in his life.
"So," Ryouzan continued, turning to Mizuki, "he bleeds like the rest of them."
Mizuki was quiet for a moment.
"Assign him provisional status," she said at last. "Foundational training only. No advanced casting. No unsupervised practice."
Ryouzan nodded. "If left unchecked, he'll destroy himself before anything else."
Those words hurt more than the fall.
Kurogane was led away to a simple room—bare stone, a single futon, a small window overlooking distant mountains. No banners. No symbols. No warmth.
That night, alone for the first time in his life, Kurogane lay awake listening to the academy breathe.
He thought of his mother's lullaby.
Of earth. Wind. Fire. Water.
They were still with him.
But for the first time…
They did not listen.