"Twenty... twenty-one... twenty-two... thirty—ha!"
Kerry hit the floor. His chest burned, his lungs working like a bellows that couldn't quite catch the air. Sweat pooled on the wood beneath his face, soaking into his collar until the fabric felt like a wet weight.
Thirty push-ups. That was the wall.
He knew the others, the ones with the sparks in their blood could hit hundreds without breaking a sweat. To them, the body was just a vessel for the System. To Kerry, it was all he had, and it was failing him.
"Still thirty," he muttered, his fist thudding against the floorboards. "Four years. Nothing."
He stayed there for a long minute, staring at the grain of the wood, before forcing himself up. He had class. He was already behind.
A knock came at the door. It wasn't the frantic pounding of a student; it was rhythmic, quiet. Kerry pulled it open. A man stood there with golden eyes that seemed to catch the dim light of the hall, leaning on a staff that looked far too heavy to be decorative.
"Mr. Fireborn," the man said. His voice was level, respectful in a way that felt out of place in a dorm full of teenagers. "Master Kael has requested your presence."
Kerry grabbed his tunic and followed.
Four years at Obsidian Star had changed the map of his life. At twelve, he was a boy with a promise; at sixteen, he was a Null in a sea of Awakeners. Blue cloaks for the first-years, green for the second, and black for the third, the "Obsidians." Kerry wore his colors, but he felt like a ghost in them.
He found Kael under the wide shadow of a tree near the training grounds. The master didn't look at him as he approached; he was watching the trainees go through their forms, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Kerry. Sit."
Kerry dropped onto the grass beside him.
"Master Kael. You sent for me?"
"I did." Kael's gaze stayed on the field. "The next hunt. You're on the roster."
Kerry blinked. He felt a cold knot tie itself in his stomach. "Another one? Master, I couldn't even drop a Tier One last time. I just… I got in the way."
Kael's mouth quirked, not a laugh, just a ghost of a smile. "This time, it's a Tier Three."
Kerry went still. "Tier Three? That's suicide."
"Hunting isn't about the kill, Kerry. It's about the sharpening. Vitality, agility, the way your heart handles the pressure. Keep pushing. Remember what your mother told you."
Hard work. Kerry looked at his hands.
"Understood. I'll get ready."
He stood to leave, then paused. "When do we move out?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Kerry's voice cracked. His sword was a dull piece of iron he'd used for hacking wood. It wouldn't even mark the hide of a Tier Three beast.
He walked back toward the dorms as the afternoon classes let out. The academy grounds were a swarm of students, a sea of colored cloaks moving between the stone buildings.
"Kerry! Wait up!"
Claude was jogging toward him, clutching a heavy book titled Fire Concept Techniques to his chest like a shield. Claude was all limbs and nerves, his black hair standing up in every direction above thick glasses. He had the Fire Element, but he was so afraid of the heat that he might as well have been a Null.
"I didn't see you in the Null class today," Claude panted.
"I skipped," Kerry said. "All they do is make us run laps and lift stones. There's only four of us anyway. It's a waste of time."
Claude grinned, his eyes wide behind the lenses. "Well, I've got news. Real news."
"I know, Claude. The hunt."
Claude's face fell. "You… you know?"
"Kael told me." Kerry rubbed the back of his neck, watching the shadow of a passing bird. He didn't mention the Tier Three part. If he did, Claude would spend the night shaking under his bed. "Go back to the room. I've got a few things to finish."
Claude nodded and turned, his nose already back in his book. He didn't see the shadow moving on top of the stone statue near the archway.
Serik dropped.
He was a Lightning Elementalist, fast and mean, with a streak of arrogance that came from having one of the rarest gifts in the school. He hit the ground and had Claude by the collar before the book could even fall. He slammed the boy's back against the cold stone of the statue base.
"The phone," Serik growled. "Did you get it from the office?"
Claude was shaking so hard his glasses slid down his nose and hit the dirt. "The Principal… he was right there, Serik. I couldn't. I'll get expelled."
"I'm going on a hunt tomorrow," Serik's eyes flashed with a faint, jagged spark. "I'm not waiting."
A pair of elders turned the corner at the far end of the hall. Serik felt the shift in the air, hissed a curse, and vanished into the shadows of the pillars. Claude slumped to the ground, gasping for air he couldn't seem to find.
Later, in the quiet of his dorm room, Kerry sat on the edge of his cot. He held a small, faded photograph. His mother's face looked back at him, frozen in a smile from a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.
"I haven't forgotten," he whispered. The room was dark, the only sound the distant wind against the stone. "I'll be strong. Even without it."
The door burst open. Laughter spilled in, followed by the heavy thud of boots. His roommates were back, still high on the adrenaline of the day.
"Did you see Taren?" one shouted, doubling over. "He's yelling at the water like it's a dog! 'Move left!' and the thing just blasts him in the face!"
They stumbled in, a mess of unbuttoned tunics and sweat. Kerry lay back, closing his eyes, hoping they'd think he was out.
"Look at him," Taren said, his voice dripping with mock annoyance. "Lazy Null. Sleeping already."
Kerry didn't move. He didn't want the play-by-play of their victories. He just wanted the silence back.
"Wait," Taren narrowed his eyes. "He's faking. Look at his eyelid."
"Get him!"
They scrambled over, grabbing his arms and legs, hauling him off the mattress with a chorus of shouts. Kerry sighed, letting his head hang back.
"Okay. You got me. Put me down."
They dropped him back onto the bed, grinning. Kerry pulled a pillow over his face.
"Talkatives," he muttered.
The room erupted again, the sound of easy, careless laughter filling the space between the walls.
------------
Far to the south, past the walls and the hunting grounds, a man stood in the air. He didn't have a sword or a cloak. He just hung there under a pale moon, his black coat snapping in the wind. His hair was long and white, a stark contrast to the massive, stone-hard muscle of his frame.
He held a photo in his hand. It was old, the edges curled. A man, a woman, and a child with hair split into two colors.
His thumb brushed over the infant's face. His expression didn't break, but his eyes went distant, heavy with a weight the world hadn't seen in centuries.
"I miss you," he said. The wind took the words, scattering them into the dark. "He should be sixteen by now."