The training field was quiet in the way storms often were.
No wind.
No chatter.
Just the heavy presence of Aether pressing down on every soul standing within the circular grounds.
Kael Draven rolled his shoulders once, slow and controlled, feeling the familiar ache settle into his muscles. His breathing was steady—but not easy. The air itself felt thicker, like it resisted being drawn into his lungs.
This wasn't a mission.
This was evaluation.
Around him, teams stood in loose formations, their leaders at the front. Some wore confident expressions, others thin masks hiding anxiety. Gold stars gleamed faintly on uniforms—marks of completed missions, of trust earned.
Then there was Iron Resolve.
Their uniforms bore no shine.
Only the faint, dark emblem of black stars—remnants of failure, of ridicule, of being written off before they ever had a chance.
A few eyes flicked toward them. Some curious. Most dismissive.
"Worst team's still standing?" someone muttered nearby.
Lyra Selendis heard it. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Instead, she focused inward, carefully regulating her Aether flow the way Kael had taught her—slow, layered, controlled. No forcing. No panic.
Beside her, Taren cracked his knuckles, stone-like veins faintly visible beneath his skin. "Let them talk," he muttered. "They always do."
Mira adjusted the strap of her light gear, eyes sharp and alert as ever. "Talking's cheap. Evaluation scores aren't."
Joren stood behind Kael, a solid presence, arms folded and stance unshakable. "We've got this," he said quietly.
Kael stood at the center.
Not because he was the strongest.
But because the team naturally oriented around him now—like iron filings drawn to a magnet they didn't fully understand yet.
At the far end of the field, Rion Valeris stood with his team.
Gold stars. Clean formation. Perfect posture.
Rion didn't look at Kael directly.
He didn't need to.
The difference between them was obvious to everyone.
Or so they thought.
Aether flared.
The air dropped.
Several trainees staggered as the pressure increased—an invisible force pushing down on bones, on thoughts, on confidence itself. This wasn't about combat.
This was about endurance.
"Pressure Trial," an examiner announced. "Remain standing. No counter-techniques. No external reinforcement. Only internal control."
Some cursed quietly.
Others smiled, confident in their reserves.
Kael didn't smile.
He lowered his stance slightly, feet firm against the ground, body aligned the way he'd trained for years. No Aether to rely on meant no shortcuts—but it also meant he knew exactly how much his body could take.
The pressure increased again.
A trainee dropped to one knee.
Then another.
Aether users struggled to maintain balance as their own power turned unstable under stress. Control faltered. Breathing quickened.
Lyra's hands trembled—but she stayed upright.
"Focus," Kael said quietly, not looking at her. "Don't fight it. Let it pass through you."
She swallowed, then nodded.
Another surge.
Taren growled under his breath but stayed standing, teeth clenched.
Mira exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the horizon.
Joren shifted slightly, adjusting stance to brace against the pressure.
Across the field, Rion remained unmoving—calm, flawless, his Aether wrapped around him like a second skin.
The pressure climbed higher.
Bones creaked.
Sweat dripped.
Aether flickered.
Kael felt it then—not pain, not power—but resistance.
Something inside him tightened, not snapping, not yielding.
Holding.
Not awakening.
Not yet.
Just… holding.
The ground beneath his feet cracked slightly.
An examiner noticed.
Brows furrowed.
"That boy," one murmured. "He has no Aether, correct?"
"Yes."
"…Then why isn't he down?"
The pressure peaked.
One by one, trainees collapsed, knees hitting stone, breath ragged.
Iron Resolve still stood.
Barely.
But together.
When the pressure finally lifted, the silence was louder than any cheer.
Kael straightened slowly, chest rising and falling.
Rion turned his head at last.
Their eyes met.
No hatred.
No fear.
Just acknowledgment.
For the first time, the gap between them felt… measurable.
Not closed.
But no longer infinite.
As Iron Resolve left the field, black stars still on their uniforms, whispers followed them—but the tone had shifted.
Not mockery.
Curiosity.
And somewhere deep within Kael Draven, something old and quiet adjusted its stance.
Steel, after all, wasn't forged in comfort.
And this was only the beginning.