The Aether Academy had never felt this quiet.
Even during rest hours, the air usually hummed—students training in hidden courtyards, instructors arguing theory, Aether flowing like an invisible current through stone and steel.
Today, it felt… held.
Kael Draven noticed it the moment he stepped into the main corridor.
Conversations dulled when he passed.
Not stopped.
Dulled.
Eyes followed him—not with fear, not with admiration—but calculation. The kind people used when they didn't yet know what something was worth, only that it was dangerous to underestimate.
He kept walking.
Iron Resolve gathered in their usual room, but the energy was off. No jokes. No casual complaints. Even the walls felt like they were listening.
Eron leaned against the table, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the floor.
"They reassigned us," he said at last.
Lyra looked up sharply. "Reassigned how?"
"No longer support." Eron exhaled. "We're now listed as an independent operational unit."
Silence.
That wasn't a promotion.
It was isolation.
Independent teams didn't get backup. They didn't get oversight. They were used when the Academy wanted results without responsibility.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Because of me."
"No," Eron said immediately. Then paused. "…Not only because of you."
That was worse.
Lyra studied Kael from across the room. Her expression was controlled, but her fingers were clenched tight.
"They're afraid of what they can't categorize," she said quietly. "Your Aether doesn't spike. It doesn't resonate. It doesn't obey standard flow laws."
Kael frowned. "I'm not even using Aether."
Lyra met his eyes. "That's the problem."
---
Later that day, Kael was summoned alone.
The upper chambers of the Academy were rarely used. Wide halls. High ceilings. Symbols etched into the stone that reacted faintly as he passed.
Three instructors waited.
Head Instructor Vale stood at the center, hands folded behind his back. His expression was calm—but guarded.
"You've noticed the change," Vale said.
"Yes," Kael replied.
"Good." Vale turned slightly. "Then you understand why this conversation is necessary."
Kael didn't speak.
Vale continued. "Your presence affects Aether fields without activation. Not disruption. Not suppression."
He paused.
"Correction."
The markings on the wall flickered.
"Correction," Vale repeated, voice lower. "You impose order."
Kael felt it then—a pressure behind his sternum, not painful, not burning. Just… heavy. Like gravity tightening.
"I don't mean to," Kael said.
Vale nodded. "Intent is irrelevant to consequence."
The other instructors exchanged glances.
"There are forces," Vale said carefully, "that depend on instability. Growth through chaos. Evolution through excess."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "And I don't fit."
"No," Vale agreed. "You don't."
Vale stepped closer.
"If your power fully awakens, Kael Draven, it will not break the world."
His gaze sharpened.
"It will rebalance it."
That should have sounded like praise.
It didn't.
---
That night, Kael couldn't sleep.
The air around him felt too still. His thoughts refused to race—they aligned. Every breath steady. Every emotion controlled, whether he wanted it or not.
He sat up.
For a brief moment, the room shifted.
Not visually.
Conceptually.
The flow of Aether around him slowed… then aligned.
Kael's eyes widened.
"I didn't—"
The pressure vanished instantly.
But the feeling remained.
Somewhere deep beneath the Academy, something ancient stirred—not in anger, not in fear.
In recognition.
And far above, on the Star Board, another black star trembled.
Not fading.
Waiting.
Kael lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
His power hadn't awakened yet.
But the world had already begun to adjust.
And once it finished adjusting…
There would be no going back.