The academy bell rang once.
Deep.
Heavy.
It wasn't a call to class.
It was a summons.
Kael felt it in his bones before the sound finished echoing. Around him, students slowed, conversations dying mid-sentence. Even the air felt tighter, like Aether itself had stiffened.
Iron Resolve had been called.
Together.
They assembled in silence at the central corridor, the wide marble hall leading toward the upper chambers—places most trainees never entered unless something had gone very right… or very wrong.
"This isn't normal," Tess whispered, fingers twitching near her blades. "They don't summon full teams unless—"
"Unless they're being judged," Brann finished, jaw set.
Eron walked at the front, posture straight, expression calm but alert. "No one speaks unless spoken to. Watch everything."
Lyra glanced at Kael.
He didn't look nervous.
That worried her more than if he did.
---
The chamber doors opened without a touch.
Inside, the room was circular, lined with tall Aether crystals that pulsed softly, like a dozen watching eyes. Three figures stood at the center—high-ranking examiners, cloaked and indistinct.
And one seat remained empty.
"You are Iron Resolve," a voice echoed, neither loud nor soft—just absolute.
"Yes," Eron answered.
"You were formed from failure," the voice continued. "Black stars. Low expectations. Statistical insignificance."
The words weren't cruel.
They were factual.
"Yet," another examiner said, "you continue to disrupt projections."
A crystal flared.
Images appeared—missions completed, pressure trials endured, formations adjusted mid-combat. Data layered over reality.
All of it pointed to one thing.
Kael.
The third examiner leaned forward slightly. "Kael Draven. Step forward."
Kael did.
No hesitation.
No flourish.
Just steady steps on stone.
"You possess no measurable Aether," the examiner said. "Confirmed repeatedly."
"Yes," Kael replied.
"And yet," the voice sharpened, "you influence outcomes beyond expected parameters. Teams under your proximity exceed efficiency. Morale stabilizes. Failure rates drop."
Lyra's breath caught.
They weren't praising him.
They were dissecting him.
"You are," the examiner concluded, "an anomaly."
The room went quiet.
Then—
"We are assigning Iron Resolve to a provisional classification."
Eron's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," the voice said, "you will no longer be judged by standard academy metrics."
Tess stiffened. "Is that… good?"
"It is," the examiner replied, "unprecedented."
The empty seat at the chamber's edge filled itself.
Aether condensed, forming the shape of a man.
Instructor Vale.
His eyes found Kael instantly.
"You are now a Variable Unit," Vale said. "Observed directly. No safety net. No curve."
Brann exhaled slowly. "So if we fail—"
"You fall harder," Vale finished.
Kael spoke before Eron could. "We accept."
Every eye turned to him.
"You didn't consult your leader," one examiner noted.
Eron smiled faintly. "He didn't need to."
Silence.
Then—
"So noted," the voice said.
The crystals dimmed.
The doors opened.
Dismissed.
---
Outside, the sky had darkened slightly, clouds rolling in from the horizon.
Iron Resolve stood together, processing.
"We just became targets," Tess muttered.
"No," Lyra said quietly, watching Kael. "We became proof."
Eron rested a hand on Kael's shoulder. "From here on, every move matters."
Kael nodded.
Inside him, something shifted—not awakening, not power.
Alignment.
Far below the academy, deep within corrupted Aether veins, Malrik Noctis opened his eyes.
"A variable," he murmured, amused. "How inconvenient."
He smiled anyway.
Because pressure didn't break everything.
Some things adapted.
And some things…
Were forged.
Kael Draven looked up at the darkening sky, unaware that the world had just changed how it measured him.
Soon—
It wouldn't be able to measure him at all.