The summons came in writing.
A thin slate rested outside my door when I woke, placed carefully against the stone as if whoever left it did not want to be seen. There was no seal. No signature. Just a single line etched cleanly into the surface.
Evaluation. Third bell. East Hall. Mandatory.
No explanation followed.
I stood there longer than necessary, staring at the words until they felt heavier than they should have been. This was not a punishment. Not yet. It was something worse.
A measurement.
The academy did not act on fear. It acted on data.
I washed, dressed, and stepped into the corridor. The mana in the air felt thin this morning, stretched tight, like a surface pulled too far. It slid away from me when I moved, as it always did, but today I felt something else beneath it.
Expectation.
The walk to the East Hall took longer than usual. Not because of distance, but because of the looks. People were not subtle anymore. Some stared openly. Others pretended not to, which was worse. Whispers followed me down the stone corridors, soft and incomplete.
By the time I reached the hall, my chest felt tight, not with pressure, but with awareness.
The East Hall was not used for normal training.
It was circular, wide, and reinforced with layered stone and old sigils carved deep into the floor. The kind meant to withstand failures. Observation platforms rose along the walls, already occupied.
Instructors. Administrators. A few faces I did not recognize.
They were not here to teach.
They were here to decide.
Sil stood near the entrance, arms folded, posture rigid. He looked relieved when he saw me, then concerned when he saw my expression.
"They are calling it an evaluation," he said quietly. "But this is not routine."
I nodded. "I know."
Rethan stood farther inside the hall, leaning against a pillar. He did not look at me at first. When he did, his smile came late and faded quickly.
"So," he said, forcing lightness. "You finally get special treatment."
I searched his face. "This is not special."
He shrugged. "Looks like it from where I am standing."
There it was.
Not anger.
Distance.
Before I could respond, a bell rang.
Clear. Sharp. Final.
An instructor stepped forward. His aura was stable and controlled, a calm blue that spoke of years of refinement. His voice carried easily through the hall.
"This evaluation is not a test of power," he announced. "It is a test of restraint, control, and system compliance."
My chest tightened at the last words.
"You will be asked to perform a series of actions. You will not improvise. You will not escalate. Any deviation will be recorded."
Recorded.
Not corrected.
I stepped onto the center platform when called. The stone felt colder than usual beneath my boots.
The first phase was simple.
Mana absorption.
I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, carefully.
Mana drifted toward me, hesitated, then slid away.
A murmur rippled through the hall.
"Inhale again," the instructor said.
I did.
The result was the same. Mana brushed against my breath, then recoiled as if meeting resistance it did not understand.
"Record that," one of the administrators said quietly.
The second phase involved structured output.
"Form a basic projection," the instructor said. "Any element. Minimal output."
I raised my hand.
I did not summon anything.
I focused on my body. On the sensation of space around me. On not reacting.
Nothing happened.
"Again," the instructor said, less patient now.
I tried to guide mana manually, forcing it through pathways my body rejected instinctively. Pain flared beneath my ribs. My vision blurred for a moment.
I lowered my hand.
"I cannot," I said honestly.
Sil shifted where he stood.
Rethan crossed his arms tighter.
The instructor studied me carefully. "Your refusal is noted."
"It is not refusal," I replied. "It does not respond."
"That is not how the system works," he said.
I met his gaze. "It is how my body works."
Sil inhaled sharply.
The third phase began without warning.
A controlled threat.
A training construct rose from the floor, stone and mana shaped into a humanoid form. Its aura pulsed faintly, calibrated to pressure, not danger.
"Neutralize," the instructor ordered. "Without escalation."
The construct advanced slowly.
I felt it immediately.
Not as an enemy.
As imbalance.
The pressure in my chest stirred, low and controlled, like a warning breath.
I stepped forward and raised my hand.
The space around the construct compressed gently. Not violently. Enough to halt its movement. Stone creaked. The construct froze, unable to advance or retreat.
Gasps echoed from the observation platforms.
"That is enough," the instructor said quickly.
The pressure retreated instantly. The construct collapsed harmlessly back into the floor.
Sil stared at me, eyes sharp with realization.
Rethan stared too.
Not with awe.
With something darker.
The evaluation paused.
Administrators whispered among themselves. Words like deviation, incompatibility, risk floated through the hall.
Finally, the instructor turned back to me.
"You act without structured mana," he said. "You affect the environment directly."
"I do not intend to," I replied.
"That makes it worse," he said.
Rethan laughed quietly then, a sound without humor.
"So you do not even try," he said. "And it still listens."
I turned toward him. "That is not what is happening."
"Is it not?" he asked. "Because from where I am standing, you fail at what we train for, and still do things the rest of us cannot."
The words struck deeper than they should have.
Sil stepped forward. "That is not fair."
Rethan's jaw tightened. "Neither is this."
The hall fell silent.
The instructor raised a hand. "Enough. This is not a forum."
But the damage was done.
The evaluation ended shortly after. No verdict given. No dismissal. Just more notes. More looks.
As people filed out, I felt exhausted in a way training never caused. Not physical. Emotional.
Lira waited near the exit.
She had not been summoned. Had not been invited.
She was simply there.
"They watched you like you were a problem to be solved," she said softly.
"I felt it," I replied.
She studied my face. "And how did it feel to be measured?"
I considered the question. "Incomplete."
She nodded. "They measure what they understand."
We walked together for a short distance. Not touching. Not speaking much. Just aware of each other's presence.
"I do not think you are dangerous," she said eventually.
"That makes one of us," I replied.
She stopped and looked at me. "No. It makes two."
Her gaze held mine for a moment longer than necessary. It was Not a promise neither a comfort.
Recognition.
Behind us, Rethan watched.
And for the first time, I understood something clearly.
The danger was no longer what I carried.
It was what others would become because of it.