The bus didn't stop at a station.
It stopped on a stretch of road that looked unfinished, like the city gave up halfway through paving it.
No sign.
No building.
Just forest on both sides and a narrow flight of stone steps cut into the rock ahead.
Half the students hesitated when the doors opened.
Aiden didn't. He grabbed his bag and stepped down before anyone could see him watching them.
The air felt different out here. Thinner, almost metallic. Not cold. Just sharp.
Someone behind him muttered, "This is it?"
Aiden slung the bag over his shoulder and started toward the steps.
He had seen pictures of Veyra Academy before. Towering walls. Wide courtyards. Those dramatic angles schools used in promotional material.
None of that was visible from here.
Just stairs.
And people trying too hard to look unimpressed.
The boy who had been muttering came up beside him. Tall. Broad shoulders. Expensive jacket that wasn't meant for hiking up mountains.
"You think they're watching already?" he asked, casual tone, tight voice.
"They're always watching," Aiden said.
It wasn't advice. Just fact.
The steps weren't steep, but by halfway up, the chatter died. Breathing got heavier. No one wanted to be the one who slowed down.
Near the top, something shifted.
Not in the air.
Inside.
Aiden felt it in his ribs first. Then his throat.
His core stirred.
He didn't let it move.
They reached the landing.
That's when the pressure hit.
Three students stumbled immediately. One girl grabbed the railing and swore under her breath.
There was no visible barrier, no shimmer or light. The academy buildings finally came into view past the landing — stone structures built into the mountain, tall windows, banners hanging still in wind that didn't seem to exist.
And that pressure, sitting over all of it.
A silent warning.
The tall boy beside Aiden laughed too loudly. "Is that all?"
His words cut off mid-sentence.
Aiden didn't look at him.
Looking meant acknowledging weakness.
He stepped forward instead.
Each step inward made his core react stronger, like something was brushing against it with a testing finger.
He kept his breathing even.
If this was orientation, they weren't going to give speeches first.
They were measuring.
A courtyard opened up ahead. In the center sat a circular platform carved with markings that had been worn smooth from use. Faculty stood around it in dark uniforms. None of them smiled.
One woman stood slightly apart from the others.
Short hair. Straight posture. Calm face that didn't bother pretending to look welcoming.
She waited until the last student crossed the courtyard.
Then she spoke.
"Stand where you are."
Her voice carried cleanly without effort.
Conversations dropped.
Someone's bag zipper scraped loudly in the quiet.
"You will be evaluated," she continued. "You will not speak unless instructed. If your core destabilizes, step out immediately. If you cannot step out, staff will assist you."
Assist.
Aiden filed that word away.
An assistant walked to the platform's center and pressed his palm against the stone.
The markings lit up.
White lines spread outward across the circular surface, connecting into shapes that made his eyes strain if he stared too long.
A girl stepped forward first without being called.
Confident. Maybe too confident.
She entered the circle.
The lines brightened.
Aiden felt her frequency push outward — dense, controlled. The air around her tightened slightly.
A number flickered above the platform: 76.
She smiled faintly and stepped back out.
No applause.
No praise.
Just a nod from the instructor.
Next.
One by one, students went through.
The platform reacted differently to each of them. Sometimes a quick flash. Sometimes a slow grind like the array had to work harder to read what it was touching.
One boy trembled so badly he had to be pulled out. Another left with a split lip from biting down too hard.
This wasn't a ranking ceremony.
It was stress.
When Aiden's name was called, a few people looked at him and then looked away.
No crest. No reputation.
Good.
He stepped into the circle.
The temperature dropped instantly.
The markings brightened, but not smoothly.
They flickered.
The sensation inside his chest sharpened.
His Core Frequency — Interference — reacted automatically. He felt it try to spread, like static along a wire.
He pushed it inward instead.
The platform pulsed again.
For a second, everything felt slightly off-beat. Like the world had skipped the smallest fraction of time.
One of the assistants looked up sharply.
Aiden kept his expression blank.
The pressure increased.
It wasn't physical pain. More like pressure behind the eyes, trying to force something out of him. The array wanted a clean signal.
Interference didn't give clean signals.
The markings sputtered.
A faint crack ran along the edge of the circle.
The instructor's gaze shifted to him fully now.
Aiden adjusted his breathing and let the smallest amount of resonance leak out. Not enough to flare. Just enough to give the platform something readable.
The light steadied.
A number appeared overhead.
Low.
Murmurs rippled, then stopped when the instructor glanced at the crowd.
Aiden stepped out.
As he picked up his bag, he felt it.
A pair of eyes on him.
Not curious.
Calculating.
He didn't search for the source.
People who search look guilty.
The instructor addressed the group again. "Your score reflects stability under pressure. It does not reflect combat ability. Those who scored high are not safe. Those who scored low are not dismissed."
Her gaze slid across the courtyard.
"You will receive dorm assignments shortly. Training begins tomorrow."
Simple. Efficient.
The students started moving, tension breaking into quieter conversations.
Aiden stayed where he was for a few seconds longer.
Something in his chest felt… wrong.
Not unstable. Just aware.
Like the array had noticed him back.
He adjusted his grip on the bag and headed toward the dormitory hall, blending into the crowd.
Forty-one wasn't impressive.
That was the point.
What bothered him wasn't the number.
It was the way the array flickered before it settled.
And the fact that one of the upper-level balconies now had someone standing there who hadn't been before.
Watching him.