The air in the Skyview Boardroom was thin, expensive, and cold. Ten people sat around the obsidian table, their faces lit by the pale glow of holographic data streams and the grey light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the entire academy. This was the Conclave, not the official board, but the true power behind it. The members were major investors who funded the black-ops wings and the handful of department heads whose specialities leaned more toward cutting-edge theory and applied essence-weapons than teaching heroics.
Director Korin stood at the head of the table, his usual commanding presence feeling less like authority and more like a defendant before a jury.
"The incident is a public relations catastrophe, Korin," said Madam Noir, the academy's chief patron, her voice like rustling banknotes. "Parents are pulling applications. The media calls him 'The Crush-Out.' He's a liability painted in neon."
"He's a bomb that already went off in our living room," grunted General Rourke, a retired Association commander who headed Tactical Applications. "Containment is the only sane option. Lock him in the Vault until we understand what he is."
Korin didn't flinch. He placed his palms flat on the cool obsidian. "You're all correct. He is a catastrophe. He is a bomb. But you're looking at the debris and calling it trash. I'm looking at the blast pattern and measuring the yield." He tapped the controller, and a complex molecular diagram filled the screen: the H₂O molecule. "What you saw wasn't a loss of control. It was a catastrophic overclock of a system we didn't understand. Thanks to research from one of our own students, we now have a working theory."
He launched into it not as a hopeful guess, but as a forensic report. He broke down Ben's observed abilities: atmospheric water extraction, state-shift freezing, precision shaping, and now, blood manipulation. "His power goes deeper than one common manipulation." Korin's finger traced the bonds in the hologram. "Domain over the H₂O molecule itself. The blood incident…" He paused, letting the uncomfortable shift ripple through the room. "…was not some accident. It was the evolution of his power to its most primal form, applied instinctively to the aqueous component of plasma. It's not monstrous. It's singular. Direct. It is his origin."
"A unique hydrokinetic is still a dangerous student who cannot control himself," said Doctor Aris, head of Essence Physiology, her voice cool.
"He was poisoned," Korin countered, his voice sharpening. He knew Ben was clear of toxins when discharged from the infirmary, but he had to sell the story for Ben's sake. "A synthetic blocker was in his system during that test. He was fighting for his life with his essence pathways under siege. What you witnessed was a system pushed to meltdown by external sabotage. The boy we're judging is a victim who survived an assassination attempt on his first day. That speaks to a resilience we should be cultivating, not caging."
He changed the display. Now it showed Ben's lineage: Theron and Clara's names, their records, their legacy. "He is their son. The potential was always there. But it's more than genetics." Korin leaned forward, his gaze sweeping the table. "Our initial scans were inconclusive because his essence signature is… adaptive. At only thirteen, he has already begun to unconsciously manipulate his own origin power without external help. We don't yet know the mechanism, but the data doesn't lie. He isn't just wielding a gift; he is a genius holding it. We have never seen this before."
Korin looked around the room and addressed General Rourke directly. "You of all people should know the power of origin manipulation, General."
A heavy silence fell. Manipulating one's origin power was a power from legends. The first to access it was the great hero Theron, and only a few had been recorded as mastering this power in the decades since. Among them, Korin and General Rourke were two of that rare handful.
"His son," someone whispered. "Born from the greatest wielder of essence, 'Theron the Hero.' It's Ben."
"This is all fascinating theory, Director," said Madam Noir, though her eyes had lost some of their mercenary gleam, replaced by calculation. "But theories don't stop headlines. What is your proposal? Not a plea. A strategy."
Korin stood to his full height. "I propose we stop seeing Benjamin Frost as a problem to be managed and start seeing him as the single most significant asset this academy has ever had the chance to shape. We do not cage him. We build him. We give him the most structured, monitored, and rigorous training path in our history. Not to limit him, but to aim him."
He looked at General Rourke. "You want a weapon? I'll give you a strategist who can control the battlefield's very environment." He looked at Doctor Aris. "You want research? His very existence challenges our models of essence." Finally, he looked at Madam Noir. "You want prestige? Imagine the hero we forge from this disaster. The narrative writes itself: the boy who mastered his own devastating power to become our champion."
Korin was definitely exaggerating and bullshitting, but it was all for Ben's future.
He let the image hang. Then he delivered the closing argument, his voice dropping to a grave, almost ominous register.
"But there is another reason. A tactical one. The shadows are stirring again. The patterns are there if you look. And when the old threat finally shows its face…" Korin's eyes were hard as flint. "…who would you rather have on our front line? A disciplined soldier with minimal powers? Or an origin user, a weapon we were too afraid to forge, because it might point back at us?"
The room was utterly still. He wasn't just asking them to keep a student. He was asking them to bet the academy's future, and perhaps more, on a damaged, volatile, unparalleled boy.
"I need your verdict," Korin said finally. "Do we cull the potential to avoid the risk? Or do we have the courage to build our future, knowing it might burn us?"
Korin sat down. He wasn't proud of the words he had said, but the fate of Ben and his time in THOE Academy now rested on the cold calculus of the ten most powerful people in the room. He would do what he must to preserve Ben's normal academy life. For Clara. For Theron.
Korin made his way to Ben's hospital room, his mind still processing every detail from the meeting with the academy's investors and Arctura's highest officials. His expression was tense, but a thread of resolve ran beneath it.
He walked in and sat in the chair by the bed. Ben kept his eyes on the ceiling.
"They're calling it a public relations catastrophe," Korin said.
Ben leaned forward from his sitting position. "What are you calling it?"
"A mess. One you're going to help me clean up."
Ben finally looked at him. "I know I lost it out there. The arena was so loud. The crowd was screaming… and then Jax called me the way she used to. Something inside me just… switched off. All I wanted was to make it stop."
Korin nodded, as if hearing about a rough practice, not a public disaster. "That's the work, then. The control. The power isn't the problem. Your reaction to the pressure is. You let the pressure turn you into a blunt instrument."
"What did you tell them?" Ben asked, getting to the point.
"A simple explanation. Your origin affinity is Hydrokinesis. H₂O is your power. The 'poison' made you accidentally catalyze a neurotoxic algae bloom in the ambient humidity. Rare, volatile, but textbook for an untrained hydrokinetic under stress. That's the report. It's already filed."
Ben absorbed that. "The poison is a lie"
"It's not a lie. We're managing the truth. The full truth gets you dissected in a lab, not trained in a gym. So the part about you snapping out, with no connection to the poison… that never leaves this room. It's a secret we both keep."
"Why keep it at all? Why not just cut me loose?"
Korin sighed, a practical, tired sound. "I already tried the normal route. Putting you in a regular class was my mistake. You don't fit. Your potential doesn't fit. They'd either break you trying to make you fit, or you'd break something valuable. So, we do it my way. You're suspended from general studies. Your new schedule is with me. Tomorrow, eight AM, old foundation gymnasium. Don't be late."
"Your way," Ben repeated. "What's your way?"
"The way that doesn't end with you as a cautionary tale. The way that teaches you to use that power instead of it using you. You wanted to be a hero? Heroes need precision. Right now, you're a landslide. We start with control. Everything else comes after."
He stood up to leave.
"And if I can't learn it?" Ben asked.
Korin paused at the door. "Then we'll know. And we'll deal with it. But you will know you were given the chance. Get some sleep. The work starts tomorrow."
"I'm really sorry for putting you in that position," Ben said under his breath as Korin made his way to the door.
Ben felt like everything he did was for a good cause, but it all always got messed up in the process.
Korin turned around and locked eyes with Ben. "Remember what I told you son. Power without control is just destruction."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Ben lay there, the weight in his chest shifting. It wasn't guilt. It was the quiet, heavy understanding of a debt called in, and a long, hard road ahead. He looked at his hands. He wanted to deny this power. He never meant to use it. But all he had done was let it control him, corrupting him in the process.
But tomorrow was a new day, and he would not make the same mistake twice.