The morning came sharp and clear.
Sunlight cut through the mist that hung over Valenreach's western training grounds, gilding the stone towers with a quiet gold. The field below was already filled with noise — the bark of instructors, the dull clang of weapons, the low murmur of nervous recruits.
Only three candidates stood apart from the crowd.
Arin was one of them.
He hadn't expected to make it this far. Most of the hundred hopefuls who'd lined up yesterday had been sent home before the afternoon even ended. He remembered the look on the girl's face at the counter — the one who'd helped him fill out the form. "You're lucky," she'd said, smiling. "Sir Johan himself is supervising this batch."
Now, standing beneath that same man's shadow, Arin wasn't sure if "lucky" was the right word.
Johan stood at the far end of the field — tall, broad-shouldered, his dark coat trimmed with silver thread. His expression was calm, but his eyes were… sharp, like he could slice through a person's soul just by looking. Commander Serah stood beside him, a woman whose gaze was colder than the steel she carried. Her posture alone made soldiers straighten.
Arin felt both of them watching.
"Alright, candidates," Johan called out, his voice carrying across the open air. "This is the first round — physical capability. No weapons. No techniques. Just your body."
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the line.
He pointed to the massive wall behind him — a slab of dense, rune-laced concrete. Its surface shimmered faintly with mana lines, like veins glowing under skin. "Your task is simple," he continued. "Strike the wall once. The barrier will measure your impact. The reading determines your rank potential. Fail to make even a dent—" his lips curved faintly, "—and you can go home."
One recruit whispered, "That thing looks like it could stop a tank…"
Another laughed weakly. "We're supposed to punch that?"
Johan's gaze silenced them instantly. "Begin."
The first candidate — a tall boy with military training written all over his stance — stepped forward. He tightened his gloves, drew back, and slammed his fist into the wall with a grunt.
The impact echoed, a dull thud, followed by a faint ripple of light. The runes glowed briefly before dimming. A small dent formed — not deep, but visible.
"Reading: 2.8," an assistant called out.
The boy stepped back, satisfied.
The second candidate — a woman with wiry arms and scars on her knuckles — exhaled sharply, wound up, and hit harder. The crack rang louder. Her knuckles bled instantly, but the dent went deeper.
"Reading: 3.4," the assistant announced.
Then it was Arin's turn.
He stepped forward quietly. The whispers started almost immediately.
"Look at his clothes—he's not even wearing proper gear."
"Probably a drifter. How'd he get in?"
"Bet he breaks his hand before the wall moves."
Arin ignored them.
He pressed his palm against the surface, feeling the faint vibration under his skin — the way the runes pulsed in rhythm, almost alive. His hand trembled slightly, not from fear but restraint. He could feel the energy inside him — that quiet, sealed storm — but he didn't touch it. Not today.
Just strength.
Just him.
He stepped back, rolled his shoulders, took one deep breath, and struck.
The sound cracked through the training ground like a thunderclap.
Dust burst from the wall's surface, rippling outward in a wave.
For a second, no one moved.
Then the assistant looked at the rune reader — his eyes wide. "Reading… 7.9."
A stunned silence fell over the field.
Johan blinked once. Serah's brow furrowed faintly.
The assistant checked the device again, as if the numbers were lying. "Confirmed — 7.9. That's… impossible without Astra reinforcement."
The other candidates stared. One of them muttered under his breath, "That's… double the commander's entry mark…"
Another scoffed nervously. "No way that's just raw strength."
Arin flexed his fingers once. The knuckles burned — skin split slightly — but he didn't bleed much. He just turned away and stepped back in line, calm, almost indifferent.
Johan's eyes followed him like a hawk's.
For a heartbeat, something in that calm expression broke — not fear, but recognition.
That feeling again. The same as yesterday.
That same quiet dread that brushed the edge of instinct, the kind that made even a man like Johan's pulse skip once.
He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar like nothing happened. "Not bad," he said, tone deceptively light. "You three, wait near the north wing. The next tests will begin shortly."
The other candidates were dismissed.
Some left whispering; others glanced back at Arin like they'd just watched a ghost punch through stone.
When the yard finally thinned out, Serah folded her arms, eyes still on the wall. "You saw it too," she said quietly.
Johan's jaw tightened. "I felt it."
"His strike?"
He shook his head slightly. "No. Before that."
Serah looked at him sideways. "Explain."
Johan glanced at the spot where Arin had stood. The faint outline of the boy's fist still lingered in the wall — a mark almost too deep for a human. "For a second, when he stepped up," he murmured, "the air around him changed. I thought my heart stopped."
Serah raised an eyebrow. "You're imagining it."
He gave a faint, humorless laugh. "Maybe. But tell me this — how does someone with no aura output, no visible Astra signature, punch like that?"
Serah didn't answer. Her eyes lingered on the wall longer than necessary.
"Keep an eye on him," Johan said quietly. "I don't like unknowns."
Across the yard, Arin rinsed his hands in a trough of cold water.
The sting in his knuckles reminded him he was still holding back — a fragile reminder that his control was working. He looked up briefly at the blue sky over Valenreach's towers, breathing slow.
He didn't notice Johan watching from afar — the commander's expression unreadable.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Johan's thoughts whispered like an old instinct:
That wasn't strength. That was something trying not to be strength.
At the end of the session, as the selected candidates were dismissed for the day, the girl from the counter reappeared, her clipboard tucked under her arm. She smiled at them as they passed. "Good work today. Tomorrow's your mental and situational tests — and then the theoretical exam, followed by the final interview with Commander Serah herself. Make sure you rest. You'll need it."
Arin nodded politely as he walked by.
The other two whispered among themselves — glancing at him, half-impressed, half-afraid.
When Arin stepped into the fading sunlight outside, the city looked different somehow. The air was colder, sharper. Somewhere deep inside, beneath the calm and quiet, he felt a pulse — faint but unmistakable.
Like something in him had stirred at being tested.
He pushed the thought away and started walking.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.