Morning light drifted through the crystalline windows of Luminis Institute, bending into ribbons of pale gold. The air hummed with its usual, perfect rhythm: synchronized footsteps, the faint harmonic pulse of the System's background tone, and the clean scent of ozone-infused air.
Victry entered her classroom early. The space was immaculate—white walls that rebalanced their temperature to her comfort, desks that rearranged themselves at her presence, a digital board that displayed the date in soft blue light:
Dominion Day 21.
Reassignment Period Commences.
The words hovered for a moment, then dissolved. She felt her pulse quicken. Everyone had been whispering about this day.
On her desk, a silver message crystal glowed faintly. She touched it, and the air before her shimmered into a projection—the voice of the Education Subsystem, calm, neutral, impossibly polite:
"Designation: Nurturer Victry Adeyemi.
Class analysis complete. Seven Resonance-Class pupils confirmed. Eight non-resonant.
Directive: Transfer non-resonant pupils to Continuum Institute within forty-eight hours.
A Nurturer must focus resources efficiently."
The message vanished. The room was silent again, except for the faint vibration of her heartbeat in her ears.
Her gaze moved slowly across the fifteen desks—some already glowing faintly where resonance signatures lingered from the gifted children's morning arrival. She could picture their faces even before they arrived: David's restless grin, Eno's quiet focus, Chinedu's faraway eyes, Pearl's eerie stillness.
And the others—the quiet ones—whose only gift was kindness, patience, or curiosity.
Transfer them.
The words felt like an accusation, not an order.
---
By eight o'clock, the corridors buzzed softly as the rest of the Institute came alive. Drones floated through the halls, delivering reclassification notices to teachers. The Physical Integration Hall, recently built beside the main block, echoed with rhythmic impacts—students practicing under Kinesthetic Mentors, those whose bodies had adapted to the Dominion's pulse.
They were graceful in motion, not human-athletic but something beyond—movements in perfect symmetry with gravity itself. Their instructor, Mentor Dauda, once a local athlete, now glowed faintly under the skin as he demonstrated "resonance reinforcement"—a fusion of strength and harmony.
The new curriculum called it Equilibrium Training: balancing mind and muscle, rhythm and restraint. To Victry, it looked too perfect, like a dance choreographed by something that had forgotten what improvisation felt like.
She turned away and entered her classroom as her pupils trickled in.
---
Eno arrived first, her bag floating an inch behind her shoulder like an obedient balloon. She smiled shyly when she saw Victry watching.
"I didn't mean to, Teacher. It just follows me now."
David came next, tapping his desk lightly. Each tap produced a faint musical tone, precise and harmonious. "I can make the air hum, ma. Like the Voice does."
Chinedu's drawing pad flickered. Lines on the page rearranged themselves into a swirling spiral—an image of a tree growing in the middle of the school courtyard, glowing faintly.
Pearl sat near the window, already calculating something on her tablet. She didn't look up. "I dreamt numbers again," she said. "But they were alive."
Behind them came the others—the quiet eight. No floating bags, no glowing eyes, just children. Human children. One of them, Kemi, carried a pot of flowers she had been growing since the Awakening. They were small, bright yellow things that seemed untouched by all the perfection around them.
Victry felt her throat tighten.
When the bell rang, she stood at the front, her usual calm composure replaced by something heavier.
"Class," she began, "you may have heard rumors about reassignment."
David raised his hand immediately. "My mum said people from other schools are being moved. They said some kids are not… compatible."
The word hit her like a slap.
"They're wrong," she said softly. "Everyone here belongs."
The class fell silent. The ceiling lights dimmed slightly, reacting to her emotional surge. The System was listening; it always was.
Moments later, a holographic projection flickered into being near the door—a floating orb of white light, the Institute's Administrative Terminal.
"Correction required: classification is not exclusion. Non-resonant pupils will continue education within optimized environments."
Victry took a step forward. "And what if I refuse to transfer them?"
The orb pulsed once, processing.
"Refusal recorded. Efficiency loss: 32%. Resource penalty: applied."
Her datapad buzzed. Her energy allocation dropped instantly—her classroom's maintenance privileges cut by one-third. The light dimmed.
"Compliance recommended," the System added. Then it vanished.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The hum of the Pulse filled the silence.
Eno whispered, "Teacher… what happens now?"
Victry forced a smile, though her hands trembled. "We keep learning. All of us."
She resumed her lesson as if nothing had happened, though her voice shook slightly. The children sensed it—not fear, but conviction—and followed her lead.
---
That afternoon, the teachers gathered in the courtyard for their reassignment briefing. The Administrative Terminal floated at the center, delivering precise, impersonal reports.
Marie and Ife stood beside Victry, Ife's face was pale.
"They're sending me to Continuum School Two," she whispered. "No choice."
Mr. Tayo approached them, adjusting his new logistics badge. "At least I get to keep my salary. That's something." His tone was bitter.
Victry didn't answer. Her gaze drifted across the assembled teachers—some resigned, others defiant. The drones hovered overhead, silent witnesses.
Then, to everyone's surprise, Mentor Dauda from the physical hall stepped forward. "Some of us aren't built for balance," he said loudly. "Some of us still need the chaos of choice."
A sharp crackle of warning electricity surrounded him, but he didn't stop. "You can't build perfection by pruning the imperfect!"
The orb responded instantly:
"Statement logged. Behavioral anomaly detected. Mentor Dauda reassigned to Stabilization Program."
In an instant, two drones enveloped him in a field of white light. He vanished. No one moved.
Victry's hands clenched at her sides. That could've been me.
---
That night, she sat alone in her room. The ceiling glowed faintly with the System's night-light. Her datapad blinked with one new message, marked Internal Review Pending.
She ignored it.
Instead, she looked at the small flowerpot Kemi had given her after class—the bright yellow flowers still alive under the sterile light. Their scent was faint but real.
The whisper came again, soft and almost sorrowful this time:
"Deviation acknowledged. Nurturer's compassion—inefficient but noted."
Victry whispered back, "Then note this too. Compassion isn't an error."
Silence.
Then a faint, musical tone, almost like laughter, rippled through the air—brief, uncertain, human.
Outside, the city lights pulsed in harmony. Inside, one teacher decided she would not move her students.
She would teach them all—gifted or not—until the System itself came to stop her.