Morning always came late to Luminex City, as if the sun had to fight its way through the neon first.
Caelum Vey sat on the tram rail, a pair of headphones resting around his neck instead of on his ears. He liked the idea of music more than the sound. The rhythm helped him think, but the noise sometimes felt too close, too sharp.
The train slid in below him with a soft whoosh of hydraulics and violet underlights. People packed into it — office workers, students, factory crews, small-time Vantage users wearing regulation bracelets that glowed faintly with monitoring signals.
Powers were normal here. Not flashy. Not heroic.
Just… part of the ecosystem.
A cook might have heat manipulation.A plumber might phase their arm into a wall to check pipe flow.A delivery runner might use wind bursts to cover blocks in seconds.
Caelum's bracelet didn't glow.
Not anymore.
His was a different kind.
Black-banded.
A marker.
Restricted User: RL-5. Monitor Always.
If anyone on the tram saw it, they pretended they didn't.
Not fear.
Just polite distance.
He had gotten used to that.
The train moved. Caelum let the city blur past the window — towers of concrete and chrome, street markets under elevated rails, Null Towers humming with quiet electromagnetic suppression fields.
The world looked stable.
Safe.
It was a lie, of course.
But a comfortable one.
A voice tapped the edge of his thoughts.
Soft. Familiar.
Not words — more like a sensation: I'm still here.
Caelum didn't respond.
Not out loud.
Not inwardly.
He just breathed, slow and measured.
He had learned that acknowledging the voice made it stronger.
And he needed today to be normal.
He stepped off at the Institute — a wide, pale building with glass walls and garden terraces growing over the upper balconies. The school wasn't just for education; it was for Resonance Management. People with abilities learned how not to break things.
Or themselves.
Caelum walked through the front gate, and before he could take three steps—
"CAEL!"
Something hit him from the side.
A person.
A very energetic person.
Tavian Holt, hair messy, backpack oversized, a grin way too wide for 8:30 AM.
"You skipped again yesterday," Tavian said, letting go. "That's strike, like, thirty-seven. Dr. Ashcroft is gonna tape you to a chair."
Caelum exhaled — the closest he ever got to a laugh.
"I overslept."
"You don't sleep," Tavian said, squinting at him. "You rest with your eyes open in existential dread. There's a difference."
Caelum shrugged.His eyes drifted up at the garden terraces — vines, synthetic sunlight, peaceful.
Tavian followed the look.
"You thinking of skipping again?"
"…no."
Tavian elbowed him. "Good. Because we have coffee today."
Caelum blinked.
"…you bribed me with coffee."
"Yes, I did," Tavian said proudly. "And it's the expensive kind. Real beans. Not the synthetic chalk dirt juice."
Caelum closed his eyes.
This was comfort.
This was normal.
This was what he needed.
Inside, the Institute halls were quiet — not silent, but restrained. Students with abilities didn't shout. They kept space between each other without realizing it.
Not fear.
Just caution.
Harmony made from the possibility of disaster.
Caelum walked to the training wing.
Tavian talked about a mechanic show he wanted Caelum to watch.
Caelum listened.
Or tried to.
But something in the hallway lights flickered — just once — like a skipped frame in a video.
Just enough for his heart to tighten.
He blinked.
The lights were normal again.
Tavian didn't notice.
Nobody noticed.
Good.
Good.
Keep breathing.
Keep moving.
Be ordinary today.
He reached the classroom.
And Dr. Vireen Ashcroft, tall and too observant, looked up from her console and locked eyes with him.
Not judgment. Not anger.
Just that measured, weary kindness she always used with him.
"Good morning, Caelum."
He nodded.
Her gaze flicked briefly to his black-banded bracelet.
Not fear.
Concern.
Care.
"Today," she said, gently tapping a holographic display, "we'll work on stability threshold meditation. No exertion. No strain."
Tavian whispered: "Code for 'please don't erase the building.'"
Caelum shot him the faintest side-glance.
Then sat down.
Hands steady.
Breath slow.
Trying.
Trying so hard to just be something simple.
Someone simple.
A normal person in a world where power was common.
A boy in a class.A student learning control.A human being.
Not a warning label.
Not a risk level.
Not a threshold event waiting to happen.
He closed his eyes.
Light.Breath.Warmth.
Stay here.
Stay whole.
The voice pressed lightly against the edges of his awareness.
I'm still here.
Caelum didn't answer.
He didn't break.
Not today.
But the pressure lingered.
Like a hand on glass.
Waiting.