The corridor sloped downward.
Not steeply, but enough that the air changed with every step. Cooler. Thicker. As though the deeper levels of the academy were less concerned with comfort and more with containment.
Phaeros walked in silence, flanked by the others chosen for provisional evaluation. The faint glow of sigils embedded in the walls pulsed slowly, casting elongated shadows that stretched and warped with each step.
No one spoke.
Not because they were ordered not to — but because instinct warned them that this was not a place for idle words.
At the front, the ash-haired instructor led the way without looking back.
The doors ahead parted soundlessly.
Beyond them lay a chamber unlike the awakening plaza.
This room was smaller, enclosed, and deliberately plain. The stone was darker, the air denser. Lines of containment sigils ran along the floor in precise geometry, converging toward a circular platform at the center.
And standing beside it was a man who did not look like he belonged to any rank.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in simple dark robes without ornament or insignia. His hair was tied back loosely, streaked faintly with gray. His posture was relaxed — almost careless — yet something about him made the air feel… disciplined.
Not oppressive.
Restrained.
Like a blade left in its sheath.
Phaeros felt it immediately.
A pressure, different from before.
Sharper.
Focused.
His instincts tightened.
This man was dangerous.
The ash-haired instructor stopped several paces away and inclined his head slightly.
"Instructor Deyron," he said. "These are the candidates with unstable manifestations."
The man named Deyron turned.
His gaze swept the group once.
It wasn't cold. It wasn't warm.
It was precise.
When his eyes reached Phaeros, they paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Enough.
Something in Phaeros' chest reacted — not flaring, not resisting, but settling, as though recognizing a weight similar to its own.
Deyron's brow creased almost imperceptibly.
Then he looked away.
"Leave us," he said calmly.
The instructors hesitated.
"Sir—"
"I said leave."
There was no threat in his voice.
There didn't need to be.
They bowed and withdrew without another word. The doors sealed behind them, cutting off the outside sounds entirely.
Silence followed.
Deyron turned back to the group.
"Before we begin," he said, "understand this: you are not here because you are special."
A few of them stiffened.
"You are here because something about you does not behave the way it should. That makes you dangerous — to yourselves and to others."
His gaze flicked briefly toward Phaeros again.
"Dangerous things require restraint."
He gestured to the circle.
"Step forward. One at a time."
No one moved.
Then Rhaelis stepped forward.
Her movements were deliberate, composed. She stopped at the edge of the circle and met Deyron's gaze without flinching.
"Name," he said.
"Rhaelis Vorn."
"Concept?"
"Binding."
A flicker of interest passed through Deyron's eyes.
"Demonstrate."
She hesitated only a moment before raising her hand. The air around her fingers shimmered faintly. Thin lines of pale light emerged, weaving together into a subtle lattice that hovered briefly before dissolving.
Controlled. Precise.
Deyron watched closely.
"You understand the cost?" he asked.
"Yes."
"What does it take from you?"
Rhaelis' jaw tightened. "Freedom."
A pause.
Then Deyron nodded once. "Accurate."
He waved her aside. "You'll learn discipline quickly, or your power will eat you alive."
She stepped back, expression unreadable.
One by one, the others stepped forward.
A boy with unstable force output cracked the stone beneath his feet before collapsing from exhaustion. Another manifested a sensory ability that overwhelmed him instantly.
Deyron corrected, restrained, evaluated.
Cold. Efficient.
Then his gaze turned to Phaeros.
"You."
Phaeros stepped forward.
He could feel it again — that faint pressure, like eyes brushing against his thoughts.
Deyron studied him longer this time.
"Name."
"Phaeros."
"Concept?"
Phaeros hesitated.
The room felt very still.
"I don't know," he said honestly.
A murmur stirred behind him.
Deyron tilted his head slightly. "You don't know," he repeated.
"No."
Silence stretched.
Then, unexpectedly, Deyron smiled — not warmly, but with faint interest.
"That," he said, "is at least an honest answer."
He stepped closer.
The air around him shifted, tightening subtly, as if invisible restraints had been drawn a fraction closer.
Phaeros felt pressure bloom against his senses — not force, but limitation.
Something within him stirred in response.
Not in resistance.
In recognition.
His breath caught for half a heartbeat.
Deyron's eyes narrowed.
"…Interesting."
The pressure increased slightly.
Phaeros felt the warmth beneath his collarbone flicker — restrained, contained. He did not push back. He did not reach outward.
He simply allowed the pressure to exist.
The moment stretched.
Then Deyron withdrew.
The pressure vanished.
The room seemed to breathe again.
"Nothing manifests," Deyron said slowly. "And yet… you are not empty."
He studied Phaeros with renewed interest.
"Tell me," he said quietly, "have you ever been told to stop holding back?"
Phaeros met his gaze.
"Yes."
A pause.
Deyron exhaled softly, almost amused.
"I thought so."
He turned away. "You'll stay."
The words hit harder than expected.
Rhaelis glanced at him, surprise flickering across her face.
"For now," Deyron added. "You will train here. All of you."
He looked back at Phaeros one last time.
"And you, especially, will learn what restraint actually means."
Something in his tone made the air feel heavier.
Not threatening.
Not kind.
Certain.
As the group was led toward the adjoining chamber, Phaeros felt it again — that subtle awareness curling at the edge of his consciousness.
Not the instructor.
Not the room.
Something deeper.
Older.
Amused.
Careful, it seemed to whisper.He knows how to cage things like you.
Phaeros didn't react outwardly.
Inside, his thoughts were calm.
So this was how it began this time.
Not with power.
Not with chaos.
But with limits.
And limits, he knew from experience, were meant to be broken — carefully.