The academy learned faster than it admitted.
By the morning after the test, Narkun Ka no longer walked unseen.
He felt it the moment he stepped into the eastern training corridor—eyes following him, conversations stopping mid-sentence, the subtle shift in posture when others realized he was close.
Fear wore many faces.
Some students avoided him entirely, pressing flat against walls or pretending to be deeply engaged in training drills that moments before had been casual. Others stared openly, curiosity burning brighter than caution. A few looked at him the way predators looked at prey—not hungry, but calculating.
Narkun kept his head down and his pace steady.
He had learned something important during the tests.
The academy wasn't afraid of what he had done.
It was afraid of what it couldn't define.
Early integration students trained separately from the main classes, but observation went both ways. The older students watched from elevated platforms as the younger group practiced basic forms—stance control, breath regulation, and internal flow discipline.
Narkun stood among them, moving slowly through the forms Instructor Vale demonstrated.
Slow.
Careful.
Deliberate.
Every movement felt wrong.
Not incorrect—restricted.
When he held a stance, the ground resisted him, like it expected more weight. When he exhaled, the air pressed back, thick with unspent force. Even the simplest motions demanded restraint that made his muscles ache.
"Again," Vale commanded.
They repeated the sequence.
A boy two spaces to Narkun's left stumbled, his energy slipping out of alignment. Vale corrected him sharply, tapping his shoulder with a training rod.
Then she stopped.
Her gaze shifted.
Narkun felt it before she spoke.
"Hold," Vale said.
Everyone froze.
She walked toward him slowly.
"Your flow," she said. "Show me."
Narkun adjusted his stance, letting just enough energy circulate to be visible.
The air around him shimmered faintly.
Vale's eyes narrowed.
"You're compressing," she said.
Narkun nodded. "If I don't, it spills."
A murmur rippled through the observing students above.
Vale straightened. "That level of compression will damage you over time."
Narkun met her gaze. "So will letting it out."
Silence followed.
Vale turned away first.
"Continue," she said.
But the damage was done.
Word spread quickly.
The challenge came before midday.
Narkun was alone near the outer training ring, practicing balance drills on a narrow stone beam suspended over a shallow drop. He preferred the isolation. Heights helped him focus.
"You're not supposed to be here."
The voice was calm.
Confident.
Too confident.
Narkun turned.
The boy who stood at the edge of the ring was older—twelve, maybe thirteen. Broad-shouldered, posture disciplined, uniform marked with a bronze insignia denoting early rank.
His hair was dark and tied back. His eyes were sharp.
Behind him stood two others, both clearly followers.
"I'm assigned here," Narkun replied.
The boy smiled faintly. "No. You're tolerated here."
Narkun said nothing.
"I'm Kael Riven," the boy continued. "My family has trained guardians for this academy for three generations."
That explained the confidence.
"And you," Kael said, stepping closer, "are the problem they dragged inside and hoped would behave."
Narkun's fingers curled around the edge of the beam.
"I don't want trouble," he said.
Kael laughed softly. "Everyone who says that causes it."
One of Kael's companions scoffed. "This is him? He doesn't look like much."
Kael raised a hand. "Careful. Monsters don't always look impressive."
The word monster landed hard.
Narkun felt the stir inside his chest.
The Ursid shifted.
The stone beneath his feet creaked.
Kael noticed.
His smile widened.
"There it is," he said. "You feel that? That thing inside you pushing back?"
Narkun stepped down from the beam.
"Leave me alone."
Kael tilted his head. "Make me."
The air tightened.
Students gathered at a distance, sensing something about to break.
"Kael," a voice called sharply.
Instructor Vale stood at the far end of the ring, arms crossed.
Kael didn't look away from Narkun. "Yes, Instructor?"
"This area is not for disputes," Vale said. "Move along."
Kael smiled politely. "Of course."
He turned to leave—then leaned closer to Narkun and whispered:
"Everyone's watching to see when you lose control."
He walked away.
The watchers dispersed slowly, disappointed.
Narkun stood still, heart pounding.
He hadn't struck.
He hadn't reacted.
And somehow—
That felt like losing.
The next encounter wasn't so clean.
It happened during paired combat drills that afternoon.
Students were matched by size and rank.
Narkun was assigned a smaller opponent—a girl with quick footwork and wind-aligned flow. She bowed stiffly, eyes nervous.
"I won't hurt you," she said quickly.
"I know," Narkun replied.
They began.
Narkun moved defensively, redirecting strikes, stepping aside instead of countering. The girl attacked cautiously, clearly more afraid of him than focused on technique.
"Stop holding back!" an instructor snapped.
Narkun hesitated.
The girl lunged.
Before he could adjust—
Kael stepped into the ring.
"This pairing is inefficient," Kael said loudly. "Let me handle it."
The instructor frowned. "You're not assigned—"
"I'll take responsibility," Kael said smoothly.
The instructor hesitated.
Then nodded.
The girl backed away gratefully.
Kael stepped forward, rolling his shoulders.
"No beasts," he said. "No tricks. Just technique."
Narkun said nothing.
"Begin," the instructor called.
Kael moved instantly.
Fast.
Precise.
His strikes flowed cleanly, each one testing rather than committing. Narkun deflected, redirected, stepped back—but Kael pressed harder, forcing him to give ground.
"See?" Kael said as he attacked. "You bleed like everyone else."
Narkun felt it then.
The pressure.
The watching eyes.
The expectation.
Kael feinted low—then struck high.
Narkun reacted on instinct.
Too much instinct.
He caught Kael's wrist and twisted.
The air cracked.
Kael flew backward, slamming into the barrier with enough force to shatter stone.
Gasps erupted.
Silence followed.
Kael slid down the wall, stunned but alive.
Narkun stared at his hand.
"I didn't—" he started.
Instructor Vale was already there, eyes blazing.
"Enough!"
She stepped between them.
"Medics!" she barked.
Kael coughed, laughter bubbling through pain. "There it is," he rasped. "You can't help it."
Vale rounded on Narkun. "You exceeded restraint limits."
Narkun's voice shook. "He pushed me."
"And you answered," Vale snapped. "That is the problem."
She turned to Kael. "And you provoked."
Kael smiled weakly. "Worth it."
Vale straightened slowly.
"This rivalry ends now," she said coldly. "Both of you are confined from combat drills until further notice."
Kael's smile faded.
Narkun exhaled slowly.
That night, Narkun sat alone in his room, knees drawn to his chest.
The king card rested in his palm.
"I didn't want to hurt him," he whispered.
But you did, something inside him replied.
"Because he wanted me to?"
Because you exist.
Narkun closed his eyes.
For the first time since leaving home, doubt crept in—not about his strength, but about his place.
He wasn't being challenged because he was weak.
He was being challenged because someone needed to stand against him.
And Kael Riven had decided to be that person.
Outside his door, unseen—
Instructor Vale paused, listening.
"This is only the beginning," she murmured.