The notice was posted before sunrise.
It was not hidden. It was not quiet. It was pinned to every board that mattered, written in the same careful script used for festival announcements and ranking updates.
Mandatory Assembly.All Trainees and Staff.Central Hall.Third Bell.
No names were listed.
No reason was given.
Kavien stood in front of the board long after others had passed by. He read the words again and again, not because he expected them to change, but because he needed to feel their weight settle properly.
This was not an investigation.
It was a decision already made.
Sil found him there, his steps slow, his expression tight.
"This is public," Sil said quietly.
"Yes."
"They want witnesses."
"Yes."
Sil hesitated, then asked the question he had been holding back since the archives.
"Are you ready for this?"
Kavien thought of Rethan, running into the Mid World with nothing but pride and desperation.
He thought of Lira, standing calmly while the academy adjusted its grip around her life.
He thought of the pressure in his chest, steady and patient, like something that had been waiting a long time for him to understand.
"I do not think readiness matters anymore," he said.
They walked together toward the Central Hall.
The academy felt different that morning. Not tense. Organized. Trainees moved in clusters, whispering openly now, no longer afraid of being overheard. Instructors stood in visible positions, posture straight, expressions neutral.
Fear had finished turning into policy.
The Central Hall filled quickly.
It was the oldest structure in the academy, built when mana control had been new and uncertain. Its stone walls were thick, etched with suppression sigils meant to dampen uncontrolled output. The floor was a wide circle of polished stone, marked with faint lines that guided positioning.
This was where outcomes were declared.
Kavien entered from the western side.
Lira stood near the eastern entrance, flanked by two attendants. They did not restrain her, but they did not step away either. Her posture was calm, her expression unreadable.
When she met Kavien's eyes across the hall, she did not look afraid.
She looked resolved.
That unsettled him more than fear would have.
The third bell rang.
The doors sealed with a heavy sound that echoed through the chamber.
An administrator stepped forward. She was older than most, her aura perfectly contained, her presence calm in a way that felt practiced rather than natural.
"We are gathered," she said, her voice carrying easily, "to address a matter that concerns the stability of this institution and those who train within it."
No name yet.
"This is not a trial," she continued. "There are no criminal accusations."
A faint ripple of relief moved through the hall.
"This is an evaluation of continued eligibility."
The relief vanished.
Kavien stepped forward when his name was spoken.
He did not hesitate.
The moment his boots touched the central circle, he felt the suppression sigils respond. The air thickened slightly, not enough to restrict movement, but enough to remind him where he stood.
The pressure inside his chest stirred, not in resistance, but in recognition.
This place was designed to contain things like him.
"Kavien," the administrator said, "state your understanding of why you are here."
He looked around the hall.
At the trainees who had trained beside him.
At instructors who had once corrected his stance and breathing.
At Sil, standing rigid among the crowd.
At Lira, watching quietly.
"My presence," he said, "has disrupted established systems."
"That is vague," the administrator replied.
"My presence has revealed limitations," Kavien continued, "in systems designed for uniform response."
A murmur spread.
"You are implying fault," a councilor said.
"I am stating observation," Kavien replied. "Not accusation."
The administrator inclined her head slightly. "And yet you remain."
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question hung in the air.
Kavien did not answer immediately.
Because the answer was not simple.
"Because leaving would not remove the problem," he said at last. "It would only move it elsewhere."
"And you believe staying is preferable," the administrator said.
"I believe hiding consequences does not resolve them," Kavien replied.
A sharp intake of breath came from somewhere in the hall.
"You are aware," the administrator said, "that your continued presence creates instability."
"Yes."
"And that instability endangers others."
Kavien's gaze flicked to Lira.
"I am aware."
"Then explain," the administrator said, "why you continue to form attachments."
The word landed deliberately.
This was not about power.
It never had been.
"Because isolation does not make anyone safer," Kavien said. "It only makes control easier."
Sil closed his eyes briefly.
The administrator's expression did not change. "Your proximity has already resulted in one disappearance."
Rethan.
"He made his own choice," Kavien said quietly.
"And now others are at risk," she continued. "Including those without the ability to defend themselves."
Lira shifted slightly.
Not in fear.
In acknowledgment.
"If you believe I am dangerous," Kavien said, "then act on that belief."
A ripple moved through the hall.
"Exile?" someone whispered.
The administrator studied him carefully. "Exile is not correction. It is abdication."
"Then what is this?" Kavien asked.
"A boundary," she replied. "You will descend."
The word struck the hall like a dropped blade.
"To where?" Kavien asked.
"The Mid World," she said. "Under sanctioned supervision."
Sil stepped forward. "That is forced descent."
"It is controlled deployment," the administrator replied calmly.
Kavien felt the pressure inside him tighten, not in resistance, but understanding.
They were not removing him.
They were using him.
"You will stabilize Scar zones," she continued. "You will be observed. You will not return until compliance is demonstrated."
"And Lira?" Kavien asked.
The administrator paused.
"She will accompany the expedition," she said. "As records oversight."
The hall erupted.
Sil was on his feet. "You are placing a civilian into a hazard zone."
"She is trained," the administrator replied.
"And unprotected," Sil shot back.
"This is necessity," the administrator said. "Not punishment."
Kavien looked at Lira.
She met his gaze.
She nodded once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
This was her choice too.
"When?" Kavien asked.
"Immediately."
Sil swore under his breath.
The hall fell into stunned silence.
Judgment had been delivered.
Not exile.
Not mercy.
A descent meant to break something.
They were given less than an hour.
The expedition assembled in the lower hangar, a place where reinforced lifts descended into the Mid World through ancient shafts carved long before the academy existed. The air was heavier here, mana density fluctuating in subtle waves.
Lira arrived carrying a single case.
"You do not have to do this," Kavien said quietly.
She shook her head. "If I stay, they will find another reason to send me later. Or worse."
He nodded. "Stay close to me."
She gave a faint smile. "You say that as if I have not been."
The rest of the team avoided them.
Not openly.
But deliberately.
They were not afraid of Lira.
They were afraid of proximity.
As the lift prepared to descend, Kavien felt it.
A familiar presence.
Rethan stepped out from behind a support column.
He looked thinner. Harder. His aura was uneven, frayed at the edges.
"Kavien," he said.
Sil froze.
Lira inhaled sharply.
"You are not supposed to be here," Kavien said.
Rethan smiled faintly. "Neither are you."
The administrators noticed then. Too late.
Rethan stepped forward. "You wanted results," he said. "Here they are."
"What have you done?" one of them demanded.
Rethan's gaze flicked to Kavien. "I survived."
"That is not authorization," the administrator snapped.
Rethan shrugged. "Neither is pretending control."
Kavien felt the pressure inside him respond, not to threat, but to recognition.
Two anomalies.
One system.
The lift doors began to close.
"This is not over," the administrator said.
"No," Kavien replied quietly. "It is just visible now."
As the lift descended, the academy receded above them.
Stone gave way to darkness.
Mana thickened.
And somewhere below, the world waited.
Not to judge.
But to test.
Kavien stood beside Lira as the pressure increased, his awareness expanding outward, steady and restrained.
Judgment had been passed.
Now came consequence.
And the burden he carried, sealed long before his birth, acknowledged the truth.
This was not exile.
This was descent.
And nothing that entered the Mid World returned unchanged.