The third and fourth years at the Academy marked the transformation from students into specialists. Those on the warrior track intensified their combat training, learning Legion tactics and battlefield Pneuma applications. Scholars delved deeper into theory, studying ancient texts and conducting experiments that pushed the boundaries of Pneuma manipulation. Healers apprenticed in the Academy's hospitals, learning to mend wounds that would kill ordinary physicians' patients.
Kami's path remained unique—a curriculum designed for an audience of one.
Grand Master Maximus pushed him harder than ever, forcing him to explore applications of Devourer Pneuma that had never been documented. Could he drain the Pneuma from inanimate objects that had been saturated with life-force? Yes—ancient artifacts, enchanted weapons, Pneuma-infused architecture all yielded their stored energy to his hunger. Could he transfer Pneuma between people, taking from one and giving to another? Yes—though the process was delicate and dangerous, requiring absolute precision.
Most significantly, Maximus taught him to create what they called "Pneuma Wells"—temporary reservoirs where Kami could store consumed Pneuma without absorbing it into himself. This allowed him to drain multiple sources and hold that power in reserve, releasing it later when needed. It was a technique that had terrifying implications.
"With this ability," Maximus observed during one training session, "you could drain a hundred soldiers, store their combined Pneuma, and then release it all at once in a single devastating attack. Or you could distribute that stored power among allies, temporarily enhancing an entire squad to superhuman levels."
"I could also lose control of the reservoir," Kami countered. "If I store too much Pneuma without releasing it, the pressure might overwhelm my control. I could explode like an overfilled vessel."
"Which is why we practice control. Always control."
But control became harder as Kami's power grew. By his fourteenth year, his Pneuma capacity had increased so dramatically that even suppressed, his presence made sensitive individuals uncomfortable. The hunger was always there, always whispering, always demanding. Some days it took all his willpower just to walk through the Academy without unconsciously draining ambient Pneuma from every person he passed.
Thorwald noticed his brother's struggle. They still met regularly, though their schedules rarely aligned now that Thorwald was training with the advanced combat cohorts. One evening, as they shared wine stolen from the Academy cellars on the roof of Kami's tower, Thorwald spoke with unusual directness.
"You are fighting yourself every moment of every day. I can see it, brother. The effort it takes just to exist without feeding. How long can you sustain this?"
Kami stared out over the city lights. "Forever, if I must. The alternative is unacceptable."
"But what if there was another way?" Thorwald leaned forward. "What if you did not have to fight your nature but instead channeled it toward worthy targets? The Empire has enemies—truly evil people who deserve what a Devourer could do to them. What if you fed on them instead of starving yourself?"
"And who decides which people deserve to be drained of life? Me? The Empire? Thorwald, that path leads to me becoming exactly what Cassius feared—a predator who justifies feeding by declaring my prey deserving."
"Even if they are deserving? What about slavers, or those who spread Pneuma plague deliberately, or corrupted officials who drain the poor of their livelihood?"
Kami turned to his brother with haunted eyes. "Do you know what frightens me most? That I want to believe you. That part of me is already composing lists of people who deserve what I could do to them. The hunger is not just physical, Thorwald. It is moral. It wants me to justify feeding, to find excuses, to become the predator nature designed me to be."
Thorwald was silent for a long moment. Then: "You are the strongest person I know. Not because of your Pneuma capacity, but because you fight a war inside yourself that never ends. Most people surrender to their nature. You choose otherwise every day."
"Some days I am not sure how much longer I can choose."
In their fourth year, both brothers were seventeen, standing on the threshold of adulthood and graduation. The Academy's final examinations would determine their placement in Imperial service—where they would serve, in what capacity, under whose command.
Thorwald's path was clear: he would be commissioned as a Centurion in the Legions, leading soldiers in defense of the Empire. His combat scores were exceptional, his leadership qualities undeniable, his Pneuma capacity in the top five percent of his class.
Kami's future remained uncertain.
The final examinations for fourth-year students were grueling affairs lasting three days. Combat trials, theoretical examinations, practical demonstrations of Pneuma manipulation, leadership assessments. Hundreds of students competed for the most prestigious postings—command positions in the Legions, research positions at the Imperial Academy in the capital, administrative roles in provincial governance.
Thorwald excelled in every category. His final combat trial was legendary—he faced five third-year instructors simultaneously and fought them to a standstill, his golden Pneuma blazing like a sun as he enhanced his physical abilities to their absolute limits. When the trial ended, the instructors themselves applauded.
"That boy will be a general someday," Master Quintus predicted. "Mark my words."
Kami's final examination was different—private, conducted by Grand Master Maximus alone, focused entirely on control and precision rather than power.
"I will release a Pneuma construct," Maximus explained. "A being made entirely of compressed life-force, violent and unstable. Your task: drain it completely without allowing it to explode and damage this chamber. If you lose control, the blast will likely kill us both."
"And if I succeed?"
"Then you will have proven that you can safely handle the most dangerous Pneuma-based threats the Empire might face. You will be certified as a Specialized Asset—a designation that comes with both privilege and obligation."
Maximus created the construct with casual expertise that spoke to his vast experience—a sphere of roiling Pneuma the size of a human head, crackling with barely contained energy. He released it, and it immediately tried to expand, to detonate, to convert its compressed power into destructive force.
Kami caught it with his Devourer sense.
The construct fought him. It was designed to resist draining, to protect itself through violent expansion. But Kami had trained for four years under the Empire's greatest Pneuma Master. He knew how to be patient, how to apply pressure gradually, how to drain without triggering defensive reactions.
Thread by thread, he pulled the construct apart. Drew its Pneuma into himself in a controlled stream, never taking so much that the construct felt threatened enough to detonate. It was like defusing a bomb while hungry, fighting the urge to simply consume it all at once and damn the consequences.
After twenty minutes of painstaking work, the construct dissolved completely, its Pneuma safely absorbed into Kami's reservoir.
Maximus nodded with satisfaction. "Certification granted. You are now officially classified as a Specialized Asset of the Imperial Academy, category: Pneuma Corruption Specialist. Your assignment will be determined by the Emperor's council, but your role will likely involve responding to Pneuma-based threats that conventional forces cannot handle."
"I will still be a weapon," Kami said quietly. "Just aimed at different targets."
"You will be what you choose to be," Maximus corrected. "The Empire can give you orders, but how you execute those orders—with cruelty or mercy, with excess or restraint—that remains your choice."
The graduation ceremony took place on the first day of spring, with all of Aurelius's elite in attendance. Families gathered to watch their children receive their commissions and postings. The Academy's courtyard was decorated with banners and flowers, and the Seven Masters sat in judgment, ready to announce each graduate's fate.
Grimwald and Bera Van Hellsin had traveled from the northern provinces to see their sons graduate. They sat in the family section, older now, Grimwald's hair more gray than black, Bera's face marked by years of worry for her strange son.
One by one, the graduates were called forward to receive their postings.
"Cassius Tiberion." The name rang out across the courtyard. "Commissioned as Tribune of the Fifth Legion, with authorization to command up to five hundred soldiers. Your posting: the Eastern Frontier, defense against barbarian incursions. The Empire commends your service."
Cassius accepted his commission with aristocratic grace, his father watching with obvious pride. As he returned to his seat, his eyes found Kami in the crowd, and for just a moment, something passed between them—not friendship, never that, but perhaps a recognition that they had both survived four years at the Academy despite trying to destroy each other.
More names followed. Julia received a posting as a Legion healer. Marcus was assigned to the provincial administration, his earth-based Pneuma deemed ideal for construction and infrastructure projects.
Then: "Thorwald Van Hellsin."
Thorwald stepped forward, his bearing that of a born soldier, his golden Pneuma radiating quiet confidence.
"Commissioned as Centurion of the Ninth Legion, First Cohort. Your posting: rotating assignment across all frontiers, with special designation for rapid response to crisis situations. You are authorized to command up to one hundred soldiers and are flagged for accelerated promotion based on performance. The Empire commends your service and expects great things from you."
The crowd applauded warmly. Thorwald was well-liked, respected by peers and instructors alike. Even Cassius nodded acknowledgment of a worthy rival.
Finally: "Kami Van Hellsin."
The applause died immediately. The crowd fell silent, waiting to see what the Empire would do with its trained Devourer.
Kami walked to the center of the courtyard, where Grand Master Maximus stood with a sealed letter bearing the Imperial Seal.
"Kami Van Hellsin," Maximus announced, his voice carrying across the sudden silence. "You are certified as a Specialized Asset, category: Pneuma Corruption Specialist. Your posting is... unconventional."
He broke the seal and read: "By order of His Imperial Majesty, Kami Van Hellsin is assigned to the Office of Imperial Health, with authorization to travel throughout the Empire responding to Pneuma-based medical emergencies, outbreaks, and corruption events. He will operate under the supervision of the Silent Legion but will report directly to the Emperor's medical council. His primary function is healing and containment, not warfare or assassination."
Murmurs ran through the crowd. This was unprecedented—a Devourer given freedom to travel the Empire, trusted with the health of Imperial citizens.
"Additionally," Maximus continued, "Kami Van Hellsin is granted the rank of Imperial Physician, First Class, with all attendant privileges and responsibilities. He may requisition resources, commandeer facilities, and override local medical authority when responding to emergencies. He is also assigned a permanent escort—Centurion Thorwald Van Hellsin, who will coordinate security and logistics for all operations."
Thorwald's face broke into a huge grin. They would serve together. The brothers would not be separated.
"The Empire acknowledges," Maximus concluded, "that Kami Van Hellsin has proven himself worthy of trust, capable of choosing service over hunger, healing over harm. May he continue to prove that a Devourer can serve the living. The Empire commends his service."
This time, the applause was genuine and widespread. Not everyone joined in—old fears died hard—but enough did that it felt like acceptance rather than mere tolerance.
Kami stood in the center of the courtyard, accepting his commission, and felt something shift inside him. He had done it. Four years of perfect control, of choosing mercy, of fighting his nature every single day. And the Empire had acknowledged it. Had trusted him. Had given him a role where he could save lives instead of taking them.
But as he returned to his seat, passing close to the section where the Silent Legion observers sat in their unmarked black robes, he caught a whispered conversation:
"...merely the first stage of the plan..."
"...let him establish trust, prove himself useful..."
"...when the real crisis comes, he will already be positioned exactly where we need him..."
Kami's blood ran cold. They had not given him freedom. They had placed him on a longer leash, yes, but still a leash. They were positioning him, preparing him, waiting for the moment when they would pull that leash taut and force him to become the weapon they had always intended.
But that was a problem for another day.
Tonight, he would celebrate with his family. Would drink wine with Thorwald and tell stories of their Academy years. Would pretend, for just a few hours, that he was simply a young man beginning his career rather than a Devourer on a chain.
The graduation feast lasted until dawn. Students and families mingled, old rivalries were set aside for the night, and the Academy's halls rang with laughter and music.
Kami found himself in a quiet corner with his parents, Thorwald having been pulled away by his cohort for some warrior tradition involving excessive drinking and probably regrettable decisions.
"I am proud of you," Grimwald said, his soldier's voice rough with emotion he rarely showed. "I feared... when we brought you here four years ago, I feared we would lose you. That the hunger would consume you, or the Academy would destroy you, or you would become something we no longer recognized. But you have endured. You have become something better than I dared hope."
Bera said nothing, but she held Kami's hand tightly, and tears ran down her face—tears of relief, of pride, of a mother's love for a son who had fought so hard to be more than his nature.
"The fight is not over," Kami said quietly. "The hunger never stops. Every day is still a battle. But I have learned to fight it. And I have reasons to keep fighting." He squeezed his mother's hand. "Thank you for never giving up on me. For believing I could be more than a monster."
"You were never a monster," Bera said fiercely. "You were always our son. Always Kami. The world saw a Devourer, but we saw our child. And we were right."
Later, as the celebration wound down and students began stumbling back to their dormitories, Kami stood one final time in his tower room—the circular chamber that had been his home and prison for four years.
Tomorrow, he would leave this place. Would begin traveling the Empire with Thorwald, responding to medical emergencies, using his Devourer nature to save lives instead of taking them.
But tonight, he allowed himself one moment of honest reflection.
He had survived the Academy. Had proven he could control his hunger. Had earned a measure of trust and respect.
But he had also learned something darker: control was not the same as cure. The hunger was still there, still growing, still whispering. He had not defeated it—he had merely learned to cage it more effectively.
And cages, no matter how strong, eventually fail.
The question was not whether his control would someday break. The question was what he would become when it did.
A healer who had served the Empire faithfully? Or the monster everyone had always feared he would be?
Only time would answer that question.
But tonight, at least, Kami Van Hellsin allowed himself to hope that he could be the former.
And to fear that he would inevitably become the latter.