The Quantum Academy loomed at New Haven City's edge, its towers and glowing arches cutting through the morning mist. Albert Jr. Faustin stood at its gates, wind tugging at his dark blue jacket. The air buzzed sharp, thick with quantum energy that stung his nose like burnt wires. He tilted his head, squinting at the tallest spire as clouds hid its top. This place trained the gifted—kids born with power in their blood, like him. His father had sent him here, but Albert wasn't sure why he'd come. Maybe to break free of EvoTech Tower. Maybe to find something his own.
His wrist buzzed, the holo-watch strapped tight—a sleek black band every student got. It held lessons, maps, everything they needed, all glowing in thin air. No hard books, just quantum tech beaming knowledge. He tapped it, and a calm voice hummed, "Welcome, Albert Jr. Faustin. Points: 0. Basic holo-books unlocked." He frowned, shifting the small bag on his shoulder. Inside sat a hardcover book—old, worn, one he'd found in his father's office. He liked the feel of pages, the weight of paper, not this floating nonsense. People thought that was weird, and he didn't care.
He faced the gates, tall and smooth, carved with runes that pulsed blue—quantum locks for outsiders. He pressed his hand to the scanner, and a spark shot up his arm, quick and warm. The Coherence Bloodline stirred in his chest, wild and alive. The gates groaned open, and he stepped through, boots crunching gravel, the book's edge digging into his back.
The courtyard hummed with noise. Kids his age—sixteen, seventeen—filled the space, their voices loud over the buzz. Some messed around, others showed off. A boy snapped his fingers, and a stone zipped ten feet, tied to his mind. A girl flickered, her shape blurring like smoke before snapping solid. Albert watched, his face calm but his gut tight. He'd slid a glass last night, shaky and weak. These kids didn't even sweat.
"New guy?" A rough voice cut in. Albert turned to see a boy leaning on a pillar, arms crossed. He was shorter, wiry, with messy brown hair and dark eyes that glinted with mischief. His jacket hung loose, patched—not rich like Albert's.
"Yeah," Albert said, keeping it short. "You?"
"Second year." The boy grinned, sharp and quick. "Toren Vale. Saw you standing there like you own it. Figured you're fresh."
Albert's eyebrow lifted. "I don't own anything."
Toren snorted. "Sure. That jacket says money. You're a Faustin, right? EvoTech kid?"
Albert's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Albert Jr."
"Fancy." Toren stepped closer, eyeing the bag. "What's with that? Got a book in there or something?"
"Yeah," Albert said, voice flat. "Hardcover."
Toren blinked, then laughed—a short, loud bark. "You're kidding. Who uses those? Holo-watch not good enough?"
"I like them," Albert said, shrugging. "Feel real."
"Weird," Toren muttered, still grinning. "Academy's all points and holograms. You'll see." He flicked his wrist, and his holo-watch beeped. A coin jumped from his pocket, spinning in the air before dropping back. "Quantum tunneling. Cool, huh?"
Albert watched the coin, his fingers twitching. "Yeah. Cool."
A deep bell rang, cutting Toren off. It echoed off the stone, and the crowd shifted, heading for a big hall at the courtyard's end. Albert followed, Toren tagging along, still talking. "First class is Rhyd. Old guy, knows everything. Don't slack—he'll spot it."
The hall smelled sharp, like metal and dry air. Its walls glowed with screens flashing quantum patterns. Curved seats faced a platform where a man stood—Professor Calen Rhyd, Albert guessed. He was tall, rough-looking, with wild gray hair and eyes sharp behind thick glasses. He didn't smile, just watched them settle, hands behind his back.
"Sit," Rhyd said, his voice hard like stone. Albert picked a spot near the back, Toren dropping beside him. Three girls slid into seats ahead—Sera Kade, Mira Lune, Elara Solis, he'd learn later. Sera's short black hair caught the light, her amber eyes darting, restless. Mira's silver hair hung soft, her violet eyes calm but curious. Elara smiled, blonde and warm, her blue eyes flicking to Albert with a quick nod.
Rhyd tapped his holo-watch, and a screen flared, showing glowing lines—quantum fields. "You're here because you've got power," he started. "Bloodlines, luck, whatever gave it to you—it's nothing without control. Lose that, and you're nothing."
Albert leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Control. He'd lost it last night, the glass slipping free. Rhyd's words hit deep, stirring the weakness he hated.
"Quantum power bends reality," Rhyd went on. "Entanglement, superposition, tunneling—it's in you. But it's not free. Push too far, it fights back." He tapped again, and a clip played—a boy, older, phasing through a wall. Halfway, he froze, then screamed, blood leaking from his eyes before the screen cut black.
The room went quiet. Toren whistled low. "Brutal," he muttered.
Albert's stomach flipped, but he kept still. He'd felt that edge—the strain, the snap. Rhyd's eyes swept the room, stopping on him. "You," he said, pointing. "Faustin. Up."
Albert stood, feeling stares. He walked to the platform, boots loud on the floor, his bag bumping his hip. Rhyd handed him a metal cube, small but heavy. "Entangle it. Move it ten feet."
He gripped the cube, its cold bite sinking into his palm. The hum in his blood woke up, sharp and wild. He stared ahead, picturing the cube moving. His heart pounded, the air shimmered, and the cube lifted—slow, wobbly. Sweat stung his neck, his arm shaking. It shot forward, fast and messy, then crashed five feet off, denting the stone.
Laughter broke out, quick and loud. Sera smirked, Mira flinched, Elara clapped once then stopped. Rhyd didn't blink. "Halfway," he said. "Not nothing. Sit."
Albert grabbed the cube and walked back, his face hot. Toren grinned. "Not bad for a newbie."
"Shut it," Albert said, but a small smirk slipped out.
Rhyd cut in. "Check your watches. Five points each. Faustin gets three—half try, half reward."
Albert tapped his holo-watch. It beeped, glowing. "Points: 3. Basic holo-books available," it said. He frowned. Three points wouldn't unlock much—just starter lessons. He'd need more to get anything good.
After class, the courtyard buzzed again. Albert leaned on a wall, rolling the dented cube in his hand. Toren sat nearby, his watch projecting a tiny holo-game. Sera strode over, her eyes glinting. "Not awful, rich boy," she said, her tone sharp. "Thought you'd flop worse."
"Thanks," Albert said, dry. Mira trailed her, quiet, while Elara hung back, smiling easy.
"You'll get it," Elara said, her voice light. "First day's always tough."
Albert nodded, words stuck. The cube felt heavy, proof he wasn't there yet. He'd come looking for something—maybe answers—but so far, he just saw how far he had to climb.
Toren's watch beeped, the game vanishing. He leaned back, grinning. "Saw your bag. You really like those old books?"
"Yeah," Albert said, shrugging. "Better than this." He tapped his watch.
"Weird," Toren said, laughing. "Most kids fight for points to unlock stuff—advanced fields, combat tricks. You're hauling paper around."
"Let them think what they want," Albert said, his voice low. The hardcover in his bag—some old story about explorers—felt solid, real. Not like the watch's cold glow.
Sera smirked. "Points beat paper, Faustin. You'll figure that out."
The sun rose higher, shadows stretching across the academy. Albert looked past the towers, where New Haven's lights pulsed faint. Something felt off—not just the crack from last night, but a hum in the air. Kids whispered—glitches in the city, tech failing, stuff no one could fix. The academy held secrets, he knew it. Not his father's secrets, but his own.
He squeezed the cube, the hum in his blood sparking again. He wasn't strong—not yet—but he'd keep going. Not for EvoTech, not for his name. For himself.