The Quantum Academy's training yard stretched wide under a gray sky, its cracked stone tiles alive with chaos. Students swarmed the space—hundreds of them, their shouts and laughs a thick roar, bouncing off the glowing arches. Some snapped quantum sparks, streaks of light zipping between hands; others ducked stray blasts that fizzed and popped. The air stung Albert Jr. Faustin's nose, sharp and electric, heavier than the chamber's hum. He stood at the yard's edge, Aetherion's crate at his feet, its weight steady against his leg. His dark blue jacket hung loose, sweat beading on his neck. He wasn't here for their noise—he was here to grind.
Toren Vale shoved through the crowd, patched jacket flapping. "Big day," he said, grinning, flipping his coin. It vanished, popped ten feet off, then zipped back. "Rhyd's got everyone out—group drills. You ready?"
Albert's gray eyes flicked to him, cold. "Always." He didn't care for drills—just results. The hum in his chest stirred, his Coherence Bloodline restless. Yesterday's slab crash wasn't enough. He'd felt Aetherion pull, its runes shifting, like it saw more in him. He'd prove it.
The yard buzzed louder, students jostling along the edges, holo-watches glinting in the dim light. A kid tripped, his metal sphere rolling toward Albert. He stepped over it, ignoring the boy's scramble to snatch it back. Weakness everywhere—he hated it, hated them. His mother's scream cut through his head, sharp and gone. The Quantum Shroud had taken her—he felt it, proof or not. These trembling fools weren't Shroud, but their frailty fed his fire.
Rhyd's voice sliced the noise, rough and loud. "Line up!" He strode into the center, gray hair wild, his glare sweeping the crowd. Students scurried into rows, their chatter dying fast. Sera Kade pushed past a pair of kids, short black hair catching the light, amber eyes sharp. Elara Solis followed slower, blonde and warm, smiling at a girl who'd stumbled. Mira Lune trailed behind, silver hair glinting, violet eyes darting quiet. Kael lingered near the front, smirking at Albert like yesterday meant something.
"Pair off," Rhyd barked. "Push your limits. No slacking." He pointed at Albert. "Faustin, you're with me. Bring the sword."
Whispers rippled through the lines—dozens of voices, quick and low. "That blade again?" "Heard it smashed a wall." Albert grabbed the crate, dragging it forward, boots crunching stone. Eyes followed—too many, too soft. He didn't look back.
Rhyd led him to a cleared patch, a stack of three metal cubes waiting—each heavier than yesterday's slab. "Move them," Rhyd said, arms crossed. "All at once. Ten feet."
Albert's jaw tightened. Three at once—tougher, a real test. He pulled Aetherion from the crate, its runes pulsing faint. The crowd hushed, a sea of faces stretching back—some gawked, others edged away. He swung the blade slow, the air rippling, feeling its pull. His blood hummed, syncing with the sword. He pictured the cubes lifting, tied to him. The blade flashed, and a wave shot out. Two cubes rose—shaky, wobbling—then crashed five feet off. The third stayed put.
Rhyd's eyes narrowed. "Again."
Albert glared at the stack, his mother's scream echoing—failure wasn't an option. He swung harder, the air cracking sharp. All three lifted, trembling, drifting seven feet before dropping, denting the stone. His head throbbed, sweat stung, but he felt it—a flicker, sharper than before. The runes pulsed brighter, and his sight snapped clear—every crack in the tiles, every twitch in the crowd, vivid. Aetherion's gift, waking with him.
Kael's voice cut through, smug. "That's it? Phase 1 could do better." A few students snickered, but most stayed quiet, watching.
Albert ignored him, resetting. He'd bury that noise. The hum flared, his focus cold as ice. He swung again, fast and sharp, picturing the cubes flying clean. A wave blasted out, and all three shot ten feet, slamming into a barrier with a clang. Dust rose, the ground shook, and a dozen students flinched back, gasps rippling through the yard. His breath came quick, a cold rush filling him—control, not just power.
Rhyd nodded slow. "Good. That's progress. You're waking up."
Albert didn't answer, lowering Aetherion. The hum settled, but his blood buzzed, alive with that new edge—perception, sharp and steady. He'd felt them all watching, every shift, every blink. His mother's killers wouldn't hide forever.
A shout broke the quiet—sharp, panicked. "Shroud's back!" A kid near the arches pointed, his holo-pad clattering down. The crowd froze, then erupted—students stumbled over each other, voices cracking. "Not again!" "They'll take us!" A girl clutched her friend, trembling; another bolted for the hall, shoving past. Fear swept the yard, thick and raw.
Albert's eyes burned, hate flaring. Quantum Shroud—the name turned them into worms. He glared at the crowd, their shaking hands, their wide eyes. Weak, all of them. He'd thought the Shroud killed his mother—still did—but these cowards weren't them. Just echoes of the same frailty she'd died to.
Rhyd spun, his glare cutting the chaos. "Enough!" His voice boomed, and the air trembled—students froze mid-step, silenced. He scanned the arches, but no shadow moved. "False alarm," he growled. "Back to it."
The crowd settled, uneasy, murmurs fading. Toren jogged over, coin in hand. "They're scared stiff," he said, voice low. "Shroud's got them jumping at nothing."
"Let them jump," Albert said, cold and flat. He didn't care—their fear meant less than dust.
Sera strode up, smirking faint. "Nice show, rich boy," she said, her glance lingering. "Almost worth the panic." Elara followed, her smile soft but shaky. "You're incredible," she said, stepping closer. Albert turned away, silent. Mira hung back, her voice quiet. "Careful with that sword," she said, eyes on its runes. "It's growing."
Rhyd waved him off. "Done here. Keep pushing." Albert dragged the crate away, boots loud on stone. The yard buzzed again, students drifting back to drills, their shouts thinner now. Sera's jab echoed, Elara's warmth brushed past, Mira's warning stuck. He didn't need it—any of it.
Later, in a dim hall off the yard, Rhyd stood alone, his holo-watch glowing faint. Shadows shifted—two figures stepped from the dark, cloaked in gray, faces hidden. One spoke, voice low and smooth. "The Shroud came yesterday. That sword's why—EvoTech's mark drew them."
Rhyd's glare sharpened. "Guessing doesn't make it fact."
The second figure leaned in, tone hard. "It's too strong—Faustin's a kid, barely awake. The Shroud wants it, and they'll take it if he keeps it. We should hold it, lock it away."
Rhyd crossed his arms, his voice rough. "No. The boy's got it—it's his to wield. Shroud's been sniffing around before that drone dropped. You don't strip him of it over a hunch."
The first figure hissed. "You saw the agent—right in our walls. That blade's a beacon. He's not ready."
"He will be," Rhyd snapped, the air trembling faint. "He's waking up fast—faster than you think. Shroud's scared of something, and I'd bet it's him, not just the sword. Let him grow into it."
The second figure straightened. "If they come harder, it's on you."
"Then it's on me," Rhyd said, cold and firm. "Out." The figures hesitated, then slipped back into the shadows, gone. Rhyd stood still, eyes on the hall where Albert had left. The kid didn't know it yet, but that sword was his edge—and maybe theirs.
Albert paused in the outer hall, crate at his side. He ran a hand over its edge—solid, real, like his hardcovers. The Shroud's shadow loomed, his mother's scream drove him, and Aetherion hummed, alive. He'd grind until they broke—cowards, killers, all of them.