The classroom at Quantum Academy was a madhouse—hundreds of students buzzing like bees on a sugar high, holo-displays flashing random stats. Pets were everywhere: a flicker bird chirped on some guy's desk, begging for attention, while an ember cat prowled around a girl like it owned the place.
Albert Jr. Faustin lounged in the back, Aetherion's crate resting by his feet, humming faintly like a lazy bassline. His dark blue jacket hung loose, gray eyes locked on the sword's foam casing. The teacher—skinny as a twig, voice droning on—was rambling about mission points, those shiny academy credits students earned for completing off-world assignments.
Albert? Not even pretending to care.
His mind was elsewhere—The Law of Binding. Threads, connection, control. Yesterday, he had moved four cubes. Today, he'd lift five.
A sudden jolt shook his desk.
"Oops, my bad," some random student muttered.
Albert didn't react—randoms got the silent treatment. His chest hummed with energy, his Coherence Bloodline itching to show off.
Then—boom.
A distant shout rang out.
The entire class stiffened.
Students swarmed the windows—pets dimmed, their wisps flickering as if sensing something unnatural. Albert grabbed his crate and glanced outside.
At the academy gates?
Chaos.
Teachers sprinted across the pavement, barking orders. A girl lay sprawled on the ground—blood streaking her uniform, one arm bent at an unnatural angle. Two senior students, pale and battered, stood beside her, waving frantically for help.
Medics rushed in with a stretcher. Pets scattered like frightened kittens.
The room went dead silent—eyes wide, mouths shut.
Nobody spoke after that.
The bell rang, but students moved sluggishly. The mood had soured—holo-watches blinked with unanswered messages, and a shimmer lizard darted past Albert as he headed for his dorm.
No one was talking.
His dorm was simple—blank walls, a bed, shelves stacked with books like trophies. He set the crate down and pulled out Aetherion.
The runes across the sword's surface flared to life, syncing with his blood.
Aetherion was stronger than most weapons—a relic beyond reason. His body already felt tougher, every breakthrough reinforcing him, and the sword's presence only amplified that.
He swung it slowly.
Two books floated. Wobbled. Then glided six feet before landing silently.
Albert exhaled. He could see the threads.
The Law of Binding wasn't just theory anymore—it was his reality. He was figuring it out, piece by piece.
Then—a siren blared.
Aetherion's hum sharpened as Albert stepped outside.
The garden path was quiet—vines looped lazily, the air thick with tension. A few students sat on a bench, their pets drifting nearby. A breeze chirped softly, barely breaking the silence.
Toren Vale jogged up, flipping his coin like a showman.
"The gate's a disaster," he said, grinning.
His shimmer lizard blinked lazily—adorable, if you were into weird creatures.
"Seniors went on a mission—ten left, two came back. Nobody's talking."
Albert shrugged, voice flat. "Missions are a mess now."
Toren smirked. At least he wasn't all talk.
The Training Yard
The garden opened up into the training yard—stone tiles scratched up, glowing arches buzzing, students gathered in tense clusters.
Eyes flicked around.
Pets lay slumped.
Even ember cats barely glowed.
Then, a presence cut through the atmosphere like a blade.
Professor Calen Rhyd.
His gray hair was a wild tangle, his arms crossed like he meant business.
The students parted instinctively as he stepped forward.
"Sword kid's up."
"Five cubes?" someone whispered.
Albert set down his crate and unsheathed Aetherion.
Five metallic cubes stood tall—dense, heavy, a real test.
Rhyd's voice was sharp. "Five cubes. Fifteen feet. Don't choke."
Albert's jaw tightened.
This was his domain.
He raised the sword.
The air shimmered. Sight sharpened. Cracks, threads, connections—everything was crystal clear.
He swung.
Aetherion flashed.
Aetherion's wave rippled out—four cubes lifted, steady at first, then wavered.
The fifth?
Barely moved.
The cubes crashed ten feet away. Dust plumed.
Lame.
Rhyd's eyes narrowed. "Do it again."
Albert reset.
No brute force. Just precision.
He swung again—harder.
The air cracked.
Threads tightened.
All five cubes lifted. Smooth. Controlled.
They hit fifteen feet.
Landed clean.
Aetherion hummed, its presence more potent than ever. Albert's body reacted instantly—muscles tightened, bones felt denser, his entire being thrummed with raw power.
The crowd stayed silent.
No cheers. Just wide eyes.
Even the pets flickered, their energy reacting to the moment.
Rhyd nodded. "You've got it. Keep going."
Sera Kade stepped forward, her ember cat pacing. Smirking.
"Took you long enough, rich kid."
Albert met her gaze. Unfazed.
"Results don't need a speech."
Elara Solis bounced over, her breeze chirping excitedly.
"That was insane!"
Albert nodded, low. "It's a start."
Mira Lune hung back, her shadowy veil creeping along the ground.
"You're pushing too fast."
Albert's voice was calm. "I've got it handled."
Toren flicked his coin, grinning.
"Knew you'd pull it off."
Albert nodded. "It's in the bag."
A sneer from the crowd.
Kael muttered, "Lucky sword."
Albert didn't bother responding. Nobodies got zero energy from him.
The students dispersed—some still processing what they had seen, others acting like it hadn't happened. Pets stirred. The tension faded.
Albert hoisted Aetherion's crate, his boots thudding against the training ground.
His body felt charged—stronger than before.
Aetherion hummed in his grip, like the books in his dorm. Steady. Solid. His.
More threads to unravel.
Bring it.
Here's an improved version of the dialogue at the command hall. I refined the flow, clarified some tense moments, and made the characters' voices more distinct while keeping the tension high.
Command Hall
The command hall was heavy with tension. Principal Dren Vax stood over a scratched-up table, hands clenched into fists. His normally sharp suit was rumpled, and a deep crease lined his brow. His bald head gleamed under the dim lights, but his burning gaze cut through the room like a blade. Terra Nova's Iron Voice—an ex-enforcer turned academy head—was barely holding his fury in check.
Around him, the academy's top brass gathered, each radiating their own brand of intensity.
Lira Keth, the academy's mission coordinator, was short, wiry, and always three steps ahead—except today. She clutched a dead holo-pad, her face pale.
Torv Jain, head of combat training, was built like a tank, scars crisscrossing his arms. He cracked his knuckles like he was waiting to break something—or someone.
Syl Mara, the academy's intelligence chief, had an unreadable expression, silver hair tied back, eyes sharp behind her glasses.
Calen Rhyd, the lead instructor, leaned back with arms crossed. His gray hair was a tangled mess, but his gaze was cool and assessing.
Veyra Soln, strategist and longtime rival of Rhyd, was all sharp angles—slick black hair, piercing eyes, and a smirk that never quite faded.
Dren slammed his palm on the table—wham—and the room fell silent.
"Ten seniors went out for a standard point run," Dren growled, his voice like grinding metal. "Eight are missing. One barely made it back—her arm shattered, uniform soaked in blood. Their instructor? Throat slit. And to top it off, the Shroud had the audacity to dump her at our front gate. Like a damn message."
Lira swallowed hard. "It was supposed to be easy—fifty points each. A simple survey mission. Then the energy spike hit, and—" She shook her head. "Gone. Just like that."
Torv scoffed, arms folded. "Not just gone—ambushed. The Shroud wanted to make a statement."
Syl adjusted her glasses. "This wasn't random. They're after something." Her gaze flicked to Rhyd. "Faustin's sword, most likely."
Veyra's smirk widened. "Or they're poking at you, Rhyd. That kid's a walking beacon. It's only a matter of time before they make a real move."
Rhyd met her gaze, unfazed. "Albert's earned his place. The Shroud was sniffing around long before he got Aetherion." His tone was calm but firm. "You suggesting we lock him up, Veyra?"
Dren exhaled sharply. "Enough!" His fist slammed the table again, the holo-projectors flickering. "Eight kids are missing. A teacher is dead. Parents are going to lose their damn minds. We're talking council members, corporate hotshots, old-school enforcers—and their children are either in body bags or unaccounted for. They'll demand action. They'll demand my job." His voice dropped to a deadly growl. "We fix this. Fast."
He pointed at Lira. "No more missions. Points are suspended until further notice."
To Rhyd: "Push the students harder. No more coddling. If they can't survive out there, they don't belong here."
To Veyra: "Check the wells. Find these bastards before they find us again."
To Torv: "Lock down the gates. Nothing gets in or out without my say-so."
To Syl: "Dig up every last scrap of intelligence on the Shroud. I want names, locations, weaknesses."
Veyra leaned back, smirk still in place. "You really think the parents will settle for a lockdown and a sob story?" She tilted her head. "They'll want blood."
Dren's eyes burned. "Then we give them the Shroud's."
The room went silent.
Rhyd gave a single nod. Veyra's smirk deepened. The others snapped into motion.
Outside, Albert had no idea what storm was brewing.
But he'd soon find out.