Next came Specialization.
Each of us had different modules, depending on our Seed, lineage, or aptitude. It was one of the few times the schedule wasn't uniform—tailored instead to what the Institution deemed most efficient for our development.
Those with affinities focused on shaping mana in ways that complemented their Seed—learning how to refine, evolve, and expand their natural alignment.
As for me, with no affinity, my time was spent on raw mana control. No element to lean on—just precision. I was expected to master it at the most fundamental level.
That suited me just fine. Because of how I was made, my mana reservoir was the highest in the Institution. And while a large reservoir doesn't always mean high output, I had both.
Where others relied on the versatility of their Seeds, I compensated with sheer force.
I was tall. Strong. When amplified by mana, physical power doesn't rise linearly—it surges. I trained my body to handle that surge.
No point in having power if your frame can't contain it.
Today's Specialization module was a sparring session—no mana allowed. I was up against Instructor Vigilius. A tall, burly man with a long history of battlefield combat. Like me, he had no affinity.
The exercise was designed to develop the first stage of a technique: using mana while concealing it. More specifically, learning to control its release so precisely that it remained undetectable.
We both wore suppression bracelets. If mana above the set threshold was detected, the device would deliver a shock through the nervous system. In earlier phases, that threshold had been higher. But after weeks of training, I'd advanced to the final level—where even the slightest leak would trigger the surge.
Vigilius wasn't one for conversation, but early on—during the first stages of training—he'd offered a bit of context. He'd learned this technique much later in life, at a point when its usefulness had already passed him by. He never praised me directly, but over time, the shifts became obvious. Fewer corrections. Harder pushes. I was progressing faster than he had. That much was certain.
We took our stances.
The spar began.
After two hours, my body ached, sweat clung to my skin, and it was time for a shower.
My bracelet activated only four times today.
A new record.
Still not perfect—but progress.
Not that it mattered.
I wouldn't be here long enough to perfect it. The day of my escape was drawing closer with every passing hour.
Next was Evaluation Block.
For the next two hours, each of us was sent to a separate room—one desk, one chair, a pen, and a fresh set of problems. Mana theory, structural engineering, chemical reactions, or applied logistics. It rotated daily.
Then came strength training. Some days it was endurance. Not today.
Eleanor, Calixtus, and I usually trained together. Friendly chatter wasn't outright banned during exercise, but the Institution frowned on anything that disrupted focus. So we kept it to a minimum.
The weight systems were advanced—sleek machines calibrated to adjust instantly. You entered a number, and the resistance adapted. Once prohibitively expensive, now standard-issue across most of the middle class.
Calixtus was stocky and compact, half a foot shorter than both me and Eleanor. Brown hair, brown eyes, a sharp grin always ready on his face. His cocky attitude and constant jokes weren't just for show—or compensation, though they played a part.
He disabled most of his mana, set the machine to 800 pounds, and benched cleanly. Still using a sliver of enhancement—but even then, impressive.
Eleanor stepped up next. Broad-shouldered, long dark hair tied behind her head, golden eyes focused and distant. She followed with 950. Full muscle density. Quite impressive.
Then it was me.
No mana.
Thirteen hundred.
Calixtus let out a low whistle as I racked the bar.
"Remind me never to piss you off in close quarters."
Eleanor didn't say anything at first. Just glanced at the numbers, then at me.
"…Show-off," she muttered, barely audible.
Calixtus grinned. "Please. If I could lift that, I'd be yelling it from the observation deck."
After finishing our sets, it was time for dinner.
We sat down. What was unexpected was that Lukas, of House Diogenus, joined us.
Diogenus was the strongest and most influential House in the entire Varean Empire. Only one power stood above them—the Divine Regent, Emperor Autarx himself. Lukas' father was the current Warden of the Empire, a man whispered about across the continent of Thalorica. A general of unmatched reputation—credited with shattering the Khauric Horde during the Siege of Winds.
Lukas, with his crimson hair pulled back and his usual composed air, sat down across from us. He nodded once, calm and deliberate.
"Good work in the duels," he said, voice even. "All three of you."
"You're still as much of a beast as ever, Kaelen."
He wasn't loud or smug. Just… precise. Like everything he said had already been weighed before it left his mouth.
We returned the gesture.
"You were solid against Castinus," I said.
He gave a small shrug. "He overcommitted."
Eleanor said nothing. Lukas didn't seem to expect her to.
Calixtus leaned forward slightly. "Didn't think House Diogenus mingled at our level."
Lukas looked at him. Not offended. Just observant.
"Today felt like the right time."
His eyes moved briefly between Eleanor, Calixtus, and then stopped on me.
"I've always wondered what you plan to do after the Institution," he said. He was clearly expecting an answer.
"Whatever the Empire puts me up to," I said. "Didn't give it much thought, to be honest. Here, we're shaped for any adversary." I didn't answer for any particular reason. But someone like Lukas—someone that capable—was always worth provoking, just a little.
"Once I'm done, I'll be appointed to a high post," Lukas said. "That much is assured. But I wanted to ask—would you ever consider working for House Diogenus? Glory, influence, autonomy. The Empire's nice, but the private sector has always been the more lucrative road."
It wasn't a bad offer.
But to me, the Empire—its walls, its Houses, its chains—was suffocating. Whether it was the Institution, the Legion, or the Great Houses, it all felt the same.
Dancing for people who'd discard me the moment it suited them.
I had no interest in being anyone's ally.
I knew I'd leave the Varean Empire long before I ever stepped outside it.
"I'll think about it," I said. No hint of hostility. Just a thoughtful nod. As if the offer genuinely intrigued me.
It didn't.
We finished up.
The last task before lights-out was Review.
Each of us returned to our assigned rooms—single desks, dim lighting, and a dataplate filled with today's material. We were expected to process everything. War theory. Combat feedback. Structural analysis. Every lecture. Every duel. Every mistake.
After, as I was lying in bed, I caught myself wondering—not about the escape itself, but why.
Why the disgust sat so deep in me.
Why obedience made my skin crawl.
It wasn't rebellion for rebellion's sake. It was the certainty that I wasn't made for servitude. That their belief—that I'd fall in line, salute, and call it purpose—was an insult.
An offense.
A new day came.
Same routine.
No earlier training this time. No Great Houses watching. No duels to impress. Just drills.
Nothing eventful.
Then came the next day.
After breakfast, we were called into the assembly hall.
Five instructors stood waiting.
Justinian. Armenius. Vigilius. Thales. And one more—Instructor Nyra. I'd never trained under her directly. She handled the Specialization for the evolving or refining of Seeds. Nothing that was of interest to me. I'd only seen her from a distance—lean build, sharp face, eyes like cold stone. Her presence alone gave away what was coming.
The Special Exam was in two days.
We had all heard fragments. We knew it would be held in the Veiled Forest, which we learned about through our studies well.
Now, we'd finally be learning all the details.
Nyra stepped forward, arms behind her back, and spoke with the clipped precision that marked most senior instructors.
"In two days, you will depart for the Veiled Forest. This will be the first time you are permitted to leave the Institution grounds."
A pause, just long enough to settle.
"You will be transported via the winged beasts of Shira. Flight will not take long. The exam itself will span seven days. You are to survive within the boundaries of the Veiled Forest for the full duration."
She let the words land before continuing.
"You have all studied survival theory. Now you will apply it. The creatures inhabiting the region are not beyond your capabilities—most of them at least. However, mistakes will compound. Failure to cooperate and lack of critical thinking in high-stress situations will make you fail more than any physical incapability of yours.
Her tone remained clinical.
"You will be monitored. All activity is tracked, all vitals observed. Death isn't expected. Unless you're truly that stupid. Should any of us intervene, it will be because you have failed to ensure your own survival. Intervention will mean removal. Removal will mean failure."
She scanned the room.
"Failure means going to your House—if they still want you."
A ripple passed through us.
There had never been an exam with stakes this high.
Due to my relationship with Armenius, I thought I knew everything there was to know.
But this?
This was new.
And I was certain—if he'd known, he would've told me. This decision must have been made recently.
Across the room, expressions shifted. Hardened.
For most, it was the first time the theoretical became real.
The combat-focused students responded first. Shoulders squared. Eyes narrowed. They were used to physical trials. But survival wasn't war. It was attrition.
Those from Houses rooted in diplomacy, manipulation, or refinement didn't hide their discomfort well. Not weakness—just unfamiliar ground.
Instructor Nyra stepped back.
Justinian took her place.
"This will not be an individual exam," he said. "You will be split into four groups of four. Assignments will be given tomorrow."
A final pause.
"That is all."
We were dismissed.
No one moved at first.
For a breath, the room held still—like a collective exhale that never came. Eyes met. Drifted. Calculated.
Some already knew they'd end up carrying others. Some were already considering who could be used as bait if it came to it.
After all that, we continued with our day.
I met with Armenius afterward. He had his ways—old routines to secure privacy when it mattered.
"You'll be fine," he said. "With your skill and adaptability, I'm certain of it."
I had to fake my response. I had to show hesitation. He needed to believe this version of me—the one that trembled at the thought of failure—could somehow, in his fractured mind, replace the son he'd lost.
"Yeah… it's just—if I fail, I don't have a House to go back to. Honestly, I don't know how to handle that. And I get that you couldn't have told me about the change—"
"I didn't know, Kaelen," he cut in.
Perfect.
He cut in the middle of my sentence to prove himself to be loyal to me, that he would not lie.
That meant he didn't have full control. That his mind was still too broken to connect certain dots.
The truth was—I didn't care. Not about the test. Not about the rules. Not even if failure meant a death sentence..
But now?
Now everything was going even better than I expected.