Arem woke up choking.
Air tore into his lungs like glass, sharp and unforgiving, and he rolled off the narrow cot in the infirmary, hitting the floor hard enough to rattle his teeth. Cold tiles pressed against his palms. His vision swam—white ceiling lights stretching, bending, snapping back into place.
"Easy."
The voice was calm, older. Male.
Arem sucked in another breath and forced himself upright. Pain flared instantly, radiating from his chest down his arms, like his veins had been replaced with hot wire. He gritted his teeth and stayed silent.
Across from him stood a man in a dark academy coat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Short gray hair. Sharp eyes that missed nothing. He held a data slate in one hand, the other resting casually in his pocket.
"You pulled too much," the man continued. "For a first activation, it's impressive you're alive."
Arem swallowed. His throat felt raw. "Where… am I?"
"Infirmary. Central Wing." The man tilted his head. "Instructor Vale. Combat Theory and Power Regulation."
Arem's heart skipped.
Instructor.
So they saw it. The alley. The Web. Everything.
He looked down at his hands. No glow. No threads. Just trembling fingers, scraped knuckles, faint red lines under the skin that pulsed once… then faded.
"What happens now?" Arem asked.
Vale studied him for a long moment. "That depends on whether you're lying to me."
Arem stiffened. "About what?"
"About not knowing what you are."
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.
Arem looked away. "I didn't know. I swear."
Vale's gaze sharpened, pressing. Then—slowly—he nodded. "Good. Because if you did, we'd be having a very different conversation."
He tapped the slate, projecting a holographic graph into the air. Spikes. Violent, unstable curves.
"This is your energy output during the incident. Non-magic. Non-system. Non-registered superpower." His eyes flicked back to Arem. "It doesn't belong to any known classification."
Arem's stomach sank.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Vale said evenly, "you're either an anomaly… or a problem."
The door slid open before Arem could respond.
Three students walked in.
The first was tall, broad-shouldered, with a lazy grin and eyes that scanned the room like it already belonged to him. Power clung to him effortlessly.
The second wore glasses, dark hair neatly tied back, expression unreadable. His gaze locked onto Arem—not curious, but calculating.
The third leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, aura cold and sharp. He didn't bother hiding his disdain.
Arem recognized them instantly.
Top ranks.
Elite track.
The tall one whistled. "So this is him? Alley kid?"
Vale didn't turn. "You weren't invited."
"Yeah, yeah." The boy shrugged. "But when the sensors light up like that, people get curious."
The one with glasses stepped forward. "Your output briefly interfered with the academy grid." His voice was calm, precise. "That shouldn't be possible."
Arem felt his chest tighten again—not from pain this time, but pressure. Like invisible eyes crawling under his skin.
"I didn't mean to," Arem said.
The cold one scoffed. "Weaklings always say that."
Vale finally turned, his presence shifting. "Enough. Leave."
For a second, Arem thought they wouldn't listen.
Then the tall one chuckled, backing away. "Relax. We'll see him again."
The one with glasses adjusted his frames. "Sooner than you think."
The cold one met Arem's eyes last. There was something dark there. Hungry.
Then they were gone.
The door sealed shut.
Arem exhaled shakily.
Vale watched him. "You've just been noticed."
"That's bad, isn't it?"
Vale didn't answer right away. He walked closer, lowering his voice. "This academy doesn't break people with kindness. It breaks them with pressure."
Arem clenched his fists. "Then teach me."
Vale paused.
"Teach you what?"
"How to control it," Arem said. "Before it controls me."
For the first time, Vale smiled—just a little.
"Training starts at dawn. You'll be transferred to the lower combat wing. No special treatment. No protection."
Arem nodded. "Good."
Vale turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "One more thing."
"What?"
"Your power?" Vale said without looking back. "It's reacting to stress, intent… and something else."
Arem's pulse quickened. "Something else?"
"Fear," Vale said. "Not yours."
The lights flickered.
For a split second, red threads shimmered across Arem's vision—stretching outward, vibrating, pulling tight—
Then the alarm blared.
Vale spun. "What did you do?"
"I didn't—"
The wall monitors lit up, showing a familiar alley.
Cracked pavement. Shadows.
And something moving where it shouldn't.
Vale's voice dropped. "It followed you."
The screen zoomed in.
Red lines crawled across the ground like veins.
And from the darkness, something smiled.