Kai stood in the lobby, staring at the notice board. He needed credits. He needed to learn. He had neither.
The board was covered with postings—commission requests, open lecture schedules, dorm assignments, and lost and found notices. Students pushed past him, some walking with purpose, others dragging their feet like they were walking toward punishment. Kai didn't move. He just stood there, reading the same words over and over without absorbing any of them.
Detection charm wanted. Will provide materials. Pay: 8 credits.
Resin seal for cracked dagger handle. Urgent. Pay: 5 credits.
Beginner healing potion. Have ingredients. Pay: 6 credits.
He could do none of these things. He couldn't make a detection charm. He couldn't seal anything. He couldn't brew a potion. He'd been at the academy for weeks and still couldn't do the simplest tasks. Couldn't feel Aether reliably. Couldn't make a straight line. Couldn't earn enough credits to buy more materials to fail with.
What am I doing here?
The thought came unbidden. He crushed it immediately, the way he'd learned to crush every doubt since the screening. But it lingered at the edges, waiting.
A senior student approached. Kai noticed him before he spoke—the way he walked, comfortable and unhurried, as if he belonged here in a way Kai couldn't imagine feeling. Term 3 by his uniform, Support Track by the reinforced sleeves and the faint resin stains on his fingers. He had dark hair tied back and eyes that looked like they'd seen enough failure to stop being afraid of it.
"You're Entoma, right?" the senior asked. "The scholarship kid? Number one from primary?"
Kai nodded cautiously. He'd learned that being recognised could mean anything—curiosity, mockery, rivalry. He waited to see which this would be.
The senior laughed—not cruel, just amused. "Heard about you. First overall, then screening drops you in Support. Rough break."
He held out his hand. "Senn Cairn. Term 3. I teach basics for credits."
Kai shook it. The grip was firm but not aggressive, the kind of handshake that said I'm not trying to prove anything. "You know who I am?"
"Know of you." Senn shrugged. "Academy talks. Doesn't matter. You need help. I need credits. Simple transaction."
Kai hesitated. He'd learned to be suspicious of offers that seemed too helpful. Cyrus Lorne had already tried to bait him with "free" resin. But this felt different—blunter, more honest. "Why not learn from instructors?"
Senn's expression shifted—something complicated flickering behind his eyes. "Instructors have their own cultivation. Holt, Voss, Stone—they're not just teachers. They need time to train, to research, to actually be at the level they are." He paused, glancing toward the workshop hall where Holt held court. "Plus, there are a hundred of you and one of them. They can't hold your hand."
"But you can?"
"I can show you the first step. The rest is on you." Senn started walking toward a quiet corner of the workshop, not waiting to see if Kai would follow. "And honestly? You're better off learning the deep stuff from them anyway. I've only been doing this for five years. They've been doing it for decades."
Kai followed. "Then why learn from you?"
Senn glanced back. "Because I remember what it felt like to fail last week. Instructors forget. They've been good too long." He almost smiled. "Ask me about my last failed inscription sometime. I'll tell you how I ruined three core blanks in a row and wanted to throw myself out a window."
Kai didn't smile, but something in his chest loosened slightly.
The corner Senn chose was small, tucked behind a row of empty cubicles where the workshop lanterns didn't quite reach. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the air smelled like old resin and dust. Senn pulled out a practice blank from his bag—cheap material, Kai knew, meant for ruining. The surface was rough, unfinished, nothing like the smooth starter-grade blanks Ms. Venn issued.
"First lesson is free," Senn said, setting the blank on a low table between them. "After that, you pay. Two credits per session. We meet when I have time, and you have credits. Simple."
Kai nodded. He had one credit total, earned from cleaning workshop floors for Ms. Venn. One credit wouldn't get him far.
"Close your eyes."
Kai did. The workshop sounds faded—distant voices, the scrape of tools, the hum of lanterns.
"Quiet your mind. Don't try to grab anything. Just... notice." Senn's voice was calm, patient. "The air around you. The warmth of your own skin. The space between your thoughts."
Kai breathed. Tried to quiet the noise. Failed. His mind raced with credits and failures and the weight of the core he didn't understand.
"Again."
Breathe. Quiet. Nothing.
"Again."
Breathe. Quiet. Almost—
A flicker.
Barely there. Like a thread of warmth brushing against his awareness. Like someone had opened a door a crack and closed it before he could see what was inside. Gone before he could grasp it.
Kai's eyes snapped open. "I felt something."
Senn nodded, unsurprised. "Good. You felt something. Most don't on the first try." He leaned back against the cubicle wall. "What was it?"
"I don't know. Warmth. Like... like something brushed against me."
"That's Aether. Or your soul noticing it, anyway." Senn picked up the practice blank, turning it over in his fingers. "Now you know what to look for. Practice on your own. Every day. Ten minutes, twenty, whatever you can manage. Just sit quietly and try to feel it."
Kai flexed his fingers. His hand was cramped from gripping nothing. "That's all for today?"
"That's all." Senn set the blank down. "Your brain's fried. You won't retain more. Come back when you have two credits, and I'll teach you to make a line."
Kai stood, already calculating how many hours he'd need to clean floors to earn two more credits. It would take days. Maybe a week.
Senn watched him. "Can I ask you something?"
Kai waited.
"You were number one in primary. At the top of everyone. I remember seeing your name on the rankings every year." Senn's voice was quiet, not probing—just stating facts. "Then you get here, and suddenly you're at the bottom. Support Track. Struggling with basics. Can't feel Aether, can't make a line, can't earn credits." He paused. "Feels like the world flipped upside down, right?"
Kai didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Senn nodded like he'd expected that. "I know the feeling. I was top five in my primary year. Not number one like you, but close. Thought I'd coast into Combat Track, make a name for myself." He laughed—bitter this time, the sound hollow in the quiet corner. "Then screening hit. They put me in the General Track."
Kai blinked. "General?"
"General. The 'we don't know what to do with you' track. Not Combat, not Support—just... general." Senn's jaw tightened at the memory. "I spent my first two years feeling like a failure. Watching Combat kids train, Support kids build, and me? I was just... there. Taking theory classes nobody cared about. Doing drills that didn't matter. Wondering why I'd even bothered coming."
Kai didn't know what to say. He'd never considered that General Track students might feel that way—invisible, directionless, forgotten.
"But I kept going." Senn's voice hardened slightly. "Kept failing, kept learning. Took extra credits, took open lectures, bothered seniors until they taught me." He looked at Kai directly. "There was this Term 5 senior—Maren Holt. He helped me when I was a lost first-term. Showed me basics, kept me from quitting more times than I can count."
Kai's eyes widened. "Instructor Holt?"
"Yeah. He was General Track, too, back then. Floundered for years, same as me." Senn smiled slightly—a tired, knowing smile. "Didn't have to help me. Had his own cultivation to worry about, his own projects, his own life. But he did. Said he remembered what it felt like to be lost."
Kai processed this. Holt—the terrifying, blunt, no-nonsense instructor who looked at students like they were problems to be solved—had once been a struggling General Track student? Had once felt as lost as Kai felt now?
"After graduation, he invented something," Senn continued. "Micro-constructs. Small reconnaissance puppets—palm-sized- can scout ahead, track enemies, and spy on targets. Changed everything for the academy's reconnaissance corps. They noticed and made him faculty. Now he's the one teaching us."
Kai was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Why are you telling me this?"
Senn met his eyes. "Because I was you. Three years ago. Standing in this same lobby, no credits, no skills, no idea what I was doing. Wondering if I'd made a mistake coming here." He shrugged. "Someone helped me. I figured I should help someone else. Pay it forward, or whatever."
Kai looked away. The workshop suddenly felt too loud, too bright. "I can't pay you yet. I only have one credit."
"Then earn more." Senn pushed off the wall, brushing dust from his sleeves. "There's a library in this academy. Ten floors. One for each tier. First floor has basic detection manuals—costs credits to access, but cheaper than failing forever." He started walking away, then paused. "Holt's open lecture next week—blood conductors. How organic cores need matching blood for optimal conductivity. Costs credits, but worth it. Tell him Senn sent you. He'll pretend not to care, but he will."
Kai watched him go. At the corner, Senn glanced back.
"Oh, and Entoma?" His voice was lighter now. "You'll figure it out. Everyone does. Eventually."
He disappeared into the workshop, swallowed by the maze of cubicles and shadows.
Kai stood alone, staring at the practice blank Senn had left behind. Rough. Cheap. Imperfect. But still a tool, still something to learn on.
He picked it up. Held it in both hands. Felt its weight, its texture, its potential.
For the first time since the screening, he didn't feel quite so alone.
He tucked the blank into his bag and walked toward the lobby. He had credits to earn, a library to find, and a lecture to attend. He had a path—vague and uncertain, but a path nonetheless.
Behind him, the workshop hummed with the sounds of students failing, learning and growing.
Kai walked forward.