"Instructor, what the hell was that?" I asked, frowning. "We were never taught anything like that."
"You weren't supposed to be," Iveson said. "Some things you learn in the field. Portals are one of them. Devices that let you reach any location in seconds."
"Then why aren't they used everywhere?" I frowned. "That's way too convenient."
"Because each portal is single-use," he said. "And making one costs money. And people with the highest level of control."
"The highest level of control?"
"Yes. Most specials develop control to a stable, combat-ready level. Enough to handle energy and its flow. But some take it further." A pause. "To the absolute peak."
"And what does it take to get there?" I asked.
"You don't need that."
"Why not?"
"Because that kind of control is for the weak," Iveson said flatly. "For those who can't fight."
I went quiet.
"I see real potential in you," he went on. "Don't waste it chasing something like that."
"But wouldn't it make me stronger?"
"No."
Sharp.
Final.
"You choose one path. Control—or power. Reaching that level takes years. It's like a monk cutting himself off from everything. Those people don't fight. They don't live. They just exist inside the flow."
"…Right," I muttered.
"As for portals," he continued, "they're powered by those same people. They're not rare. Every academy has groups for that. Portals, tools, support gear." A pause. "We used one because this place is too far. We wouldn't have made it in time."
"And how did you even know something was happening here?"
"Scouts. We have people everywhere. Their job is to find entities."
A beat.
"We're here."
We stopped behind the house.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
No movement. No sound.
Either they were asleep—
or already gone.
I waited.
"You," Iveson pointed—at me, the other student, and two instructors. "Spread out."
The other student moved with one of them.
I stayed.
With Paul.
Great.
"Alan," Iveson said, "you hold the barrier. You know how joint barriers work?"
I nodded.
"Here."
He handed me a knife.
Small. Clean. Sharp.
"Instructor?"
"Just in case."
That was it.
He walked off.
I strapped it to my belt.
We'd covered this.
Pairs.
Back-to-back.
Merge the flow.
Push outward.
Link with the opposite pair.
Trap anything inside.
Simple.
In theory.
Grek and the others took position at the front door.
Signal.
I released my energy.
It hit resistance immediately.
Didn't connect.
Barely even touched Paul's.
I clenched my teeth.
"Instructor," I said, voice tight, "your personal issues with me are not a reason to screw up the mission."
"Shut your mouth, you little mutt," Paul snapped. "I've got more experience than you'll ever have, so don't you dare lecture me."
Mutt.
Right.
I swallowed it.
Not the time.
Focus.
Push.
Again.
The streams finally locked.
Barely.
Unstable.
But enough.
Iveson stepped forward and knocked.
"Good morning," he said warmly when an old woman cracked the door open. "Sorry to bother you—would your husband happen to be home?"
She stared at him.
Longer than necessary.
Then—
"I'm sorry, dear," she said, voice thin but kind. "My husband isn't well. Come back tomorrow."
"Tomorrow will be too late," Iveson said calmly. "Please call him. I just need to ask one question."
A pause.
She hesitated.
Closed the door.
Minutes passed.
Too quiet.
Then—
she came back.
With an old man.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
I watched.
Didn't blink.
Positions shifted.
One instructor moved closer to Grek.
Another slid along the edge of the barrier.
"Yeah," Iveson said—
And moved.
Fast.
His hand slammed against the old man's face.
At the same time—
the second instructor did the same to the woman.
They both jumped back instantly.
"Lost!" Iveson shouted.
"Lost!" the other echoed.
And everything broke.
The old couple lunged.
Too fast.
Wrong.
Their bodies twisted, jerked, snapped forward with unnatural speed.
They hissed—
clawed—
went straight for the instructors' throats.
The teachers didn't hesitate.
Blocked.
Redirected.
Grek fired a burst of combat energy—
The woman twisted out of it—
slammed into the barrier—
recoiled instantly.
Both of them started testing it.
Striking.
Pushing.
Searching for a gap.
Nothing.
On the opposite side, the pair holding the barrier didn't even flinch when the old man lunged—
He stopped centimeters away—
snarling.
Frustrated.
Then—
the woman turned.
And charged us.
I didn't move.
Didn't panic.
I'd seen the barrier hold.
But the moment she jumped—
I felt it.
Behind me—
the flow snapped.
Not weakened.
Not slipping.
Breaking.
Tearing apart.
"What—"
No time.
She hit me.
Hard.
Knocked me flat.
Her fingers—wrong, twisted—dug into my face, tearing skin open.
I shoved at her.
Nothing.
"Paul, what the hell are you doing?!" Grek roared.
The barrier was gone.
Gone.
Completely.
On the other side, five people forced the old man into a tightening formation.
Here—
it was just me.
And her.
Clawing.
Tearing.
Trying to rip my face apart.
"Paul—!" I started—
And saw him.
Standing still.
Not helping.
Not moving.
Watching.
Smiling.
Satisfied.
He wanted this.
He wanted me dead.
"No," I forced out, blood in my mouth.
I slammed my hand against her head—
pushed my energy into her.
Nothing.
Nothing—
If the theory was right—
If there was anything left—
I should see something.
A shape.
A trace.
A fragment.
Anything.
There was nothing.
Just—
black.
Endless.
Empty.
Like there had never been anything there at all.