The sigils reacted, crawling lines of pale light rising up his boots, scanning his body. The chamber's air tightened. The walls shifted faintly, glassy surfaces rippling as though water hid beneath them. Yato turned and left the wing without saying any words.
"Suppression level one," Calven murmured. The field pressed against Ren's skin. It was uncomfortable but bearable, like gravity thickening around his ribs.
A display to the side flickered awake, graphs and numbers scrolling in sharp white glyphs. The instructors' eyes followed them, but no explanation came. Ren's breathing slowed. His mana pulsed, faint leaks burning at his shoulders and wrists where it refused to stay inside. The light map highlighted those leaks in red streaks.
"Fractures confirmed," Calven said, tapping the screen. "Channels unstable. Leaks visible at seventy-three percent capacity. Dangerous under stress."
Daevar snorted. "So, he'll break the first time he swings."
