The air inside the Academy's evaluation hall was tight with silence.
Hari stood at attention, blood dried across his collar. Beside him, Andre bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, clearly expecting praise that wasn't coming. Amari leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his tail twitching once before curling still.
John Takahara paced slowly in front of them. The gleam of his boots against marble was the only sound.
"You performed... adequately," he said, eyes scanning a clipboard etched with glyph-tracked movement logs. "Hari. Your leadership instincts are... developing."
Hari didn't respond. He rarely did when Takahara spoke.
"Amari," Takahara continued, "you flirted with collapse. Again. One more unregulated Wish activation, and I'll have no choice but to report it."
Amari's jaw clenched.
"Andre—"
The doors exploded open.
Not with a bang, but a burst of color.
A wave of violet paint burst through the doorway like smoke, coating the ground in glowing streaks that shimmered with raw Nous. The guards barely had time to react.
She stepped through barefoot.
Six feet tall, streaked with soot and pigment, carrying a massive paintbrush that leaked orange-gold paint onto the floor as she walked.
Anya Love.
Her lilac eyes drifted lazily across the room until they landed on the trio. Her gaze sharpened.
"Daranthas sends its regards," she said, smiling faintly. "The east is clear. Dozens of Nouson, all twitching with too much memory. Very messy. Beautiful, though."
Takahara stepped forward, hand already raised to call for guards.
"You weren't summoned."
"I know," she said. "But I came anyway."
A glyph bloomed midair. Queen Sophia's voice spilled through it, calm and absolute.
"She has permission. More than that, she has discretion."
Takahara's nostrils flared. "This is a military institution, not a gallery."
Anya twirled her brush once just once and the paint left a ribbon of warped air in its wake.
"I don't need a gallery. I need a canvas."
She turned to the trio, walking slowly now, each step deliberate, elegant, unreadable. Her eyes passed over Hari, paused slightly on Amari, then flicked to Andre.
"You three. Cohort Zero, yes?"
Andre grinned. "That's us. The chosen misfits."
Amari said nothing.
Hari tilted his head. "Who are you?"
Anya stopped a few feet from them and planted the base of her brush against the marble floor.
"You'll know me when the fight begins."
Without warning, she swept her brush in a wide arc.
The paint didn't splash, it cut. Space split like silk, air rippling violently. The marble cracked beneath their feet as pressure filled the chamber.
Combat had begun.
Takahara shouted, "Stand down! This is"
Sophia's glyph flared brighter.
"Let her."
Hari's body moved before his mind did.
Hari's muscles coiled like a spring as he launched forward, fists weaving a dance of fire and wind, a swirling tempest of spells rarely used for combat, but devastating when combined with his raw strength. The cracked marble beneath him exploded in shards as he smashed into the nearest glyph rune, shattering its glow.
Anya barely blinked.
"Impressive, but raw," she said smoothly, twirling her giant brush like a conductor's baton. "Hari's style is a testament to adaptability. Few blend mundane and arcane so fluidly. But such brute force invites heavy Nous pressure, reckless, and easily exploited."
Amari snapped his fingers, summoning the shimmering gateway to his Abara realm. His form flickered as he leapt inside, vanishing from the chamber only to instantly reappear behind Anya. With a roar, his mutated horns glowed a fierce cobalt as he struck a powerful blow infused with arcane energy.
She blocked the strike effortlessly with her brush, the impact sending ripples of paint across the floor like water disturbed. "The Abara realm is a double-edged sword. It grants him speed and power but mutates his flesh, corrupting his soul with each use. A dangerous taboo shadows him yet he embraces the risk."
Andre grinned wide, spinning his sword with exaggerated flair, eyes shining with fierce determination. Though he had no wish yet, his stubborn spirit was a force all its own. He lunged forward, wild swings radiating pure willpower.
Anya's gaze softened slightly as her eyes landed on the sword. "Ah, and that" she said, nodding at the blade "— is no ordinary weapon. Caliburnus chooses its wielder, a relic of divine origin. It holds power beyond conventional spells, waiting for the right soul to awaken its full potential. Even without a wish, it marks him as someone destined for greatness… or great trials."
"No wish yet," she continued. "His strength lies in perseverance and heart, but his taboo will arrive in doubt and fear will threaten him before any other."
From her stance, a subtle ripple pulsed a quiet but focused radiance of Nous pressure.
"Nous pressure," she explained calmly, voice steady, "is not always raw force. I possess natural-tier reserves, average among enforcers, but years of discipline have taught me to shape and channel it precisely. Not overwhelming, but refined a gentle weight that disrupts focus and weakens resolve."
The atmosphere in the chamber shifted. Hari felt a tightening in his chest; Amari's eyes narrowed; even Andre hesitated, sensing the subtle but insistent force pressing against them.
"Many with greater reserves pour their power outward indiscriminately, flooding the area with overwhelming pressure. That's wasteful and dangerous. Control is the true measure of strength."
The trio exchanged glances, bracing themselves.
"Wishes grant power, but taboos enforce balance," Anya continued. "Break a taboo, and you gain three minutes of unrestrained might but your mind will shatter after. Few dare the cost."
Raising her brush, her lilac eyes gleamed.
"Now, Cohort Zero, endure true pressure."
She swept the brush in a graceful arc, unleashing a torrent of shimmering paint that flowed like liquid light not wild or chaotic, but focused, a precise test, a lesson, and a warning all at once
The shimmering torrent of paint surged toward them, but it wasn't a chaotic wave; it flowed with calculated precision, like a master's brushstroke on a delicate canvas.
Hari tightened his stance, fists clenched. He chanted low, weaving fire and wind spells into his fists, shaping a spinning inferno around each punch. With a sudden burst, he surged forward, slamming into the paint with explosive force. The flames hissed against the liquid light, fracturing it, but the pressure pushed back fiercely, trying to overwhelm him.
Anya's voice floated over the clash, calm and measured. "Your strength is undeniable, Hari, but remember raw power without control invites collapse. Your Nous pressure leaks; you expend too much energy resisting instead of directing."
Hari gritted his teeth, shifting tactics. Instead of pushing directly, he danced through the pressure, letting the currents flow around him as he struck from unexpected angles, using his environment and momentum to conserve strength.
Behind him, Amari's eyes glinted as he vanished into the Abara realm once more. The shimmering gateway blinked open beneath his feet as he flickered in and out of existence, teleporting fluidly. His strikes became lightning-fast, infused with cobalt energy, each hit precise and calculated despite the mounting physical changes to his body.
Anya nodded approvingly.
Andre's wide grin didn't waver as he danced forward, spinning Caliburnus in flashy arcs. Without a wish to guide him, his strikes lacked the raw power of his brothers, but his persistence was relentless.
Anya's eyes flicked to the blade again. "Caliburnus calls to him, waiting. His latent power is immense, but until his wish manifests, his true potential is locked behind self-doubt, his greatest taboo yet."
The subtle Nous pressure wrapped tighter around them, testing their focus and will.
"Now, Cohort Zero, show me your resolve."
The trio steeled themselves, each pushing against Anya's invisible force a test not just of strength, but of heart, control, and spirit.
The shimmering torrent of paint pressed harder, swirling in patterns that seemed almost alive streaks of violet, gold, and crimson dancing in the air like living brushstrokes.
Hari felt the subtle tightening of his chest, the invisible weight of Nous pressure attempting to crush his focus. But before he could react further, Anya stepped forward, the air around her vibrating faintly as if reality itself was holding its breath.
Her wild, sun-kissed blonde hair flicked with streaks of orange paint and faint scorch marks, framing eyes soft lilac yet piercing like shards of amethyst. The massive paintbrush in her hand seemed to pulse with life, droplets of fresh paint flowing continuously from its reservoir.
"Enough," she said softly, voice calm and steady, like a maestro preparing her orchestra. "Let me show you what a true wish looks like."
She planted the brush firmly on the ground, then drew it upward in a slow, deliberate stroke that sliced through the air and reality itself.
Hari saw the world twitch space ruptured for a heartbeat.
In that tiny instant, time seemed to stretch and contract, and Anya's body shimmered with raw energy. Then, as if sealing a wound in the fabric of existence, the space snapped back with a resounding pop.
The effect was immediate.
With a fluid leap, Anya closed the distance between herself and Amari. Her paintbrush slammed into his side not with brute force, but with a shattering impact amplified beyond normal limits.
Amari staggered, muscles trembling as if newborn, his breath hitching in a way that threatened collapse.
Anya smiled faintly, brushing a streak of golden paint across his shoulder.
"This is Pure Power," she explained softly as Amari struggled to steady himself. "My wish bends space itself, breaking and fixing it in less than a heartbeat. The faster I stabilize, the greater the force."
She glanced at Hari, eyes gleaming.
"At 0.05 seconds, my attacks deal double damage."
Her brush twirled as she spoke, a flash of movement striking the ground and sending shards of marble flying.
"At 0.04 seconds, damage multiplies tenfold."
She leapt again, paint trailing like comet tails as her brush cut arcs through the air.
"At 0.03 seconds, my strikes weaken the target's bones and muscles. Temporary collapse follows."
Amari's legs buckled slightly as she tapped him lightly with the brush's tip.
"At 0.02 seconds, damage spikes to a hundred times normal, inducing thirty seconds of oxygen deprivation. Unconsciousness follows."
Andre's eyes widened, gripping Caliburnus tighter.
"At 0.01 seconds..." Anya's voice lowered, almost a whisper. "I risk destroying the target at the atomic level. But failure to control the rupture…" She paused, her smile fading for a moment. "Means fatal wounds to myself. A gamble I take with every strike."
She turned fully to the trio, paint dripping from her brush like living ribbons.
"My Nous reserves are natural levels, average among enforcers but my discipline allows me to wield this power without drowning in my own pressure."
She took a slow breath, the calm before the storm.
"You fight to win," she said, eyes narrowing with a teasing glint. "I fight to create beauty. That's why you lose."
With a sudden sweep of her brush, the paint exploded outward this time a symphony of colors slicing through the chamber like living blades.
Hari, Amari, and Andre braced themselves, every fiber of their being pushed to the edge of endurance.
The cascade of paint-blades crashed around them, a riot of color and force that battered Hari, Amari, and Andre relentlessly. Each blow tested their limits, muscles screamed, lungs burned, and minds teetered on the edge of collapse.
But Anya's strikes were never wild. Each was a precise stroke, a lesson etched into the very air.
Finally, with a graceful flick of her brush, the assault ceased.
The chamber fell silent except for heavy breaths and the faint drip of paint from walls and floor.
Anya lowered her brush, eyes softening as she surveyed the trio.
"Not bad," she said quietly. "You have heart, but rawness too. Strength alone won't carry you."
She stepped closer to Andre, who wiped sweat from his brow, gaze distant but stubborn.
"You, especially, carry the weight of potential… and doubt."
Her eyes locked onto Caliburnus, gleaming faintly by his side.
"That sword chose you before you had a wish. A rare honor. But a weapon alone cannot shape destiny."
She knelt, voice lowering.
"To wield a wish is to define yourself. What do you desire, Andre? What do you truly want to become?"
Andre swallowed, the question settling deep.
Beside him, Amari flexed trembling fingers, eyes troubled.
"The Abara realm's price is no accident," Anya said thoughtfully. "Your taboo isn't a curse but a mirror. Perhaps the mutation is your wish revealing your true nature, a bridge between human soul and Nouson gifts."
She gave a faint smile.
"To deny that truth is to resist your own strength. Embrace it, or it will consume you."
Hari, steady as ever, met her gaze.
"You all stand at crossroads," Anya concluded, rising. "Your paths will be shaped by choices you make — of power, of control, of self."
Her gaze softened as she looked to Andre once more.
"You have the furthest to travel, boy. But I see promise."
She swept a hand over the chamber, paint swirling and fading like a dream.
"Train your mind as fiercely as your body. Learn your wish when it comes. And when it does... wield it like the artist you are."
With that, she turned, paintbrush slung over her shoulder, and walked toward the exit.
"Remember," her voice echoed softly behind her, "true power is creation. Not destruction."
The doors closed.
The trio stood silent, each lost in their own thoughts the weight of Anya's words settling like fresh paint on a blank canvas, waiting for the next stroke.
The chamber's heavy silence lingered in their bones as Hari, Amari, and Andre stepped out into the fading light of the Academy grounds.
Paint still faintly stained the marble beneath their feet, like echoes of Anya's chaotic artistry.
They walked side by side toward their dormitory, the weight of the day settling over them like dusk.
Andre forced a grin, trying to cut through the quiet.
"So... what do you think? Anya really shredded us, huh?"
Hari's steady gaze didn't waver.
"She wasn't trying to break us. She was trying to build us."
Amari's fingers twitched, voice low.
"She said my taboo might be my wish revealing its true self… Maybe the mutation is part of who I am, not just a curse."
Andre kicked a loose stone, sighing.
"I still don't have a wish. Just this sword that picked me. Sometimes, I wonder what I'm supposed to want... What I'm supposed to be."
Hari's words were quiet but firm.
"Wishes shape us, but first, we have to know who we are."
Andre's smile faded into thoughtful silence.
"Anya said I have the furthest to go. But she also said she sees promise."
Amari nodded, his tail flicking thoughtfully.
"We all have paths that aren't clear yet. But walking them together... that's something."
The trio continued on, steps steady despite the unknown.
In the fading light, they were more than three misfits; they were becoming brothers painting a future and this academy was their canvas.