The next class was in one of the side rooms that opened toward the back field. It was less formal than Hana's. No neat rows of desks. Just benches and open space.
Selma Varr stood near the center, her arms folded. She was older than Hana, with short hair and a face that always looked a little tired, like she had seen too many things and none of them were particularly impressive.
"We will keep this simple today," she said as we filed in. "Footwork, balance, and control. No one is impressing anyone with wild swinging."
Her eyes flicked over the group. I felt them pause on me for half a heartbeat, then move on like nothing was different.
We spread out. Kendra stuck close to the front, vibrating with energy. Jasper stayed toward the middle. I took a spot at the edge where there was a bit more space around me.
Selma started us with basic drills. Stepping patterns. Shifts of weight. Nothing flashy. Nothing that would impress anyone watching.
Still, there were moments.
A kid near the front moved a little too fast, shoes sliding over the ground in a way that didn't match the strength in his legs. Another took a step and landed a fraction lighter than he should have, like something had cushioned him. Kendra's heel scraped against the dirt, but the way her body twisted to catch herself was too quick, too sharp, like there was more behind it than just good reflexes.
Selma watched all of it. She did not comment.
When she passed by Kendra, she tapped the girl's shoulder lightly.
"Less show," she said. "More control."
Kendra grinned. "Control is boring."
"Control is what keeps you from breaking your own bones," Selma said.
"That is fair," Jasper muttered.
Selma's shadow reached my feet before she did. She stopped in front of me, looking down at the way I shifted my weight.
"Relax your shoulders," she said.
I did. Or tried to.
Her gaze lingered on my hands at my sides. On the way my fingers curved like they were holding something that wasn't there.
"Again," she said.
I ran through the stepping pattern like she had shown us. One foot forward, weight over the ball, hips turning, center balanced, then back. Easy. Simple.
Something under my skin hummed. It always did when I moved like this. Like some part of me was waiting. Like I was stepping around the edges of something I couldn't see.
"Good enough," she said, and moved on.
Good enough. Not great. Not terrible. Just there.
We switched drills. Pair work. Kendra immediately grabbed my sleeve.
"We are partners," she said. "No backsies."
"You just made that word up," Jasper said.
"It is a good word," she said.
We went through the motions. Pushing and yielding, testing balance, learning how to let someone else's force pass through instead of taking it head on.
Kendra tried to shove me harder than Selma probably intended. I stepped with it, let the force roll through my body, and she stumbled when she expected me to resist.
She caught herself with an almost animal twist, feet planting firm.
"What was that?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"What?"
"You moved weird."
"Thanks."
"In a good way," she said. "Annoying, but good."
I didn't answer.
Selma clapped her hands once. "That is enough for today," she said. "We will pick this up next time. Cool down, then head out."
People started drifting away, stretching their arms or shaking out tired legs. Kendra flopped backward onto the grass like she had just fought a war.
"I am dead," she said.
"You say that every class," Jasper said. He was already picking up his books again.
"This time I mean it."
"You meant it last time too," he said.
They kept talking. Their voices faded a little as my attention shrank inward.
My palms felt warm. Not from the drills. From something else. That hum under my skin was stronger now, more insistent. Like whatever I had been skirting around all through class was closer.
I flexed my fingers.
For a fraction of a second, the air around my hand felt tighter. Heavier. The space between my fingers and my palm compressed like invisible pressure was trying to settle into place.
I stopped moving.
The feeling vanished.
"Kin?" Jasper's voice pulled me back. "You coming?"
I looked at my hand once more. Nothing strange. No marks. No glow. Just skin and faint calluses from training I did not talk about.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm coming."
**
School ended slowly.
Some students bolted the moment they were free, racing each other through the halls. Others lingered, talking in small knots, their voices echoing off the stone.
Kendra had somehow found an arm wrestling opponent at one of the benches near the academy yard. A small crowd gathered around them, cheering and shouting advice that none of them followed.
"I win, you owe me your lunch tomorrow," she said, grinning at the boy across from her.
"That is not fair," he said. "You always win."
"Then stop betting against me," she said.
Their hands locked. The match lasted three seconds. It ended with the other boy's arm hitting the table and his face dropping into his sleeve.
The group groaned and laughed. Kendra raised her hands like she had just defeated an enemy army.
"I am taking your dessert too," she said.
"No, you are not," Jasper said from the side. "That is theft."
"It is winning," she said.
He sighed, long and tired, then looked at me.
"Heading home?" he asked.
"In a bit," I said.
"You sure you are not actually staying for more drills?" he asked. "Because if you are, I am telling Aiko you are doing it on purpose."
"I am not," I said.
He studied my face for a moment, then nodded.
"See you tomorrow, then," he said.
"Yeah."
Kendra slapped my shoulder as she walked past to chase another potential victim. "Get some sleep tonight," she said. "You look like a ghost."
"I will try," I said.
I left the academy yard, the noise behind me growing quieter with each step. The street sloped down again toward the center of town. The sun had dropped lower, turning the light gold. Shadows stretched long across the stone.
Redmere in the evening always felt softer. The rush of morning faded into something calmer. Vendors packed up. Kids were called back home. The fountain in the square trickled steadily, the water catching the light.
I walked without really thinking about where my feet were going.
The dream had been there when I woke up. It had hovered at the edges of my thoughts in every class, between every joke, in the silence between words.
Most nights it faded after a while. Today it clung to me.
The weight of the sword in my chest. The way the world had gone quiet. The faces in the firelight.
I exhaled slowly and looked up.
The sky was empty. No smoke, no burning towers. Just stretches of pale blue fading into deeper color as the sun sank.
My hand drifted to my chest again.
Nothing.
It still felt like there should be something. A mark. A bruise. Anything.
Maybe it was not the dream that bothered me. Maybe it was the part that felt wrong that it wasn't real. That my brain had decided to build a memory of a death that hadn't happened.
I shook it away.
I reached the corner where the street split. Left led back toward our house and the flower shop. I could almost hear Yui's voice already, complaining about some customer, or begging Mom to let her bring home another stray cat that would definitely try to kill me in my sleep.
Right led up a smaller path. Less used. It bent around the back of the academy, then out toward the open fields behind it.
The training grounds sat there.
They were simple. Just packed dirt, a few old wooden posts driven into the ground, some targets set up at different distances, and enough space to move without knocking into anyone else. During the day, classes used them. In the evenings, they were empty more often than not.
I stood there at the split for a long moment.
My body wanted to go left. To go home. To sit at the table and pretend nothing was wrong. To let Mom's voice and Yui's noise drown out the echo of steel in my head.
My fingers curled and uncurled at my side.
Back in class, the desk had cracked under my hand. Just a little. A thin line, barely visible, but real. In the courtyard, the air had felt heavy for a second around my fingers, like it was waiting to press in.
And in the dream—
I swallowed.
That feeling. The moment before Kaisel's sword hit me. The way everything in my body screamed to move and I didn't. The way something in my chest had pulled, like it wanted to do something and I had no idea what.
I breathed out slowly.
"I need to know what's wrong with me," I said under my breath.
The words felt strange out loud. Smaller than they did in my head. But they were true.
My feet moved before I fully decided.
I turned right.
The noise of town faded behind me with every step. Houses thinned out, replaced by patches of grass and a few scattered trees. The air cooled as the sun dropped lower, a hint of evening chill slipping in.
**
The training grounds were empty when I arrived.
The sun had slipped low behind Redmere's roofs, leaving the field washed in the last orange light of the day. The grass at the edges moved with the wind, and the air held that quiet space that settled over the town when everyone else began heading home.
I stepped onto the packed dirt. It was firmer than it looked—years of classes, drills, and footwork had hardened it into something close to stone. My shoes scraped lightly as I walked toward the center.
I stood still for a moment and just breathed.
My chest felt tight. Not from running. Just from… everything. The dream. The day. The quiet that always came when things finally stopped around me.
I rolled my shoulders once, loosening the stiffness left from class earlier. Selma's drills still sat fresh in my muscles. Step, plant, pivot, shift. Simple things. Things that shouldn't have taken effort.
I exhaled slowly and raised my right hand.
Black energy flickered into existence around my palm.
It wasn't dramatic. No burst of power. No sound. Just a soft shimmer of darkness, as if the air dipped inward for a moment. A thin blue hue edged the black—faint at first, then settling into a steady glow around the shape forming in my hand.
Dark Matter always felt heavier than it looked.
Not like weight pulling on my arm, but pressure building inside my chest and traveling outward, pressing against my skin. A deep, compressed force that wanted to move whether I guided it or not.
I tried to steady my breathing. The energy vibrated faintly, buzzing under the surface.
"Just start simple," I murmured.
I tightened my fingers, shaping the Dark Matter along my hand. It thickened, outlining my palm, then extended into a short blade that hummed quietly with energy. Blue light lined the edges, thin as a thread.
The shape held.
Good.
I shifted my stance the way Selma taught—feet shoulder-width, weight over the balls of my feet, chest relaxed. The blade stayed stable for a breath, then two.
On the third, the vibration increased.
"Not now…"
The edge flickered. A crack of unstable matter rippled through the blade, and it dissolved into a burst of black smoke that faded in the air.
I let my arm drop.
Weapon creation was supposed to be the easy part. Shape the matter. Reinforce the form. Maintain the outline with a steady flow. Kids younger than me could hold a simple blade for minutes.
I tried again.
Energy gathered around my hand, swirling tighter. The pressure in my chest grew heavier, like someone was pushing a fist into my sternum. The blade formed again, this time shorter—more like a knife.
I moved my arm through the air, testing the weightless feel of the construct. The knife cut smoothly for the first swing, leaving a faint streak of blue light in its path.
But when I tightened my grip, the matter surged too quickly.
The knife twisted, its shape warping, and it broke apart in my hand.
Fragments of black energy scattered, dissolving before they hit the ground.
I rubbed my thumb against my fingers. They tingled from the sudden loss of feedback.
"Slow," I whispered to myself. "Just slow it down."
I planted my feet again. Form first. Always form first. I could hear Selma's voice in the back of my mind.
Relax. Control the flow. Don't force it.
I raised my hand and summoned the matter a third time.
The blade returned, steadier than before. The hum stayed at a manageable level, the blue outline thin but present. I let the weapon rest in my palm, feeling the density, the weightless pull of energy shaped into something physical.
For a moment, it felt right.
Then I tried to step forward.
The output spiked.
The hum jumped from steady to jagged, crackling through the blade like a jolt of lightning. My vision vibrated at the edges from the sudden surge. The matter snapped violently, bursting outward.
A shock ran through my arm.
I hissed and grabbed my wrist, steadying it. The blade was gone. The air around my hand shimmered as the leftover energy broke apart.
"Too much," I muttered through my teeth.
Output. Always output.
If I pushed more than fifteen percent—just fifteen—the feedback hit hard. Dad used to say your matter should feel like an extension of your muscles. Mine felt like it was trying to punch its way out of my bones.
I shook out my hand and crouched slightly, letting my breath settle again.
Maybe reinforcement would go better.
I drew Dark Matter up my arm, letting it coat the skin in a black sheen traced with faint blue. The weight settled evenly this time—more like a tight band wrapped around my forearm than a full surge.
I bent my knees and pushed off the ground.
A sharp crack broke beneath my foot.
The dirt had splintered from the pressure. A small crater, barely an inch deep, marked where my heel had been.
I stood still, staring at it.
Reinforcement wasn't supposed to do that. Not at this level. I wasn't even pushing hard.
I pulled back the matter, letting it drop away from my skin. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck despite the cool evening air.
People my age didn't struggle with this anymore. I'd seen the others at school—stable shapes, steady bursts, clean reinforcement. Even Kendra, who barely paid attention half the time, could maintain her Beast Matter without flickering.
Why couldn't I?
I lifted my hand again and released a simple burst—something small, something controlled.
The Dark Matter shot forward in a tight line.
Then abruptly veered to the left and slammed into a wooden post.
The post splintered, the top half snapping clean off and dropping into the dirt.
I stared at it, my mouth tightening.
"That was supposed to go straight," I said under my breath, though no one was there to hear it.
I tried again.
Another burst. Too weak this time—barely a ripple of air. It died before it reached the nearest post.
Again.
The third shot was stronger, closer to what I wanted, but it stuttered halfway through, flickering like a dying ember before sputtering out.
I rubbed the center of my palm. The skin felt warm. Not burned—just irritated from the constant shift of energy.
A cool wind passed through the field, brushing my hair back. Redmere's lamps were starting to glow in the distance, tiny dots of light lining the streets. The sky had darkened to a deep purple, a few stars appearing where clouds gave way.
I stared at my hand for a long moment.
Maybe I was just tired. Maybe the dream had shaken me more than I realized. Maybe—
No.
I closed my fingers slowly.
This wasn't new. This wasn't exhaustion. This wasn't nerves.
It was me.
It had always been me.
I took a breath and brought my hands up again, preparing for one last attempt.
Dark Matter wrapped around my forearms, rising smoother this time. My breathing steadied. The hum softened—not calm, but quiet enough to manage.
Good. One more try.
I stepped forward with careful footing and shaped a short blade—more like a shard than a sword. The form held. Humming, vibrating, but holding.
I swung lightly.
Once.
Twice.
The blade flickered, but stayed intact.
On the third swing, the edge cracked, destabilizing. But this time it didn't explode or collapse instantly—it held for an extra heartbeat before falling apart.
Only one second longer, but I felt it.
A small improvement.
A tiny one.
Barely worth noticing.
But I noticed.
I lowered my arms and let the matter fade. The black dissolved, the blue halo trailing off into nothing. My muscles buzzed faintly from the strain.
"That's it," I muttered. Not triumph. Not defeat. Just acceptance.
I walked across the field, passing the broken post and the cracked dirt beneath my feet. The quiet wrapped around me again, softer now, settling over the edges of my thoughts.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my wrist and glanced once more at the fading light over Redmere.
"I'll get this right," I said. My voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind. "I have to."
I turned toward the path and began walking home.
The dreams, the mistakes, the shaking matter in my hands—none of it felt any clearer. But the field behind me carried a small imprint of progress, even if it was short-lived.
One second longer.
For now, it was enough to keep going.
**
The walk home from the training grounds was always quieter than the walk there.
Redmere's houses sat in long rows, warm lights glowing in their windows, chimneys releasing thin curls of smoke into the darkening sky. The street lamps flickered on one by one, casting familiar pools of gold over the cobblestone path.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, still feeling a faint vibration lingering in my arms. Dark Matter always left something behind—like the echo of a sound that hadn't fully faded.
Maybe that was normal. Maybe it wasn't. Hard to tell.
Most people didn't talk about their Matter unless they were bragging. And the others… well, they made it look easy.
I stepped around a bend in the road, passing an older man closing his shop shutters. He nodded to me. I nodded back, then kept walking.
My hands felt steadier now, but the quiet inside me didn't.
Matter wasn't supposed to be difficult. Not like this.
Everyone learned the basics when they were young. The instructors always said the same things:
"A Matter core is the center of who you are." "It sits inside your chest, just behind the heart." "It fuels everything your Matter can do."
Simple enough.
My own core had awakened when I was seven—just like most kids. I remembered the shock of it clearly: a jolt of energy under my ribs, a pressure blooming through my arms, the first flicker of black energy curling out from my palms.
Dad told me it meant I'd inherited a strong Matter. A rare one. Something to be proud of.
"Dark Matter," he said, smiling. "You'll do good with it."
Back then, I believed him.
Every Matter user I knew fell into one of two groups. People who developed their Matter naturally… and people like me.
Natural Matter came from an empty core forming something new on its own. Kids like Jasper—if he ever awakened—would find out their type around age eight or nine, when their core stopped shifting and settled into something final. Elemental, Biological, Physical. The common ones.
Nothing wrong with them. They could be strong too.
But Progeny Matter… that was different.
Those were the ones passed down through blood. Already born into the core. Already shaped before you even learned to walk. Most Kinetic and Ethereal Matters came from that.
Dad had Dark Matter. So did Kensei. And Yui.
And me.
Progeny Matter was supposed to be stable. Predictable. Something inherited, not earned.
Which made it sting more whenever I lost control of it.
Another lamp flickered to life as I walked past, lighting the edge of Redmere's fountain square. The water shimmered faintly with the reflection of the sky—dark blue now, or close to it.
I slowed my steps, letting the sound of the fountain fill the space around me.
Matter, at least the way instructors explained it, lived in the body like a second heart. A core that beat without sound. A pulse that responded to emotion, will, and instinct.
When people activated their Matter, they called on that core.
Some called it forward like drawing breath. Some pushed it like lighting a spark. Some simply felt it—ever-present, ready.
Mine always felt like pressure. Weight. A heavy force trying to push outward.
And the more I tried to control it, the more it pushed back.
I let out a slow breath and kept walking.
Maybe today was a fluke. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe—
The truth was simpler.
I wasn't getting worse. I just wasn't getting better.
A group of kids ran past me, laughing, their backpacks bouncing against their shoulders. One of them hopped off a small step using just a flicker of Elemental Matter—nothing fancy, just a burst of wind under his foot to help him jump farther.
His landing was smooth.
Balanced.
Controlled.
I looked away.
Most people at the academy could use their Matter casually by now. Not in big, flashy ways, but in the small things—reinforcement during footwork, shaping simple constructs, basic bursts, manipulating a little force when needed.
Matter followed shape. Shape followed will.
That was what Xaviar always said.
But with mine, will wasn't enough. The moment I pushed for more than a small percentage of output, the Dark Matter surged too fast, too heavy, too uneven.
And if I reached past fifteen percent…
I flexed my right hand. The muscles along my forearm still felt tight.
Yeah.
It wasn't worth thinking about.
The path curved toward the edge of town, where the buildings grew shorter and the sound of the fountain faded behind me. Lights from windows warmed the dusty street, and the smell of flowers drifted faintly on the air.
Mom must've left the shop's side door open again.
I reached the slope leading up to our home and slowed.
From the window above the shop, soft light spilled onto the street. Yui's silhouette darted past the curtain—probably pacing, probably talking to herself, probably doing something she'd try to keep secret for five minutes before bursting downstairs to tell us everything.
A small smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
The house always felt different from the rest of the world. Not safer. Just… quieter. Softer around the edges. A place where voices didn't echo as sharply, where every smell and sound felt familiar.
I stopped at the base of the steps.
My hand drifted to my chest, fingers brushing lightly over my shirt as if I could feel the core beneath it.
Most days, I tried not to think about it.
But tonight…
Tonight the training grounds still echoed in my mind. The flickering blade. The cracked dirt. The uneven output. The weight in my arms.
And the dream.
Always the dream.
My breath eased out in a slow exhale.
"Tomorrow," I said quietly. "I'll try again tomorrow."
The words didn't sound confident, but they didn't sound hopeless either. Just steady enough to keep me moving.
I took the first step up to the house.
Inside, I could already hear Yui's voice—bright, fast, complaining about something. Mom's voice followed, soft and patient. The smell of warm food drifted faintly through the door.
For a moment, I let the quiet of the street settle behind me.
Then I pushed the door open and stepped inside.