Rod had been dying to complain about this one."Students get maternity leave? And why does everyone act like unwed pregnancy is… good?"
The seniors stared. The red-armbanded one explained, "He's lost his memory. Forgot a lot."
"That's allowed?" another wailed. "So you don't have to know anything—just have a face? Even if he's all sword-browed, moonlight-in-his-eyes, willow-breeze-in-his-lashes, profile carved like alabaster, thin lips hiding tender sorrow, and tousled black hair that breathes quiet dominance like a blade in rain—does Lady Mipol's daughter really have to fall into his lap? Why has no girl ever liked me? I'm tragic, sensitive, soulful—why am I not popular?"
Rod looked at him in silence. Bard, are we? You don't hear how cringe that sounds?Judging from the man's expression, he did not. The other seniors, however, looked mortified.
One yanked his sleeve. "Shor, stop. You're embarrassing us in front of a freshman."
Shor flung him off. "Embarrassing? What's more embarrassing than finishing Year Four without so much as holding a girl's hand?"
From the burning faces around them, poet-boy wasn't alone in his plight.
To save them, the red armband coughed and changed the subject."Of course Kinworth has maternity leave. We don't encourage wasting your study time on, well, that, but if pregnancy happens, it's good news. The Academy provides attendants for the mother and assigns lecturers so she keeps up. Male students receive a stipend."
Seeing Rod's blank look, another senior chuckled. "Based on Society data, children of two Flamebearers have a 10–20% higher chance of becoming Flamebearers. Pregnancy itself is the Flame's blessing. The capital guarantees infant care."
A third added, "We encourage births. The world outside is cold; the more people huddle together, the warmer it gets. And the more Flamebearers who stand before the Sacred Flame, the better we can repel the mist."
Shor snorted. "Don't get cocky. Once you become a Flamebearer, you can control your urges. Girls won't just indulge you. Study and training come first—otherwise in a war zone you're a burden. Dying is one thing; getting your teammates killed is a nightmare you never wake from."
"And," the red armband continued in a scholarly tone, "research shows that unless souls truly resonate—unless it's real love—two Flamebearers may have lower odds of conceiving than common folk. It's the Flame's mercy: every child is a crystal of humanity's purest love." He raised his hands as if saluting the distant Sacred Flame. "So if you somehow get every girl pregnant, we would only reward you, not punish you."
He laughed, very pleased with himself. The others laughed too. Only Shor looked like he'd drunk a vat of old vinegar. "Keep dreaming. That's impossible."
…
Rod forgot the digression almost immediately.Given the city's customs, even if he fathered a hundred children, it wouldn't earn him a stay of execution.Survival was still the only thing that mattered.Other than using his "specialties" for convenience, he had no time for deeper entanglements.
A few minutes later, they stopped before a massive square building.By location, it had to be the Third Division Administration—offices for faculty and staff of Kinworth's Third College.But instead of going in, they turned into a smaller building on the right.
Inside stretched a large hall hung with copper lamps different from those outside, crammed with tables, shelves, scattered books and tools—a lot like the Machina Institute testing hall he'd seen before.Dozens of white-robed workers bustled about.
"Mina! New assignment!" the red armband called.
A woman with chestnut hair looked up—mid-twenties, classic heart-shaped face, big eyes, clear skin, a high nose bridge, features deep and striking—a hint of mixed-blood allure.The real depth, however, was the canyon on her chest; just by straightening, she made four seniors swallow audibly.
"What assignment?" She frowned slightly; interruptions weren't her favorite.
The red armband nudged Rod forward. "A new special student. Freshman, name's Rod. Needs your full work-up."
Mina's gaze flickered brighter for a heartbeat. She turned back to her station. "Come."
Rod saw a crystal sphere on the desk and a circular plate on the floor and knew: another seed test.A twinge of anxiety—but he stepped onto the plate and set his right hand on the crystal.
Letters surfaced after a moment—another ancient script he couldn't read.Mina's brows pinched like the last tester's had. But instead of reaching for books she asked, "What name did the previous examiner give your seed?"
"Black Bowl," Rod said flatly.
Two seniors snorted.
Mina's brows knit tighter. She studied the glyphs several times and sighed. "We'll use that for now."
Rod didn't care what they called it—as long as nothing worse turned up.
"Do you know your ability?"
"I do." He described the Soul Eye—the "spirit vision" that pierced fog.It was cover, of course. The Eye came from the black altar; the true trait of "Black Bowl" was taboo soul absorption. They couldn't tell the difference anyway.
"Sounds solid," the red armband said. "No wonder you're flagged this early."
Shor clicked his tongue. "It's just soul-sight."
Mina ignored him. "Can you use it on command?"
"Yes."
She set a murky crystal on the desk. "Use your ability on this. Tell me what you see."
Rod focused, tapped his brow thrice with Soul Energy. The Eye opened.The foggy crystal turned pure black.
"Black," he said.
Faces tightened—Mina's and the four seniors'.
The red armband asked, "Do you know what that crystal is?"
"No."
Mina placed another crystal. "This?"
"A flower."
"Describe."
"Golden. Seven petals."
"And this?"
"A… wolf? Two heads."
"Any higher-grade mist crystals?" the red armband asked.
Mina shook her head. "No."
"How strong is that level of sight?"
"Extremely," Mina said. "Absolute acuity over 80. But his Soul Energy tier is only 1, so absolute dimension is 3—there are things he still can't see."
"That's already superb," the red armband said. "His seed is definitely ultra-rare. Once he trains in soul-sight, his recon will outstrip most. By graduation, the Academy will be whispering his name."
"Hot commodity," someone muttered.
Rod scratched his head. Isn't this a bit much?
"Big deal," Shor grumbled.
"Shut it!" the red armband barked. "You're a 9 in spirit vision—couldn't see a wraith on your own nose. You wasted a vial of Spirit-Tree Essence—do you know what that costs?"
Shor flushed, veins standing out. "I was careless. Didn't expect an ambush—"
The red armband ignored him. "On that alone, he qualifies as special student. The Head Chancellor's orders aren't wrong."
Mina smiled—bright enough to soften steel. "Agreed. One more sliver of future to hope for."She winked at Rod. "Little brother, if you ever run into trouble, come find big sis. Anytime."
She leaned on anytime, drawing fresh laughter.Only Shor looked ready to split from envy. "Mina, I—I want—"
Her face iced over. "Get lost, you nine-point stump."
Shor wilted. "Why? Why is the world so cruel to me…"
No one indulged him. Mina slipped her arm through Rod's and pulled him to another bench."Lasha! Work time!"
A bed-headed man cracked an eye. "Five more minutes, Mina. I haven't slept in a day—"
She shook him awake without mercy. "Up."
Grudgingly, Lasha produced a heap of crystal apparatus and began setting them out.Mina turned back, voice warm. "How do you feel, little Rod?"
"Soft…" he blurted.
She flicked his arm; a blush crept into her lovely face, but there was no blame in it."I meant your state. We'll measure your Soul Energy in a moment. Settle yourself."
Lasha, sick of the murmured sweetness, finished arranging the devices. "Hand here. Focus. For the next fifteen seconds, gather your energy into your palm. Max output."
Rod dropped stray thoughts, breathed deep, and pressed his hand to a crystal panel. He closed his eyes and forced Soul Energy up from the roots of his soul.A thin mist brightened on his skin.
Lasha's expression shifted. He watched the dials, then asked, suddenly serious, "What year?"
"Freshman," said the red armband. "Day three."
"Good," Lasha said. "Very good." He read off numbers:"Peak intensity 98 Carves. Max output 21. Average pressure 7. Endurance excellent—sustained combat favorable. But tier only one."
Rod blinked. "What does that mean?"
Lasha scrubbed his hair. "Your intensity exceeds your tier. Your soul can't house it well—like putting a huge load in a small vessel. Over time, you'll damage yourself irreversibly."
The red armband nodded. "You need an Ascension Rite—raise your tier so your soul can bear your power."
"Afterward your energy quality improves and the body adapts," Mina added. "Tier-one ascension is simple. I'll arrange it."
"Only ninety-eight," Shor muttered. "What's so—"
"Quiet!" the red armband snapped. "You'll be begging him soon."
"I'd rather kneel and eat dirt than beg him!" Shor blazed.
"Congratulations," the red armband told Rod, ignoring the tantrum. "You are now officially a Special Student of Kinworth Academy."
Rod's head buzzed. "What does that do? Why me?"
"Special Students are those with exceptional potential or anomalous abilities ill-fit for the standard track," the armband said. "We tailor training to bring out their strengths."
Rod tensed. He didn't want spotlights. "Do I have to change groups?"
He shook his head. "No. You stay Third College, Tenth Department, Team Ten. Your basics are weak; you still need normal courses. We'll assign you a mentor and one custom class."
"You'll report weekly to Haidler Range for specialized training. Otherwise, business as usual."
Rod exhaled. Small changes I can handle.
The armband helped with the paperwork and pinned a Special Student badge to his robe. That was that.He was to return to class and await further notice.
At the door, Mina lifted a hand and laughed softly. "Little Rod—come visit sometime. Third College, Building Seven, Room Twenty-One."
Rod didn't think much of it—until someone seized his sleeve the moment he stepped out.He turned.
It was the tragic poet, Shor.
"Please," Shor said. "Teach me."