The practical evaluation took place on a Thursday.
Caelum hated Thursdays.
Not because of the day itself.
Because practical evaluations happened on Thursdays.
The Institute believed abilities should be measured regularly.
Students believed the Institute was wrong.
Unfortunately, the Institute had more authority.
"Relax."
Tavian stretched in his chair.
"Nobody's going to fail object stabilization."
Caelum looked at him.
"You say that every evaluation."
"And I've been right every time."
"One student turned a desk into powder last semester."
"Still passed."
"How?"
"Creativity."
Caelum couldn't argue with that.
The classroom slowly filled.
Students took their assigned stations.
Instructors checked equipment.
Resonance dampeners hummed softly within the walls.
Today's exercise was simple.
Maintain structural coherence.
Keep an object stable.
Prevent deformation.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing dangerous.
Dr. Ashcroft stood at the front of the room.
"Remember," he said, "control is not measured by output."
Several students visibly deflated.
Ashcroft continued.
"It is measured by consistency."
The practical began.
One by one, students activated their abilities.
A girl strengthened the molecular cohesion of a ceramic sphere.
A boy maintained a rotating field around a metal ring.
Another stabilized temperature fluctuations within a glass container.
Routine.
Predictable.
Normal.
Then it was Caelum's turn.
A rectangular metal block sat on the table before him.
Nothing special.
Just a test object.
He placed his hand above it.
The pressure behind his eyes appeared immediately.
Caelum froze.
Not now.
The sensation deepened.
Heavy.
Quiet.
Like standing beneath distant thunder.
The block remained still.
Good.
That was good.
Just stay calm.
Stay normal.
Across the room, someone dropped their object.
The crash echoed through the classroom.
Students jumped.
Someone cursed.
Caelum flinched.
The pressure surged.
For one impossible moment—
The room felt wrong.
Not darker.
Not colder.
Empty.
The metal block vanished.
No flash.
No sound.
No energy release.
It was simply...
Gone.
Caelum stared.
His breath caught.
The table remained.
The air remained.
Everything remained.
Except the block.
The pressure disappeared.
Just like that.
As if it had never existed.
Nobody noticed.
Not immediately.
The dropped object across the room had everyone's attention.
Students were helping clean up.
Instructors moved toward the disturbance.
Caelum slowly lowered his hand.
His heart pounded.
The empty space where the block should have been looked impossible.
He wanted to touch it.
He didn't.
He wanted to tell someone.
He couldn't.
For the rest of the evaluation, he barely heard a word.
When class finally ended, he left immediately.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
Just gone.
"That's weird."
Tavian watched him disappear down the hallway.
Very weird.
Caelum never left early.
Especially not without saying something.
Tavian frowned.
Something was wrong.
He didn't know what.
But something definitely was.
Three floors above, Dr. Ashcroft sat in his office.
Two Bureau agents occupied the chairs across from him.
Both wore matte gray identification bands.
Neither looked happy.
"Another fluctuation."
One agent slid a tablet across the desk.
Ashcroft glanced down.
A timestamp.
A classroom designation.
Environmental readings.
He already knew where this was going.
"How severe?"
"Minimal."
"Observed effects?"
The agent paused.
"Localized nullification."
Ashcroft's expression hardened.
The room grew quiet.
Finally he looked up.
"You're certain?"
"No."
That answer was somehow worse.
The second agent activated a projection.
A list appeared.
Greyhaven.
South Aster.
Polar Belt.
Seven additional incidents.
And now—
Luminex Institute.
"The pattern is increasing."
Ashcroft studied the display.
"We still don't have causation."
"No."
"No mechanism."
"No."
"No explanation."
"No."
Silence.
The first agent folded his hands.
"We do have a growing overlap."
A new file appeared.
One name.
CAELUM VEY
Ashcroft stared at it.
The agents watched carefully.
"He's sixteen."
"Age is irrelevant."
"He's a student."
"So were others connected to prior anomalies."
Ashcroft's jaw tightened.
The agents noticed.
Neither commented.
Finally the first agent stood.
"We're not authorizing intervention."
Yet.
The unspoken word hung in the air.
Ashcroft understood perfectly.
The agents left.
The office door closed.
For several moments, Ashcroft sat alone.
Then he reopened Caelum's file.
Not as a suspect.
As a student.
A student who looked exhausted lately.
Who spent too much time in archives.
Who kept to himself.
Who clearly carried something he didn't understand.
Ashcroft leaned back.
And for the first time, he felt afraid.
Not of Caelum.
For him.
That night, Caelum sat alone in his apartment.
The city glowed beyond the window.
Traffic moved.
Lights flickered.
Life continued.
Normal.
His eyes drifted toward his desk.
Toward the empty space in front of it.
The memory of the block replayed again and again.
One moment it existed.
The next—
Nothing.
No destruction.
No fragments.
No residue.
Nothing.
A terrible thought entered his mind.
Not for the first time.
But now he couldn't push it away.
If things could disappear...
How many already had?
And worse—
Had it always been happening?
Or was it getting stronger?
Outside, far above the city, clouds slowly drifted across the night sky.
And somewhere deep within Luminex's monitoring systems, another anomaly joined the growing list.
Small.
Insignificant.
Easy to dismiss.
Until it wasn't.
End of Chapter 6