The academy changed after the dream.
Narkun felt it the moment he stepped out of his chamber the next morning.
The air was tighter—thicker with layered intent. Wards hummed louder beneath the stone floors, no longer background noise but an ever-present pressure against his skin. Runes etched into the walls glowed faintly as he passed, reacting not aggressively, but cautiously, like animals watching a fire.
They knew.
Not what he was—but that something had shifted.
Students noticed too.
Conversations died when he entered a hall. Training formations subtly adjusted, instructors spacing students farther apart whenever he was present. Even bonded beasts—creatures that normally ignored humans not linked to them—watched him with alert, unblinking eyes.
Containment had begun.The summons came before midday.
A junior instructor arrived at Narkun's training ring, posture stiff, eyes refusing to meet his.
"You are ordered to report to the Elder Conclave chamber," the instructor said. "Immediately."
Instructor Vale was already there.
She stood beside Narkun as they walked, silent, expression unreadable. Only once they were deep within the academy's inner corridors did she speak.
"They're afraid," she said.
Narkun nodded. "I know."
Vale exhaled slowly. "That makes you dangerous in ways strength never could."
The Elder Conclave chamber was deeper than the public halls—cut into the mountain's core, reinforced with ancient stone and layered seals that had not been activated in generations.
They were active now.
The doors closed behind Narkun with a sound that echoed like finality.All seven elders were present.
Not seated.
Standing.
That alone was a declaration.
Elder Varrin stood at the center, staff in hand, eyes cold and resolute. Elder Kessa stood to his right, arms folded, expression sharp. Elder Heth leaned heavily on his staff, gaze distant yet piercing.
Narkun stopped at the center of the chamber.
Vale remained at the door.
"Narkun Ka," Elder Varrin said, "you have exceeded acceptable variance thresholds."
Narkun tilted his head slightly. "I didn't break any rules yesterday."
Elder Kessa's lips thinned. "You exist outside the rules."
Silence followed.
Elder Heth spoke next, voice slow and heavy. "The academy was built to refine power. Not to host singularities."
The word echoed.
Singularities.
Narkun's chest tightened.
Elder Varrin raised his staff, and runes flared across the floor.
"Effective immediately," he said, "new containment measures are enacted."
The air shifted.
Narkun felt it—pressure settling over him like invisible chains.
"First," Varrin continued, "your training hours are reduced by half."
Vale stiffened. "That will destabilize his control."
"That is acceptable," Kessa replied coldly. "Stability through limitation."
Narkun frowned. "You want me weaker?"
"We want you predictable," Varrin said."Second," Elder Kessa added, "all combat engagement is suspended indefinitely."
Narkun's eyes snapped up. "That's not training. That's stagnation."
"Exactly," she replied.
Vale stepped forward. "You're bottling pressure. That ends badly."
Elder Varrin's gaze flicked to her. "Your concern is noted."
Vale clenched her fists—but stepped back.
"Third," Varrin said, "you will wear a Limiter Seal at all times."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
An attendant stepped forward, carrying a metal band etched with suppression runes—ancient, heavy, and unmistakably invasive.
Narkun stared at it.
"That's for criminals," he said quietly.
"For threats," Kessa corrected.
Something deep inside Narkun stirred.
Not violently.
Not angrily.
Disappointed.
Elder Heth watched him closely. "This seal will restrict output, dampen instinctual surges, and alert us to irregular fluctuations."
Narkun looked at Vale. "What happens if it breaks?"
No one answered immediately.
Elder Varrin finally spoke. "Then we will know containment has failed."
The implication was clear."Fourth," Elder Kessa continued, "your access to beasts—bonded or otherwise—is revoked."
The Ursid stirred uneasily.
"You will not enter beast chambers," she said. "You will not observe bonding rituals."
Narkun's voice hardened. "You're afraid I'll end them."
"Yes," she said simply.
The honesty stunned him more than denial would have.
"And finally," Varrin said, lifting his staff one last time, "you will be monitored at all times."
The runes beneath Narkun's feet flared brighter.
"You are no longer a student in the traditional sense," Varrin declared. "You are a contained variable."
Silence crushed the chamber.
Narkun closed his eyes.
When he opened them, his voice was calm.
"What if I refuse?"
The runes pulsed dangerously.
Elder Heth's grip tightened on his staff. "Then this mountain becomes your cage."
Vale took an involuntary step forward.
Narkun looked at the limiter band again.
Then—slowly—he held out his arm.
"I'll wear it," he said.
Relief rippled through the chamber.
The attendant stepped forward and locked the band around his wrist.
The moment it closed—
Pain lanced through Narkun's body.
Not physical.
Structural.
Like something vital had been compressed too tightly.
The Ursid roared silently inside him.
The runes flared.
Narkun staggered—but did not fall.
Elder Varrin nodded. "Compliance noted."The effects were immediate.
Walking felt heavier.
Breathing felt shallow.
Energy that once flowed like a restrained river now felt clogged, backing up painfully against invisible walls.
Students noticed as soon as he returned to the outer halls.
Some relaxed.
Others watched more closely than ever.
Kael Riven noticed most of all.
From across the courtyard, Kael felt it—the change, the dampening, the artificial weakness.
His lips curled into a smile.
"So," he murmured. "They finally put a leash on you."Instructor Vale confronted the elders later that night.
"You're making him worse," she said bluntly.
Elder Varrin did not look up from the records he was reviewing. "We are buying time."
"For what?" Vale demanded. "For him to break anyway?"
Elder Heth spoke softly. "For the world to decide what to do with him."
Vale laughed humorlessly. "He's a child."
"He is Kun," Heth replied. "And Kun does not remain small."That night, Narkun lay awake, sweat cooling on his skin despite the cold.
The limiter burned faintly.
The dream-space tugged at him—but did not open.
Something was blocking it.
Suppressing it.
Narkun stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.
"They're scared of you now," he whispered inwardly.
The Ursid did not answer with rage.
It answered with patience.
And somewhere, deep beneath layers of seals and stone, the academy itself seemed to groan—
As if it already knew:
Containment was not control.
It was merely delay.