The limiter did not hurt the way Narkun expected.
It didn't burn constantly.
It didn't shock or stab or scream.
It pressed.
Like a hand placed firmly against his chest, never pushing hard enough to be called violence—but never relaxing either. Every breath felt slightly shallower than it should have been. Every step carried a weight that wasn't physical but insistent, reminding him that something fundamental was being restrained.
The academy woke around him, unaware—or pretending to be.
Narkun rose before the bells, as he always did now. Sleep came in fragments. Dreams pressed against the edge of his mind but never fully formed, like images seen through cracked glass. The dream-space from before—the red-lined void—felt distant, muted, as if wrapped in layers of cloth.
Blocked.
He sat on the edge of his bed and flexed his fingers.
The limiter band around his wrist glowed faintly, runes pulsing in a slow, regulated rhythm. Every pulse synchronized with his heartbeat.
Monitoring, he realized.
Not just suppression.
Observation.
He stood.
The moment he did, the pressure increased slightly—an automated response to movement and rising intent. The system didn't understand why he moved. Only that movement could lead to output.
Narkun exhaled slowly.
"Easy," he murmured—to himself, to the Ursid, to whatever else listened.
The Ursid stirred faintly, irritated but controlled.
It did not like the cage.
Training under containment was worse than punishment.
Instead of drills, Narkun was assigned observation tasks—standing at the edge of training halls, watching others practice, forbidden from participating. Instead of meditation, he was given structured breathing exercises designed to flatten his internal flow.
Instructor Vale supervised personally.
She didn't hide her displeasure.
"This isn't control," she said quietly as they stood overlooking a sparring ring. "It's pressure mismanagement."
Narkun watched two students clash below—fluid, expressive, imperfect in ways that allowed growth.
"They think if I stop moving," he said, "I'll stop changing."
Vale's jaw tightened. "They forget that change doesn't ask permission."
Below them, a student lost balance and was thrown hard. Vale's attention flicked away instinctively.
In that moment—
Narkun felt it.
A sharp spike of pain beneath the limiter, like compressed energy slamming against a sealed valve. His vision blurred briefly, red lines flickering at the edge of sight.
He staggered half a step.
Vale turned instantly. "What did you feel?"
"Too much," Narkun admitted. "All at once."
Vale swore under her breath.
The first visible crack appeared three days later.
It started small.
A training crystal shattered without being touched.
No surge.
No outburst.
No warning.
One moment it glowed softly.
The next, it collapsed inward, pulverized as if crushed by invisible force.
The instructors froze.
Students backed away.
Narkun stood twenty paces away, breathing evenly.
The limiter glowed brighter.
"Seal fluctuation," a technician muttered, checking instruments. "But output source—"
His voice trailed off.
Because every indicator pointed at Narkun.
And yet—
He hadn't moved.
Elder observers were notified.
Containment logs were updated.
Restrictions tightened further.
Kael Riven watched everything.
From the upper tiers.
From the edges of halls.
From the places where instructors didn't look closely enough.
He had felt the change the moment the limiter went on—a subtle wrongness, like a blade dulled too forcibly. Strength suppressed incorrectly didn't vanish.
It coiled.
Kael trained harder than ever.
If Narkun was being held back, then this was his chance.
He sparred until his knuckles bled. He pushed his bonded creature—a sleek, horned feline—beyond safe thresholds. He studied manuals on suppression backlash and energy rebound late into the night.
He didn't want to beat Narkun.
He wanted to prove something.
That monsters could be dragged down.
That systems still worked.
The confrontation came unexpectedly.
Narkun was crossing the inner courtyard alone, heading toward a supervised meditation chamber, when Kael stepped into his path.
No crowd.
No instructors.
Just the two of them.
"You look tired," Kael said casually.
Narkun stopped. "Move."
Kael smiled. "Does it hurt?"
Narkun didn't answer.
Kael gestured toward the limiter. "That thing. Does it feel like it's squeezing you from the inside?"
Narkun's fingers twitched.
"You should leave," Narkun said quietly.
Kael leaned closer. "They're scared you'll break. I'm betting you already are."
The pressure surged.
The limiter flared bright.
The stone beneath their feet cracked.
Kael's smile faltered for the first time.
Narkun stepped back—forcing calm.
"Go," he repeated.
Kael hesitated—then laughed, backing away. "See you in the arena," he said. "If they ever let you breathe again."
He turned and walked off.
The moment he was gone, Narkun doubled over, gasping.
Pain ripped through his chest—not sharp, but deep, structural, like something essential being bent out of alignment.
The Ursid roared silently.
Narkun pressed a hand to the ground, knuckles white.
The stone was warm beneath his palm.
Too warm.
That night, the dream broke through.
Not fully.
Not cleanly.
Narkun stood in fragments of the void—red lines flickering erratically, darkness unstable.
The figure appeared, distorted, as if viewed through rippling water.
"The cage is cracking," it said.
"They're hurting me," Narkun replied—not accusing, just stating fact.
"Yes," the figure agreed. "Because suppression without harmony creates rupture."
The red lines splintered.
"You are compressing a function," the figure continued. "Kun does not compress. Kun resolves."
Narkun clenched his fists. "Then tell me how to stop it."
The figure shook its head. "I cannot teach you choice. Only consequence."
The void fractured completely.
Narkun woke screaming.
The incident the next day could not be hidden.
During a controlled breathing session, with two instructors present, Narkun's limiter suddenly pulsed erratically. Runes misaligned. Energy feedback spiked.
The room folded.
Not exploded.
Folded inward—walls bending slightly, air compressing as if space itself flinched.
Students were thrown backward.
Instructors slammed into barriers.
The limiter cracked.
A single rune fractured.
Then everything snapped back into place.
Narkun collapsed, unconscious.
Emergency seals activated.
Elders were summoned.
When Narkun awoke in the infirmary, the elders stood at the foot of his bed.
Silent.
Grim.
Elder Heth spoke first.
"The cage is breaking," he said softly.
Elder Kessa's jaw was tight. "We should have reinforced sooner."
Vale rounded on them. "You should have listened."
Elder Varrin stared at the cracked limiter band, now removed and resting on a containment tray.
"This was meant to buy time," he said.
Vale met his gaze. "Time for what?"
No one answered.
Narkun stirred.
All eyes turned to him.
"I didn't lose control," he said hoarsely. "It did."
Silence followed.
For the first time—
No one contradicted him.
Elsewhere, far beyond the academy, something ancient shifted.
A system recalibrated.
A presence noticed resistance where resolution should have been.
And turned its attention toward the mountains.