Training days always began too early.
The air felt sharper in the morning, colder against the skin. Mana drifted through it just like any other time of day, thin and blue, filling the space between people and buildings. Everyone said it was easier to absorb when the world was quiet. Fewer distractions. Fewer thoughts.
That had never been true for me.
We gathered on the eastern grounds, where the platforms were smaller and the crowd thinner. This was where people trained when they wanted results without attention. Improve quietly or fall behind quietly. Either way, no one cared.
Rethan stretched beside me, rolling his shoulders, his movements loose and confident. Even when he was relaxed, his Aero aura reacted to him. A faint green shimmer followed his steps like the air itself leaned toward him.
"I swear," he said, arms raised over his head, "the mana feels heavier today. In a good way."
I nodded, though I felt nothing like that.
A short distance away, Sil sat on the stone floor with his legs crossed, eyes closed. His hands rested lightly against the ground. The air around him hummed faintly, not loud enough to hear, but enough to feel if you paid attention. His Echo resonance did not pull mana. It listened to it.
Three of us. Same place. Same air.
Different relationships with it.
The instructor called us to position.
We stood in rows, feet bare against cold stone. When he gave the signal, I closed my eyes and focused on breathing.
Mana brushed against me almost immediately.
It did not rush. It never did. Thin strands drifted close, cautious, as if they remembered what happened the last time they tried to settle inside me. I slowed my breathing and let it come at its own pace.
The pressure followed.
It rested beneath my ribs, familiar now. Not painful. Not heavy. Just present.
I held still.
Around me, I could feel others progressing. Mana flowed into their cores smoothly, reinforcing their circuits. Rethan exhaled, and his aura brightened just a little. Sil's resonance deepened, subtle but controlled.
My core remained quiet.
Too quiet.
I tried guiding the mana inward.
The pressure shifted instantly.
Not violently. Not enough to hurt. It moved just enough to disrupt everything. The mana recoiled, scattering like it had been burned.
My breath broke.
I stopped before it got worse.
When I opened my eyes, the instructor was watching me.
I lowered my head and stepped back from the formation.
No one said anything.
That silence pressed harder than any reprimand.
Next came movement drills.
Jumping between platforms. Landing cleanly. Adjusting balance midair.
Rethan went first.
He ran, kicked off the edge, and let the air carry him. Not flying, but close enough. He landed lightly, rolled once, and came up laughing.
"See?" he said as he jogged back. "The air listens if you trust it."
Sil followed.
His jump was shorter, but when he landed, the stone beneath his feet vibrated softly, absorbing the impact. He straightened without effort, calm and precise.
Then it was my turn.
I stepped forward and focused on my legs, on grounding myself instead of forcing power. I jumped.
For a heartbeat, everything aligned.
Then the pressure surged inward.
My landing faltered. I hit the stone harder than intended and stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell.
The instructor frowned.
"Again," he said.
I tried again.
The same result.
By the fourth attempt, I stopped on my own.
"I need a moment," I said.
He studied me for a long second, then nodded. "Do not push."
I stepped aside.
Rethan jogged over, breathing easily. "You are thinking too much."
"I am not thinking at all," I said.
"That might be the problem," he replied with a grin.
Sil joined us, brushing dust from his hands. "Your movement changes right before you land."
"I know."
"No," he said. "It does not weaken. It hesitates."
Rethan tilted his head. "That sounds worse."
Sil shrugged. "It is different."
Training continued without me.
I watched.
I watched others improve in small, visible ways. Longer jumps. Cleaner landings. Better control. The system rewarded repetition and obedience. It liked predictability.
It did not like whatever I was doing.
We were dismissed early.
As we walked toward the lower paths, Rethan stretched his arms behind his head. "You will get it eventually."
I stayed quiet.
"You always do this," he said. "You act like you are already done."
I stopped walking.
"I am falling behind," I said.
He turned, surprised. "That is not true."
"Everyone else is moving forward. I am not."
Sil watched us closely.
Rethan stepped closer. "Progress is not a race."
"That is exactly what it is," I replied. "They measure it. Rank it."
He frowned. "You are stronger than you think."
"That is what scares them," I said.
That stopped him.
Sil spoke carefully. "The system prefers people it understands."
"I fit just fine," Rethan said.
Sil nodded. "You do absolutely."
Rethan did not like that answer.
At the split where our paths separated, he hesitated. "You are still coming tomorrow."
"Yes."
"Good."
He left.
Sil stayed.
"They are not wrong to be cautious," he said. "But they are wrong to restrain you without understanding."
"I do not understand myself," I said.
"That is why you should not be alone."
That night, I trained by myself again.
Not absorption. Movement.
I focused on feeling the stone beneath my feet. The pressure responded faintly, aligning when I moved without expectation.
I jumped.
Higher than before.
I landed.
The stone cracked softly.
I froze.
The pressure retreated immediately, like it had realized it went too far.
My heart raced.
"This is not control," I whispered.
It felt like something was negotiating with me.
The next day, rumors spread.
People said I damaged the grounds again. That instructors were watching me. That I was unstable.
Some avoided me. Others stared.
Rethan laughed it off. "They are bored."
Sil did not laugh.
During a break, he leaned closer. "If they push you too hard, you will react."
"I know."
"Do not let them decide that for you."
By the end of the week, my name appeared on a restricted list.
Limited training. Supervision required.
Rethan tore his copy down. "This is fear."
Sil read it twice. "And fear makes mistakes."
That night, I stood at the edge of the city, watching beasts move below under guard.
Mana flowed through everything.
The pressure in my chest stirred faintly, patient.
For the first time, I wondered if breathing mana was never meant to be my path.
And if that was true, then I would have to find another one.
I stayed there longer than I should have.
The city lights blurred together below me, small points of white and blue drifting in slow patterns. Mana moved through the air like breath, steady and endless. People passed behind me, talking, laughing, living their ordinary lives. None of them noticed the stillness inside my chest.
The pressure did not rise.
It did not demand.
It waited.
I closed my eyes and focused inward, not trying to guide it, not trying to suppress it. Just listening. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, I felt something shift. Not mana. Not pain.
Awareness.
It felt old.
Not ancient in a way that came with weight or decay, but old in a way that suggested patience. Like something that had learned how to wait without losing itself.
My breath caught.
Images brushed the edge of my thoughts. Not memories. Not dreams. Just impressions. Stone under claw. Heat far below the surface. A sense of height that made my stomach tighten.
I opened my eyes quickly.
The city looked the same.
My hands were steady.
The pressure eased, settling back into its usual place, quiet and restrained.
"Not yet," I whispered, though I did not know who I was speaking to.
A faint warmth lingered where the pressure had been, different from before. Less resistance. More acknowledgement.
I turned away from the edge and started home.
Behind me, the mana haze shifted, briefly disturbed, then smoothed over as if nothing had happened.
But something had.
And whatever it was, it had noticed me noticing it.