Ethan shook his head slowly. "I didn’t think it through," he admitted. "I just followed the pattern that felt right."
Mistress Kalun didn’t nod, didn’t smile. She stared at him for another second, then returned to her worktable like the conversation was already over.
"Instinct’s valuable. But record it. If you don’t, it disappears the mont it works."
That was it—her only feedback.
It was neither praise nor critique; it was just a blunt reminder that even raw talent ans nothing if you cannot ensure that talent is used effectively.
—
As they headed out of the rune engineering class and toward their final lesson of the day, Everly nudged Ethan’s elbow and leaned in, her voice lowered just enough to stay between them.
"Okay, that rune thing? That wasn’t a ’just felt right’ mont. That was so next-level subconscious mory thing. You can’t even pretend that was normal."
Ethan gave a half-shrug, not defensive—just honest. "I really don’t know how I did it."
Everly raised her eyebrows, unconvinced but not pushy. She let it go with a soft hum, but her fingers still tapped lightly against his arm, like she was filing the thought away for later.
Evelyn, walking just a few steps behind them, didn’t say anything. And that silence spoke volus.
She wasn’t skeptical, just... watching with a calm and focused look like soone who had seen a piece of a puzzle lock into place but didn’t want to reveal the bigger picture yet.
—
Their final class wasn’t theoretical.
"Firearms & Superpower Integration" didn’t waste ti with warm-ups or icebreakers.
The training hall looked like a converted military chamber—walls reinforced with foam-layered alloy, faint chemical tang of ozone in the air, and rows of raised platforms scattered with weapon racks and scanning pads.
Instructor Dren Holt stood at the center of the room. He was hard to miss—built like a walking tank, both arms replaced with black cybernetic limbs that ran from shoulder to fingertip.
No ornantation, no tribal designs or university crests. Just matte-surface synthtal and polished motion coils. All function, no flair.
His gaze swept across the students like he was checking for weak spots before the fight even started.
He didn’t wait long.
"Guns don’t care about your pride," he said, his voice flat but heavy. "Power doesn’t care if your aim sucks, which is where we co into the equation as we are the ones who make sure to add these to properties into one to get a specific effect."
Then the lights dimd slightly as the practice field activated.
Dozens of floating targets blinked into existence—fast, unpredictable, so darting across the ceiling, others skimming the ground or circling like flies.
There was no countdown, no instructions—just chaos.
Ethan reached for a standard-issue rail pistol—clean fra, balanced recoil, nothing fancy.
He checked the chamber, locked in the charge cell, and stepped onto one of the open stations.
Everly, naturally, made a beeline for the flashiest gun on the rack—a long-barreled plasma revolver with twin cooling vents and a custom sight rail. She spun it once on her finger, grinning. "If I’m gonna miss, I will do it in style."
Her first shot missed completely.
The second one clipped a target, sending it spinning off-path.
Her third shot—well, it accidentally grazed a ceiling fixture, which exploded with a bright pop and a hissing rain of sparks.
"Oops," she muttered, ducking slightly.
Instructor Holt didn’t flinch. Didn’t scold. He just shifted his gaze and kept going like this kind of chaos was expected.
Two platforms away, another student had already cleared half her set. Long black hair tied in a braid, a sleeveless jacket, and a face that looked like it hadn’t smiled in months.
She was filing her nails with one hand while calmly unloading her shots with the other.
Five rounds. Five direct hits.
Without looking.
Holt marked her as a top perforr without a word.
Everly squinted. "Okay. I love her. But I also definitely hate her."
Evelyn, anwhile, had already landed eight of her ten shots. She didn’t speak. Just adjusted her stance, reset her aim, and hit two more in quick succession.
Then she smiled. Barely. But it was there.
—
By the ti the session ended, the chamber was thick with heat and that quiet kind of tired that settles in when your muscles ache but your mind’s still alert.
They stepped into the corridor just as the sky outside began shifting into early evening—sunlight bleeding in through tall windows, casting soft gold streaks across the floors.
No one talked much on the way back to their suite. There wasn’t anything wrong. It just didn’t feel like the mont for words.
The day had been heavy in its own way—new information, strange feelings, sharp instincts, and reminders that this university wasn’t going to be slow about testing them.
Back at the dorm, Everly dropped onto the couch face-first and groaned into a pillow.
"I’m never moving again," she mumbled, voice muffled. "Just roll to class tomorrow."
Ethan stood in the center of the room for a mont, breathing in the quiet. It felt like sothing was still echoing inside him—not thoughts exactly, but a kind of pull.
That rune from earlier. The way his hand had moved before he’d consciously thought through the pattern.
It hadn’t felt like an invention.
It had felt like recognition.
From the kitchen area, Evelyn’s voice drifted out—not loud, not intrusive. Just calm.
"That rune," she said. "You didn’t draw it. You rembered it."
Ethan turned slightly. "You think I’ve seen it before?"
She didn’t hesitate.
"No. I think I’ve seen you."
Everly rolled over on the couch, watching them now, but not saying anything. Her expression wasn’t teasing or playful. Just thoughtful.
Ethan didn’t push for more.
He didn’t need to.
Because even though Evelyn hadn’t explained what she ant, the words hit sothing deep in him.
Sothing old. Sothing that hadn’t fully surfaced yet but had stirred for the first ti in years.
Whatever that rune was—whoever he’d been before—this was just the start.
And it wasn’t done with him yet.
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