"Can you see anything, Lou?" Sorren's voice carried an edge of impatience as he leaned toward the window, his breath fogging the cool glass. The four friends were clustered tightly together in the dormitory, their faces illuminated faintly by the moonlight spilling in. Outside, shadows danced erratically on the training grounds below as figures scurried about, silhouetted against the faint glow of scattered embers.

Lou squinted through the pane, his forehead pressed so close that it left smudges on the glass. "Not really," he muttered, disappointment heavy in his tone. "I can see a few people running around, trying to put out spot fires... but that's about it." His voice trailed off as he craned his neck for a better view, frustration flickering across his features.

Mack let out a long sigh, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. "Oh well," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "Oswald'll tell us what happened soon enough... maybe." He exchanged a knowing glance with Sorren, who shrugged noncommittally.

"Well," Sorren interjected, turning his attention back to Gai with a curious glint in his eye. "With all that excitement done with, maybe now you can tell us what happened to you, Gai." He cocked an eyebrow, his tone playful but probing. "What did you mean earlier when you said you were treated like crap back home?"

Gai hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under their expectant gazes. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. "Well," he began slowly, glancing at Lou for confirmation. "Lou mentioned earlier that an academy assessor came to our village about a year ago, right?" Lou nodded silently, his expression unreadable. Gai continued, choosing his words carefully. "At the time, I was being taught in the castle school alongside the other wealthy kids from the area."

Sorren blinked in surprise, tilting his head as if he'd misheard. "Wait—you came from wealth? I thought your dad was just a guard or something," he said, his confusion evident.

Gai's lips tightened into a thin line at the interruption. "Yes," he replied curtly. "My father was a guard at the lord’s estate. A damn good one—his military service record earned him that position. And my mother worked there too." His tone was clipped, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. "We had enough to get by on," he added pointedly before continuing. "Anyway... the assessor tested all of us that day. Kids with connections—and aptitude—are often given special tutoring and start with higher initial ranks."

Sorren opened his mouth to respond, but Lou beat him to it, muttering under his breath with a sly grin. "And Gai got a zero result that time too."

The group fell silent for a moment as the weight of Lou's words hung in the air. Mack frowned slightly but couldn't help asking, "Weren’t you just too young to test? I mean, maybe it wasn’t your fault… right?"

Gai shook his head firmly. "No," he said quietly but firmly. "Even a ten-year-old will score at least a one on that test."

Sorren furrowed his brow and turned to Lou, suspicion creeping into his voice. "Okay... but how did you know about this?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "What aren’t you telling us?"

Lou hesitated for a moment, glancing at Gai uncertainly before lowering his gaze to the floor. "Well... I don’t know if I should say," he admitted sheepishly.

"You might as well," Gai said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion. He crossed his arms and stared out the window as if bracing himself for whatever was coming next.

Lou swallowed hard and looked up at Gai apologetically before speaking. "After Gai’s test... things went downhill for him pretty fast," he said quietly. "His mum disappeared not long after that day—and then his dad got kicked out of the castle for being... well..." He trailed off awkwardly before finishing in a near whisper: "...for being a drunk."

Gai’s jaw tightened visibly as Lou continued.

"And when word got around about all of it..." Lou hesitated again but forced himself to go on despite the guilt weighing on him. "...the other boys in our village started picking on him."

Sorren's eyes widened in disbelief as he glanced between them. "Wait—you’re saying you were one of them?" His voice rose slightly in incredulity.

Lou nodded miserably but didn’t look up.

"Whoa," Sorren began, turning back to Gai with an incredulous expression. But before he could say more, Gai cut him off sharply.

"That’s enough." His voice was cold and final, leaving no room for argument. He turned away from them completely now, staring out into the darkness beyond the windowpane.

The room grew heavy with silence—an awkward tension settling over them like an unwelcome guest.

Eventually, Mack cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in place. "Well... uh... we’ll just leave you two alone then," he mumbled quickly before nudging Sorren toward the door.

As they left to join another group of recruits eagerly swapping theories about what had happened outside earlier that night—most of which involved wild speculations about hidden powers and untapped potential—Lou stayed behind with Gai. He didn’t say anything; instead, he simply sat down beside him on one of the narrow beds and offered quiet companionship.

The minutes ticked by slowly until finally—mercifully—the door creaked open again to reveal Lieutenant Oswald trudging inside.

The officer looked utterly spent; dark circles framed his eyes like bruises from exhaustion while soot smudged across parts of his uniform gave him an almost ghostly appearance under the dim light.

Without preamble or ceremony—or even acknowledging their questions—Oswald slumped heavily into his chair at the far end of the room.

“Gather round,” he said hoarsely after several moments passed without anyone daring to speak first.

The recruits obeyed silently—shuffling closer together until they formed a loose semicircle around their weary instructor.

“Do any of you know what happened out there?” Oswald asked finally after surveying their anxious faces one by one.

Cedric demanded bluntly: “I caught you mentioning ‘flashpoint,’ sir... care to explain what that means?”

Oswald nodded grimly before explaining: “Flashpoint occurs when the energies around us converge with the latent energy of an individual undergoing awakening,” Oswald explained, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension that hung thick in the air, as though daring anyone to challenge the laws of elementalism he had just outlined.

A sharp intake of breath broke the silence. “But that didn’t happen to any of us, sir!” a voice piped up from the back of the dormitory. It was a younger recruit, his hand half-raised and trembling slightly, his wide eyes darting nervously between Oswald and the other trainees. His tone carried a mixture of confusion and frustration—an echo of what most of them were feeling but were too afraid to voice.

Oswald’s gaze shifted toward the boy, his weathered face unreadable save for a faint flicker of exasperation. “That,” he began slowly, letting the word hang heavily in the room like a storm cloud about to burst, “is because none of you possess the same level of raw potential that this recruit does.”

A ripple of murmurs swept through the dormitory like wind rustling dry leaves. The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and unease. Someone let out a nervous laugh, quickly stifled by a glare from one of their peers. The air felt charged—not unlike the moments before a lightning strike.

Oswald continued, his tone unyielding. “The recruit in question has the potential to become one of the most powerful elementalists of this generation. The runes we use during training are designed to measure and contain your abilities as they awaken. But in his case…” He paused for emphasis, sweeping his piercing eyes across the room. “The runes could not accurately quantify or contain his power. That is why there were explosions.”

“That’s ridiculous, sir!” another boy interjected sharply, standing up so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor. His face was flushed with anger—or was it fear? “That fire could’ve burned us all alive! We could’ve been killed!” His voice cracked on the last word, betraying just how close to panic he truly was.

Oswald’s jaw tightened, his patience fraying at the edges like an old rope under strain. “If this awakening had occurred outside these walls—say, in an unmonitored environment or among civilians—the danger would have been catastrophic,” Oswald said bluntly, his voice like a hammer striking an anvil. “That is precisely why we force awakenings here, under controlled conditions. Do you understand me? Here.” He gestured sharply at the walls around them. “Where academy elementalists can mitigate any potential damage before it spirals out of control.”

The boy opened his mouth to argue further but faltered under Oswald’s steely glare. He swallowed hard and sank back into his seat, muttering something under his breath that no one dared to acknowledge.

Another recruit raised his hand hesitantly, his face pale but determined. “Sir,” he asked softly, “was… was anyone seriously hurt?”

Oswald turned to him with a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him—a sound heavy with weariness and responsibility. “No,” he said gruffly. “Thanks to our protocols and quick intervention by your instructors, there were no major injuries.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, almost reluctantly, “Though I understand some of you may have sustained minor burns or bruises.”

At that, several heads turned instinctively to examine their peers more closely—scanning for singed hair or bandaged hands as if noticing for the first time just how close they had come to disaster.

“If you do have injuries,” Oswald continued briskly, his tone shifting into something more practical and detached, “there will be medics stationed in the mess hall for the remainder of the day. Report to them immediately.” His eyes swept over them once more, lingering just long enough on each face to ensure they understood before moving on.

“As for training,” he added after a beat, “there will be no more organized exercises today.” A collective sigh of relief rippled through the group at this announcement—though it was quickly stifled when Oswald raised a hand for silence. “However,” he said firmly, “you are free to train independently in our designated field zones.”

With that final instruction, Oswald dragged himself upright from where he had been leaning against one of the bunks. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though every step cost him more energy than he could spare. The lines etched into his face seemed deeper now than they had when he first entered—a stark reminder that even someone as seasoned as him wasn’t immune to exhaustion.

For a moment, he stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the flickering torchlight from the hall beyond. Then he turned and left without another word.

Eventually, small groups began to form—clusters of recruits whispering animatedly as they made their way out of the dormitory and toward the mess hall where the medics awaited them. The sounds of murmured conversations and shuffling footsteps slowly faded into the corridor, leaving behind an almost eerie quiet.