The classroom felt warmer than before. Not because of the rune-stones carved in the walls or the soft whirr of ambient mana though both were steady, as always but because for the first time since arriving, Vierna didn’t feel entirely alone.

  Lina sat sprawled beside her, legs folded up in the chair like she owned the place, mask in place but her voice slipping through the lip-slit with effortless ease. Her presence brought a strange, easy rhythm to the room. Familiar, even if it was new.

  She glanced at her, trying not to stare. She knew Lina had been here longer. How long, exactly, she couldn’t say. But long enough to understand how things worked. Long enough to be marked like her.

  And yet… there was no trace of it.

  No guarded glances. No flinching when footsteps echoed too close. No stiffness in her posture, no hesitation in her voice. Just a girl sitting like she belonged. Laughing. Talking. As if she’d never been called a Faintborn like it was a curse. As if she’d never been treated like a flaw.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Vierna had felt it every day the distance, the pressure, the way pity clung like a film over every interaction. But Lina didn’t carry any of it. She was like a normal child. Too normal. And that, more than anything, unsettled Vierna. Not because it felt false. But because… it made her wonder what she was missing.

  Vierna rested her hands on her desk, still faintly marked from earlier strain.

  “He said the procedure was canceled. Because of the instability in my reading.”

  “Sure. That’s what he said.”

  “You think he was lying?”

  “No. I think he wasn’t telling everything,” Lina said, stretching her arms overhead, “it’s not normal. Cancellations, I mean. Especially last minute. Usually, once you're on the board, that's it. They push through.”

  Vierna looked down. “Maybe… maybe it’s because I’m still new. They said adjustments take time.”

  “Yeah, they say a lot of things. Don’t worry, I’m not saying he’s bad. Herr Halwen’s probably the least terrifying one here. But sudden cancelation.”

  Vierna didn’t reply. She didn’t want to argue. But something in her chest held firm she believed Halwen. Or maybe she wanted to believe him. That he meant what he said. That when he looked at her, he saw more than just a variable on a chart.

  Beside her, Lina gave a small exhale and flicked her fingers. A faint rune shimmered to life, barely brighter than dust. She reach into the rune and retrieve a waterskin from the rune. She took a sip.

  “So… what did they call you before all this?”

  The question broke her concentration like a snapped thread. Vierna blinked, startled not by the question itself, but by the timing.

  “I don’t remember,” she said quietly.

  Lina leaned back, arms behind her head. "Anyway, if you ever get to pick a name don’t go with something like Mibber." She made a face. “It sounds like someone who chews furniture when nervous.”

  “Mibber? Does anyone really have a name like that here?”

  “Yes, Luckily the handlers always go by subject numbers. If not, I swear, I wouldn’t survive hearing one of them call ‘Mibber’ with a straight face.”

  Vierna let out a soft chuckle despite herself. The image of the handler shouting Mibber was ridiculous and strangely comforting.

  “There was someone at the orphanage named Fartin,” she said, her voice low but amused.

  The words had slipped out before she could weigh them. Why did I tell her about my past? Lina was still a stranger, loud, unpredictable, and nothing like anyone I knew. Why joke with someone I don’t know? What if she doesn’t find it funny? What if she just stares, unimpressed? The thoughts tumbled in too fast. She was overthinking it of course she was. A flicker of regret stirred behind her ribs, the familiar hesitation of someone unpracticed at reaching out. But it was too late to pull the words back now.

  “Fartin?” Lina repeated, incredulous. “Does he really fart a lot? Hahahaha.”

  Vierna felt a flicker of relief. Her shoulders eased, just slightly. It was funny to someone else. And somehow, that made her feel… lighter.

  “He?” Vierna raised a brow. “She’s a she.”

  “Haha I swear she must’ve faked that name. That’s gotta be a dare or something. No way someone wakes up and chooses name like that.”

  “You know… back at the orphanage,” Vierna continued, “the matron actually felt bad for Fartin. They asked her to go by something else, but she refused. I don’t know why. If she lost a dare, she was probably the most devoted girl I’ve ever seen when it came to truth or dare.”

  “haha stop you are killing me.” Lina laugh went out of control. “Well, I’d love to meet Fartin one day. Play a round of truth or dare with her. See if we can finally get her to admit her real name.”

  “Sure. I’d really love to know it too.”

  For a moment, the room didn’t feel so lonely. The silence that usually pressed at her shoulders had lightened, just a little. Lina wasn’t what she expected, but maybe that wasn’t so bad. The air around her felt less gray. Less heavy. Like maybe the hollowness didn’t always win.

  Lina tapped her fingers against the desk.

  “Okay, random question, When you lift stuff with mana, like pebbles or spoons or whatever, do you have to hold your breath or clench your fingers?”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Vierna straightened in her seat, like the Arkmarschall had just entered the room.

  “Oh, that depends. If you’re using external focus, the breath can stabilize the outer flow. But the book I read back at the orphanage said it’s more efficient to use internal anchor points. Most people have one behind the sternum and another right where the spine curves if you align both, you can reinforce the conduit stream, and then the pressure disperses more cleanly. That’s why it helps if your stance mirrors the energy lattice you're projecting, especially in confined structures like—”

  “Aaaaaand you’re a nerd,” Lina cut in, her eyes mocking

  “What?”

  “There it is. Nerd alert. You could’ve just said ‘no, I just breathe like normal,’ but nooo…”

  “I just… thought it was interesting.”

  “It is, but the way you just straighten up to explain it is hilarious.” Lina leaned back in her chair, arms folded behind her head. “Don’t worry, the Tray and Bread Kingdom needs a new scribe. I hereby appoint you, Vier, as my official scribe. You shall be called—” Lina gave an exaggerated pause, “Your Nerdiness.”

  “That’s not even a real title.” Vierna gave a soft, incredulous laugh.

  “Exactly, Which makes it even more official.”

  The laugh faded slowly, but something lingered behind it an echo of warmth she hadn’t expected. For a moment, the ache in her limbs, the ghost of the experiment faded from her bones, receded. It wasn’t gone. But it was no longer the loudest thing in the room.

  This conversation was strange, joking rhythm between them had shifted something. A tentative thread pulled loose from the heavy fabric of her isolation. She’d grown used to being watched from afar, with discomfort, or worse, with pity. But Lina didn’t look at her like that. She didn’t flinch from the marks on her skin or the way her fingers sometimes trembled. She didn’t speak to her like she was a broken thing.

  If this was friendship or the beginnings of it. Something that felt so alien. Fragile. Terrifying, even. But real.

  And somehow, impossibly, it made the walls of the facility feel… different. It felt less distant. As if, beneath the humming glass and cold iron, something human had taken root. Something she hadn’t dared to expect.

  But then a flicker of unease stirred.

  Why me? she thought. Lina had been here longer. She could’ve spoken to anyone. Most of the test subjects kept to themselves quiet, withdrawn. The way the facility shaped them to be?

  So why approach someone like me?

  Was this another test? Something the staff orchestrated to see how I’d react? If so, what were they expecting?

  That I should ignore Lina? Push her away? Stay cold, unreadable like so many of the others?

  Or that I should respond? Laugh at the jokes? Trust?

  Lina’s gaze flicked toward her. “What’s on your mind, Your Nerdiness?” Her voice was playful, but the question landed a little softer than her usual teasing.

  Vierna opened her mouth but the words never formed. She wanted to ask. Why me? Why were you being so kind? being normal? when no one else ever was? Why joke, talk, sit with her like it meant nothing at all?

  But the words stuck.

  Because what if it was real?

  This budding thing between them uncertain, strange, but warm was something she hadn’t dared hope for. And if she questioned it too much, maybe it would break. People didn’t act this way around her. Not unless they wanted something. Not unless it was a trick. The suspicion coiled like a snake in her gut, tightening the longer she held it.

  But still... she wanted to believe. Just once. That maybe this didn’t have to be a trap.

  Her mouth hovered open again, the question poised behind her teeth. Would it be better to ask honestly? To test this fragile thing before it grew? Or should she just let it be no questions, no sudden moves?

  “Why…”

  Just as Vierna decided to risk it to reach, to finally say the words something caught her attention. Lina stretched her hand. With a subtle move from her finger, a faint rune shimmered to life in the air, hovering briefly. She reached forward, hand passing through the light, and pulled a waterskin from the center of the rune like drawing it from a hidden pocket. It blinked into being with a soft hum. She took a sip. She’d seen Lina use the storage spell before, but this was first time she truly noticed.

  Why can she do that so easily? It wasn’t a complex spell not really. But still I couldn’t even lift the seventeen kyns weight Halwen assigned. Lina, for all her joking, could levitate it up to twenty lems. Me? I couldn’t even make it twitch.

  And that… was maddening.

  Not just the failure itself, but what it meant. She knew the theory. She’d read the diagrams, studied the formulas. Spellcasting was supposed to be the hard part elemental projection, compound glyph logic, burst-mana shaping. That was the high art. Lifting something? That was supposed to be the start of everything, the foundation.

  Her fingers curled into the edge of her sleeve. Maybe that was the worst part. Knowing everything on paper and still failing where it mattered.

  Why is it so hard?

  Vierna’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t shake it. The question still gnawed at her, unsatisfied with theory alone.

  She hesitated, then muttered,

  “Hey… how come you can use that glyph so easily, while you only managed to lift the seventeen kyns weight to like… twenty lems?”

  Lina tilted her head, thoughtful.

  “I dunno. It just... works? You pour in a burst of mana with the right intent, and the rune sort of catches it. Like lighting a wick.”

  She wiggled her fingers in the air, miming the motion again.

  “It’s quick. You don’t have to hold anything. Just pfft. One push, and done.”

  One Push.

  Vierna blinked.

  She’d never thought of it like that. Everyone else made it look so simple Lina, the other kids at the orphanage. Almost all of them could lift that damn weight better than her. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like training. It became the baseline. Mundane. Expected. Just another hurdle to suffer through until the real spells came later.

  The books in the orphanage hadn’t helped. Most of them focused on lifting drills, endurance, and flow stability. She’d only glanced at the simple spellbooks, glowing circles, tiny glyphs meant to store minor things. She ignored them. Thought they were side dishes. Extra.

  She'd believed lifting came first. Everyone else made it look easy. Failing at the first step meant she was broken.

  But maybe... maybe she’d misunderstood what ‘basic’ meant. It didn’t mean easy. Just… essential. Like breathing during a sprint. Simple on paper. But exhausting if done wrong.

  Her thoughts clicked into place like falling tiles.

  Instant spells didn’t need stamina. Just precision. A spike of mana, a sharp intent. Hit the mark, and the glyph did the rest.

  But lifting?

  Lifting was holding that spike. Keeping the pressure steady. Like trying to inflate a balloon without letting it slip. That wasn’t strength it was control. Endurance. Invisible muscles behind magic. The reason why that damned drill came first wasn’t because it was easiest. It was because it trained the parts you couldn’t see.

  No wonder only senior mages could keep up stream-casting spells. Flame jets. Barrier domes. Sustained magic didn’t just ask for power it demanded everything at once. Strength, precision, control. All lit at once. Like three candles sharing the same wick.

  And maybe...

  Maybe conjuring water had been easier because it was easier. Not just for her but for everyone.

  When she read that elemental book and created a trickle of water into her hand it worked. She hadn’t needed to think about anchoring her core or stabilizing flow paths. She just focused, pushed, and it came. But back then she hadn’t seen the miracle in that. Too focused on lifting. On failing.

  And the reason?

  Vierna exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh.

  I should’ve realized this sooner.

  She didn’t know if this new clarity would change anything. Maybe the spell would still fizzle. Maybe she’d still be the weakest. But for the first time, she wasn’t afraid to try.

  And just as that thought settled, the door opened.