The Boiler Room

  The heavy iron door groaned shut, sealing out the campus night.

  Bronson stepped into the light. He looked out of place. His grey Hero Class sweats were clean; the room was coated in fifty years of coal dust. He was a giant in a cave of cast-off parts and furnace light.

  Kian scrambled back from his workbench, knocking over a soldering iron.

  "Amari!" Kian hissed, grabbing a wrench. "That's a Hero Class! He's going to report us!"

  Niko didn't move from his perch on the overhead pipes. He just sharpened his dagger, the rhythmic shick-shick cutting through the tension.

  "He isn't reporting anyone," Amari said, walking to the center of the room. "He's changing sides."

  The Custodian (Idris) turned from the furnace. He held a shovel full of coal. He looked at Bronson—at the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his neck, the way his feet were planted shoulder-width apart even when standing still.

  "You brought a stray," Idris grunted.

  "I brought a wall," Amari corrected. "He wants to learn how to stand."

  Bronson looked at the old man. He frowned. He saw a janitor in a stained jumpsuit.

  "You're the teacher?" Bronson asked, skepticism coloring his deep voice.

  Idris leaned the shovel against the wall. He wiped his hands on a rag.

  "I am the garbage man," Idris said. "I clean up what the Academy breaks."

  Idris walked over to Bronson. He looked up—Bronson was a full head taller.

  "You are a Tank," Idris stated.

  "Yes."

  "Show me your stance. Iron Fortress."

  Bronson didn't hesitate. He dropped his hips, widened his base, and crossed his arms in the standard Academy defensive posture. His mana flared, creating a faint golden shimmer around his skin. It was textbook perfection. Immovable.

  "Solid," Bronson said.

  Idris sighed.

  He stepped forward. He didn't use mana. He didn't wind up. He simply stepped inside Bronson’s guard, hooked his foot behind Bronson’s ankle, and pressed two fingers into the hollow of Bronson’s collarbone.

  Bronson’s mana flared, but mana has no mass.

  Idris pushed.

  Bronson stumbled. His heavy upper body tipped backward over his trapped foot. The giant boy crashed to the concrete floor with a sound like a falling tree.

  THUD.

  Kian’s jaw dropped.

  Bronson blinked at the ceiling. He scrambled up, face red.

  "You tripped me!" Bronson accused. "That's cheap."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Gravity is cheap," Idris said calmly. "The ground is free. You rely on the golden light to hold you up, boy. When it goes out, you are just top-heavy meat."

  Idris pointed to a stack of heavy iron girders in the corner—scrap from a failed construction project.

  "Pick those up."

  "All of them?"

  "One by one," Idris ordered. "Walk them across the room. Do not use mana reinforcement. Use your hips. Use your breath. Learn where your weight actually lives."

  Bronson looked at the girders. He looked at Idris. The skepticism was gone, replaced by the terrified respect of a soldier who realizes his drill instructor is lethal.

  Bronson walked over to the iron.

  The Cot

  Amari sat on a crate, chewing on the last strip of dried Deep-Stalker jerky. It wasn't enough. His stomach was still a knot of acid, but the pain sharpened his focus.

  He watched Elara.

  She was sitting cross-legged on the cot, eyes closed. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The violet veins were gone, but her skin was still pale.

  "She is trying to force it," Idris said, walking over to them.

  "She's scared," Amari said. "She thinks if she stops pushing, the necrosis will come back."

  Idris knelt in front of Elara.

  "Stop," Idris commanded softly.

  Elara’s eyes snapped open. "I have to keep the flow moving. The professors said static mana turns toxic."

  "The professors are wrong," Idris said.

  Idris tapped her chest, right over her core.

  "The Academy treats mana like ammunition," Idris said. "Fire. Empty. Reload."

  "It is good for their numbers," Idris continued. "Bad for your body."

  "What do I do?" Elara whispered.

  "Don't burn it," Idris said. "Cycle it."

  He took a deep breath.

  "Inhale. Pull the mana from your core into your lungs. Hold it. Let it mix with the oxygen in your blood."

  Elara tried. She inhaled. Her aura spiked jaggedly.

  "No," Idris corrected. "You are leaking. You are trying to project power. I want you to contain it."

  "It hurts," Elara winced. "It feels like pressure."

  "Don't push it out," Amari added from the crate. "Force it inward."

  Elara looked at Amari. She trusted him.

  She closed her eyes again.

  Inhale.

  She pulled the blue light inward. Instead of flaring out, her aura retracted. It hugged her skin.

  Hold.

  Her face flushed. The energy was trapped inside, looking for an exit.

  Compress.

  "Don't let it go," Idris whispered. "Feed it to your nerves. Let it coat the wires."

  Elara trembled. The pressure was immense. But instead of burning, she felt... solid. The frantic buzzing in her veins slowed down to a hum.

  She exhaled slowly.

  The air leaving her lips shimmered with heat, but her mana pool hadn't dropped. She hadn't spent anything. She had just moved it.

  "I feel..." Elara opened her eyes. They were glowing with a steady, deep blue light. "I feel full."

  "That is The Breath," Idris said.

  Idris stood up, watching the glow.

  "We do not burn mana," Idris said. He paused, frowning slightly, as if remembering something annoying. "Had a companion once who used to say something prettier than that. 'We do not burn the world to light a candle. We become the fire.'"

  Idris shook his head. "Never liked the way he talked."

  He looked down at Elara.

  "Point is—we carry it."

  Amari watched them.

  He watched Bronson struggling with the iron girder, his muscles shaking as he learned to balance without magic.

  He watched Elara glowing with contained power, no longer leaking energy into the air.

  And he realized something terrifying.

  The System tracks output, Amari realized.

  And someone collects the waste.

  "Amari."

  Kian was standing next to him, holding a datapad. He looked pale.

  "I found something," Kian whispered. "I was looking at the logistics logs. Trying to find a way to reroute some food to the dorms without triggering the alarms."

  "And?"

  "I hit a firewall," Kian said. "But not a school firewall. It was... deeper."

  Kian turned the screen to Amari.

  [ACCESS DENIED]

  [PROTOCOL: YIELD OPTIMIZATION]

  [SUB-ROUTINE: LIVESTOCK MANAGEMENT]

  "Livestock," Amari read.

  "I traced the packet," Kian said, his voice trembling. "It’s not coming from the Dean’s office. It’s coming from the Artificer Guild servers. They're tracking calories against mana output."

  Amari looked at Bronson carrying the iron. He looked at Elara cycling her breath.

  "They aren't monitoring students," Amari said coldly. "They're monitoring the crop."

  Kian swallowed. "I think I can get in. I think I can see the raw data. But if I trip the alarm..."

  "Do it," Amari said.

  "If I get caught, I get expelled."

  "Kian," Amari said, looking at the hacker. "If you don't do it, we're already dead."

  Kian looked at the screen. He adjusted his glasses.

  "Okay," Kian said. "I'll go to the workshop tonight. The connection is faster there."

  "Be careful," Niko spoke from the pipes above. "The cage rattles when you touch the bars."

  Amari stood up. The hunger pa

  ngs hit him again, sharp and violent.

  "Go," Amari said. "Find out what they're really doing with us."