I Choose the Skills Everyone Else Rejects

A soft tone passed through the library at noon.

The message that followed reminded first-years that the eastern refectory would stop serving lunch in forty minutes.

Nate had spent most of the morning on seven files.

He saved Rovan’s final medical scan to his academy account, closed the terminal, and followed the signs downstairs.

The refectory was already crowded.

Candidates from every morning block filled the long tables. The combat groups had changed shirts, but their damp hair and flushed faces showed what they had been doing. Mud had dried along the boots of several logistics students. Two technical candidates argued over a damaged glove while eating with their free hands.

Nate collected a tray and searched for a seat.

Combat Four occupied three tables near the windows.

Ethan sat among people Nate had never met. The broad-shouldered candidate from the field was beside him, talking with enough confidence to keep half the table listening. Mara sat farther down, one elbow resting beside her plate. She looked exhausted.

Ethan spotted Nate and raised a hand. He pulled a bag from the chair beside him.

Before Nate reached the table, an academy attendant stopped behind Ethan and spoke quietly into his ear.

Ethan’s expression tightened.

He looked toward Nate, then at the staff member waiting for him.

"Sorry," he said. "They need me upstairs."

"Go."

"I’ll find you after theory."

Nate nodded and watched him leave through a side door.

The empty chair remained, but several people at the table were now looking at him. One of them moved Ethan’s bag aside without inviting Nate to sit.

Nate kept walking.

He found a small table near the wall and ate alone.

Halfway through the meal, another tray landed opposite him.

"Anyone sitting here?"

The newcomer had dark hair, narrow features, and a blue strip sewn beneath his academy badge. Nate had seen the same marking on foreign candidates during the preparation program, though never in person.

"No."

The young man sat and started eating.

He glanced once at Nate’s healing cheek and grey review band. He did not ask about either.

"Leor Senn."

"Nate Calder."

"I know."

Nate looked up.

Leor gestured loosely toward the rest of the room with his fork.

"People know Ward’s friend arrived this morning."

"That fast?"

"They’ve been talking about him since before I crossed the border."

The blue strip carried a small silver emblem Nate did recognize.

"You’re from Veyr?"

Leor nodded.

The neighbouring kingdom shared a short eastern border with Nate’s own. It had larger cities, a stronger railway system, and little reason to send its candidates here until two Legacy Classes awakened in the same year.

"When did you arrive?"

"Last night. Your attack closed the border route for two days."

"What domain?"

"Reconnaissance."

Nate glanced toward the tables where the scout candidates had gathered.

"You know them?"

"I barely know anyone."

That explained enough.

Leor ate several more bites before speaking again.

"You were in the rear coaches?"

"Yes."

"Were the reports accurate?"

"Which reports?"

"That depends on which country published them."

Nate drank some water.

"What did Veyr say?"

"That armed attackers targeted two Legacy candidates and were stopped by royal forces. Casualty numbers pending."

It was not false.

It simply left out everyone who had not mattered to the announcement.

Leor looked toward the private door Ethan had used.

"They’ll probably ask us to observe his training."

"Us?"

"The Veyr candidates. There are four of us."

"And report on him?"

"Probably. Nobody’s given me instructions yet."

He said it without lowering his voice. A few nearby students still glanced toward the blue strip beneath his badge.

A tone sounded through the refectory.

Candidates began returning trays and checking their schedules.

Leor looked at Nate’s access card.

"Hall Six?"

"Yeah."

They left with the crowd.

Hall Six descended in wide rows around a circular floor.

Several hundred first-years entered through the doors at the top and spread out across the seats. Nate sat near the middle. Leor took the next seat after dropping his bag between them.

A transparent model of a human body stood below. A pale Core hovered behind its ribs, connected to a single lit Node.

Ethan arrived with Combat Four shortly before the doors closed.

He noticed Nate and gave him a quick nod. An attendant directed him and Mara toward seats at the front, where academy staff had left an empty row around them.

A woman with closely cut silver hair walked onto the floor.

Her name appeared above the model.

PROFESSOR ANSEL — CIRCULATION THEORY

She touched the projection.

Energy left the Core and entered the single Node. From there, it spread through the body until most of the light faded.

"This is an Unlinked circulation," Professor Ansel said. "A Core produces energy. A Root Node gives that energy function. Anything that fails to return is lost."

The model reset.

"A Circuit is a closed route. Increasing the size of your Core does not change that."

A second empty Node appeared below the first.

"For most of you, forming the First Circuit will require months. You will strengthen your pathways, expand your reserves and prepare a second Node. Once a second Skill has been integrated, you will build a return route to the Core and stabilize the loop."

The energy moved again.

This time, it passed through both Nodes, travelled across the body and returned to the Core. The next cycle shone more brightly.

"The First Circuit supports two Skills and wastes less of what your body produces. It also allows sustained physical reinforcement during circulation. It will not make you immune to bullets, poor judgment, or instructors."

A few candidates laughed.

Professor Ansel waited for them to stop.

"Most first-years require six months or more. Candidates with exceptional foundations may close theirs in three. Anyone promising you the same result in a week is hoping you are stupid enough to pay before your pathways rupture."

Nate remembered the unfinished sentence in Rovan’s medical file.

The academy had understood the danger of his method.

It had not believed the result would ever justify it.

Assistants moved through the rows with flat Conductive plates. Each one had a narrow groove running through its centre.

Professor Ansel raised one.

"Send the smallest amount of energy you can maintain into the groove. Keep it steady. Filling the plate is a failure."

Nate placed his hand over the device left in front of him.

His wristband vibrated.

The plate did not respond.

An assistant checked the grey band.

"Medical restriction?"

"Yes."

She took his plate and passed it down the row.

"Observe until you’re cleared."

Around him, pale lines began appearing.

Most flickered or vanished within seconds. One candidate sent too much energy and filled the entire plate with light. His assistant reset it without comment.

At the front, Ethan’s device flared almost immediately.

Light climbed beyond the groove and spread across its surface.

Professor Ansel stopped beside him.

"Reduce it."

"I am."

"Then reduce it again."

Ethan emptied the plate and tried once more.

Mara’s line was thinner. It trembled, corrected itself, and remained in place.

Leor’s was barely visible.

Nate watched it for several seconds. The light did not brighten, but it did not break either.

Professor Ansel passed close enough to see it.

"Control is useful butt you’ll need more than that to support a second Node."

Leor released the energy.

"Yes, Professor."

Nate turned his attention back to the model.

The academy method started at the Core. Candidates slowly extended their circulation outward, strengthened it, and only attempted the full return after integrating a second Skill.

Rovan had been working on the return before his second Node came into existence.

The damage in his records always appeared at the places where movement broke down: ankles, knees, hips, shoulders. The first Echo had corrected those same points in Nate’s body.

Professor Ansel continued the exercise until the grooves began holding steady across most of the room.

Nate remained empty-handed.

The class ended two hours later.

Ethan was caught near the front by another instructor before he could reach Nate. Mara left with two medical staff members, each carrying a portable scanner.

Leor adjusted the strap of his bag.

"You’re not allowed to circulate?"

"Not until my next scan."

"When?"

"Three days."

"You don’t sound happy about it."

"I missed the physical baseline this morning. Now I missed this."

Leor glanced at the grey band.

"You were on a train that got split in half."

"That doesn’t make the work wait."

Leor considered that, then headed toward the door.

"See you tomorrow, Calder."

Nate checked his academy file after Leor left.

The medical review was still scheduled in three days.

The administrative review had no date.

Marshal Holt’s condition remained restricted.

He closed the file and returned to his temporary room.

The room contained two beds, two desks, and a narrow window overlooking the back of the library.

No roommate had been assigned. Without an operational section, Nate remained in temporary housing.

He removed his shoes and pushed one desk against the wall.

His restriction forbade strenuous exercise and sustained circulation.

Nate stood in the open space.

He drew a trace of energy from his Core.

The amount was smaller than anything he had used on the train. It travelled into his leg, reached the ankle, and gathered there.

Pressure formed inside the joint.

Nate released it.

He tried again.

The same thing happened.

On the third attempt, he began the movement from the first Echo. His heel lifted slightly. His weight shifted across the foot and settled through the other leg.

The thread of energy followed too late.

It caught against the ankle.

Nate stopped.

Rovan had said nothing during the Echo. His body had provided every correction: when to release tension, where to place weight, and how little force the movement actually required.

Nate repeated the sequence without energy.

His injured knee protested when he moved too quickly. His ribs pulled when he turned farther than the recovery specialist had allowed.

He slowed down.

Then he introduced the thread again.

It crossed the ankle before collecting beneath the knee.

His wristband gave a brief vibration.

Nate let the energy disperse and waited for the warning to stop.

The academy taught candidates to strengthen each pathway over time. Rovan had used movement to carry the energy through places that were not ready to endure direct pressure.

Nate began again.

The thread reached the ankle.

His weight shifted.

The energy moved with it.

For the first time, nothing remained trapped inside the joint.

It reached his knee without losing its shape.

Posthumous Disciple reacted.

The room fell away.

Nate found himself seated on the floor of an empty training hall.

The body around him belonged to a younger Rovan.

His legs were numb. Blood ran from one nostril and had dried across his mouth. A warning band pulsed around his wrist while heat gathered beneath his right shoulder.

Too much energy had reached that point.

None of it could return.

Rovan dragged in a breath.

He had already failed. His body knew it. The warning band knew it.

He tried again.

The trapped energy struck the unfinished route.

Rovan’s shoulder felt as if something had torn open beneath the bone.

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