Shattered Sanity

The moment Professor Mike clapped his hands, nearly four hundred students surged forward at once.

What had begun as a relatively organized line immediately dissolved into chaos, as dozens of students pushed towards the front while others desperately accelerated simply to avoid finding themselves anywhere near the final five.

Each lap around the Imperial Academy’s enormous training ground stretched approximately eight hundred meters, which meant even the most physically gifted students could not afford to treat the exercise like a sprint.

Unfortunately, that realization appeared to have escaped a considerable portion of the incoming class.

Riven watched nearly a hundred students explode forward during the opening stretch, several reinforcing their legs with Aether as though finishing first would somehow provide them with additional points.

’I only need to make sure five people finish behind me.’

Riven thought, as he settled into a comfortable pace somewhere near the middle of the enormous group, as he understood that there was absolutely no benefit to leading.

Every student who crossed the line outside the bottom five received exactly the same result, which meant expending additional energy merely to finish near the front seemed completely pointless.

Gary appeared to have reached the same conclusion.

The West Duke’s son ran perhaps thirty places ahead of Riven, maintaining a controlled pace while several considerably less talented students raced past him in their desperation to establish themselves near the front.

Mary and Stacy were doing much the same, hovering a few places behind Riven.

Circuit, unfortunately though, had a considerably different problem.

Riven spotted him surprisingly far towards the rear, although unlike the students surrounding him, Circuit did not appear to be struggling because he had misjudged his pace.

His frail body simply could not move any faster.

By the time the runners entered the final two hundred meters, Circuit was already breathing heavily, while the distance between him and the students immediately ahead gradually continued widening.

Six people remained behind him.

Then five.

Circuit glanced over his shoulder.

Four.

’Oh no.’

Riven could practically imagine what was going through his friend’s mind as Circuit attempted to accelerate, only for his breathing to immediately deteriorate.

A violent cough escaped his mouth.

The student directly behind him passed.

Then another.

Circuit somehow continued running until the finish, but by the time he stumbled across the line, there was no longer any uncertainty surrounding his position.

Professor Mike looked towards him.

"Eliminated."

Circuit placed both hands upon his knees and began coughing.

For someone capable of understanding exactly how the exercise should be approached, his body had betrayed him before that understanding could become useful.

Riven felt somewhat bad for him.

Although judging by the expression Circuit gave the students still running, he appeared considerably more offended by his lungs than embarrassed by the result.

"Change of rules!"

Professor Mike suddenly shouted.

Several runners immediately looked towards him.

"Last twenty across the line for the next ten laps are eliminated! After that, we’ll make things interesting."

A collective groan travelled through the students.

Riven almost smiled.

Apparently Professor Mike had no intention of spending the entire day waiting for five students to disappear every eight hundred meters.

By the third lap, the chaos at the front had already begun producing consequences.

Several students who had sprinted through the opening sixteen hundred meters were breathing heavily, while those who had initially appeared unimpressive were gradually passing them without increasing their pace at all.

Riven continued running comfortably.

His breathing remained steady, his stride almost identical to when the exercise had begun, while his body naturally settled into a rhythm that required remarkably little conscious effort to maintain.

Ahead of him, Gary was equally composed.

There was something almost irritatingly polished about the way he ran.

Every stride appeared controlled, his breathing remained synchronized with his movement, and even after several laps, there was almost no unnecessary motion throughout his upper body.

’Circuit wasn’t exaggerating.’

Riven thought.

Gary had clearly received proper physical instruction for years.

By the fifth lap, the first group of overenthusiastic runners began disappearing rapidly.

One boy who had proudly led the opening lap now struggled near the back, his face bright red as several students passed him during the final straight.

He attempted one desperate sprint.

For several seconds, it worked.

Then his legs visibly lost their strength.

Twenty students crossed behind the others.

Professor Mike eliminated all of them.

The remaining group continued.

Mary was still there.

Riven spotted her several times whenever the track curved, maintaining a pace that placed her nowhere near the leaders but comfortably away from danger.

There was nothing particularly elegant about the way she ran.

She simply understood endurance.

Garron’s training had involved enough running, marching and physical punishment that eight hundred-meter laps around a clean Academy training ground were hardly unfamiliar territory.

Stacy was different.

Her stride was shorter than Mary’s, and technically there were several students around her who looked considerably better trained.

Yet her pace barely changed.

Lap after lap, she continued at almost exactly the same speed, neither chasing those ahead nor appearing particularly concerned whenever someone overtook her.

She simply kept moving.

By the eighth lap, that consistency began paying off.

Students who had been hundreds of positions ahead of Stacy gradually returned towards her as exhaustion accumulated, while she passed them one after another without ever appearing to accelerate.

Riven noticed the pattern.

’She’s good.’

There was something strangely relentless about her running.

Stacy did not move like someone attempting to prove how athletic she was.

She moved like someone accustomed to continuing long after being tired had stopped mattering.

The ninth lap removed another twenty.

Then the tenth.

By now, eight kilometers had passed beneath their feet, and the differences between the students were becoming increasingly obvious.

The pampered noble children who had never seriously conditioned themselves were mostly gone.

So were many of those who had mistaken explosive speed for endurance.

What remained was an increasingly concentrated collection of students who either possessed excellent physical conditioning, exceptional natural bodies, disciplined Aether control, or enough stubbornness to compensate for whatever else they lacked.

"Last twenty again!"

Professor Mike shouted as they began the eleventh lap.

Nobody complained anymore.

They were saving their breath.

Riven continued running.

Ten kilometers passed.

Then twelve.

For the first time, he became consciously aware of how little discomfort he actually felt.

Sweat covered his skin and his breathing had deepened considerably from the opening lap, yet neither felt remotely close to exhaustion.

His legs remained responsive.

His lungs filled deeply with every breath.

His heart maintained a powerful, remarkably stable rhythm.

Riven had always known his body was unusual.

There was no possible way to undergo everything the Anatomist had done to him without understanding that much.

But knowing his body had been extensively reconstructed was different from watching hundreds of talented Ascendants his own age gradually fall away while his own movements remained almost unchanged.

The realization was strangely unsettling.

And satisfying.

By the fifteenth lap, even the remaining students had stopped paying much attention to one another unless someone began falling dangerously close to the rear.

The race had changed.

There were no longer enough weak runners to guarantee safety.

Whenever the group approached the final hundred meters, students who had conserved themselves throughout the lap suddenly accelerated, unwilling to gamble upon where the elimination line would fall.

Several runners began deliberately shadowing those they believed were weaker.

Others stayed just ahead of the rear group, spending only enough energy to guarantee survival before slowing again immediately after crossing the line.

Two laps later, most were gone.

Professor Mike finally reduced the elimination number.

"From this point onwards, last five will be out!"

Nobody responded.

The remaining students simply continued running.

Fourteen kilometers had already passed.

Then seventeen.

Then eighteen.

By the twenty-third lap, only fifty students remained upon the training ground.

Professor Mike had spent most of the exercise watching the students from beside the track, occasionally making notes while paying particular attention to those whose performance differed considerably from what their entrance evaluations suggested.

His gaze eventually settled upon Riven Dawnriver.

And remained there.

The boy had been running for more than eighteen kilometers.

Yet he did not seem to be struggling at all.

Professor Mike had spent decades studying the human body.

He had examined soldiers, Ascendants, professional athletes and countless Imperial Academy students, and after enough years, imperfections in physical movement became almost impossible for him to ignore.

A foot landing several degrees too far outward.

A shoulder rotating unnecessarily.

A stride extending slightly beyond its most efficient range.

A hip compensating for weakness elsewhere.

Everyone wasted movement.

Even exceptionally trained runners did.

However, Riven Dawnriver barely seemed to waste anything.

His spine remained perfectly aligned while running, his foot placement was almost absurdly consistent, and every movement of his arms complemented the rotation of his torso without producing even the slightest unnecessary deviation.

His stride length matched his proportions almost perfectly.

His breathing synchronized naturally with his pace.

Even the manner in which his feet contacted the ground seemed to transfer momentum forward with remarkably little loss.

Professor Mike slowly lowered the notebook in his hand.

’What the hell?’

He had seen excellent running posture before.

This was something else.

From a distance, Riven barely looked like he was running at all.

He looked like he was flying.

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