The Crystal's Truth
The three weeks between the lord's letter and the appraiser's arrival were the longest I'd experienced since arriving in this world.
Not because anything changed in our daily routine. Training continued as always—Marcus still woke us at dawn, still drilled footwork and blade work and situational awareness with the same methodical intensity he'd maintained for four years. Ryu and I still sparred. Torren and Aldric still showed up weekly to remind us what fighting someone more skilled actually felt like.
But underneath the routine, something had shifted.
Marcus watched me more carefully now. Not obviously—he was too professional for that—but I caught it in the way his eyes tracked my movements during cloud magic practice, the way he'd pause fractionally longer when I executed a technique he hadn't seen before. He was cataloguing. Assessing. Preparing a mental report for whoever might ask him about my abilities after the appraisal.
Shion was quieter than usual. She'd always been perceptive—more so than most people gave her credit for—and I knew she understood what the appraisal meant. Her seven-year-old son, who'd been making clouds since before he could walk, who spoke with the vocabulary of someone three times his age, who'd stopped a charging Great Boar with magic she'd only ever seen used to water gardens... that son was about to be officially documented by someone with authority.
"Are you nervous?" she asked me one evening as I sat reviewing the day's training in my head.
I considered the question honestly. "Curious. More than nervous."
"Curious." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You've always been curious. Even as a baby, you'd watch everything with those big gray eyes like you were taking notes." She paused. "I suppose you were, in a way."
It was the closest she'd ever come to acknowledging the unspoken truth between us. I met her gaze.
"The magic is real," I said quietly. "Whatever the appraiser finds, it's something I've developed through practice. Not something that just... appeared."
"I know, sweetheart." She reached over and squeezed my hand. "I've watched you work at it since you were two years old. I've seen every step." Her expression grew more serious. "But once it's official, once it's documented and registered... other people will know too. People who might have plans for what someone with your abilities could do."
"I know."
"And you still want this?"
I nodded. "I need to know what I'm actually capable of. The voice I hear when I level up—it tells me the number, but I've never had external confirmation. I need to know if what I'm experiencing matches what the system sees."
Shion was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Just... promise me you'll be careful. Talent draws attention. And attention isn't always the kind you want."
"I promise."
She kissed my forehead and left me to my thoughts.
---
Ryu handled the waiting differently.
Where I analyzed and prepared, he simply... continued. Same training. Same intensity. Like the upcoming appraisal was just another day.
But I'd known him long enough to spot the tells. The way he held his practice sword a fraction tighter during drills. The way he pushed himself harder during conditioning work, adding extra repetitions when Marcus wasn't counting. The slight tension in his shoulders whenever someone mentioned the appraiser's arrival.
"You okay?" I asked him one afternoon after training, when Marcus had gone inside and we were putting away equipment.
"Fine."
"Ryu."
He stopped, looked at me, then sighed. "What if the appraisal says I'm not as good as everyone thinks?"
I blinked. That hadn't been what I expected. "Marcus reads you at Level 4. That's not going to suddenly change because someone uses a crystal."
"But what if he's wrong? What if I'm actually Level 3, or—" He cut himself off, frustrated. "You've always known what you can do. You've got that voice in your head telling you every time you level up. I don't have that. I just... train, and trust that I'm getting better, and Marcus says I am, but I won't know for certain until someone with actual authority checks."
It was strange, hearing Ryu express doubt. He was usually the more confident of us—natural talent combined with hard work, moving through techniques like his body already knew the answers and was just waiting for his mind to catch up.
But I understood. The voice I heard, the explicit feedback every time I crossed a threshold... it was an advantage. Certainty where others had estimation.
"You stopped that third goblin from escaping," I said. "You moved faster than I could track during the boar fight. You beat me fifteen to zero the first time we sparred, and you've only gotten better since." I looked at him steadily. "The crystal's going to confirm what everyone already knows. You're good, Ryu. Really good."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Thanks."
"And if somehow the crystal says you're Level 3, then you'll train until you're Level 5, and you'll be just as good either way."
That got a small smile. "Yeah. I guess I will."
---
The message arrived on the morning of the twentieth day.
A rider from the village gate, bringing word that the regional appraiser had been spotted on the eastern road and would arrive before noon.
Marcus received the message with his usual calm. "Get cleaned up. Both of you. We'll meet him at your house, Tenki. Your family's hosting the appraisal—seems appropriate, given you're the reason he's here."
"Where will it happen?" I asked.
"Your parents' yard. Private, quiet, no need for the whole village watching." He glanced at both of us. "This isn't a public spectacle. It's an assessment. The fewer people involved, the better."
That suited me fine. I'd been half-worried the village chief or the guard captain would want to attend, turning it into some kind of ceremony. A small gathering kept it focused.
Ryu and I washed up quickly, changed into clean clothes—not formal, but presentable—and assembled at my family's house within the hour.
Shion had prepared tea and simple food, the kind you'd offer any important visitor. Gareth stood near the doorway, arms crossed, expression neutral but watchful. Marcus arrived with Lydia and Ryu shortly after, taking positions near the garden entrance.
"He'll be here soon," Marcus said. "When he arrives, let me handle introductions. This is standard procedure—he'll explain what the appraisal involves, conduct the assessment, record the results. It's not a test you can fail. It's documentation."
I nodded, heart beating just slightly faster than normal.
*Documentation.*
After seven years of private practice, internal voices, and carefully hidden development, someone with authority was about to look at what I'd become and name it officially.
The waiting was almost over.
---
Kyle arrived exactly at noon.
I'd been expecting a priest or scholar—someone in robes, carrying books, the administrative type who filled out forms and filed reports. What stepped through our garden gate instead was something closer to a military engineer.
He was tall—maybe six-two—with the build of someone who'd spent years doing physical work. His clothes were practical: dark gray traveling coat over a fitted shirt and reinforced trousers, boots that had seen serious use. His hair was short, dark brown streaked with early gray at the temples. Maybe late thirties. His face was clean-shaven, angular, with sharp blue eyes that swept across the assembled group with the trained assessment of someone who'd learned to read situations quickly.
But it was what he carried that caught my attention.
A wooden case, maybe eighteen inches long, twelve wide, six deep. Reinforced corners. Leather straps. The care with which he held it suggested it contained something both valuable and fragile.
"Marcus?" Kyle's voice was clipped, professional. Military background, definitely.
"That's me." Marcus stepped forward, offering his hand. Kyle shook it with his left hand—adapting without comment to Marcus's missing arm. Professional courtesy.
"Kyle, Western Regional Assessment Office, Technical Division." He glanced at the rest of us. "I take it this is Tenki's family?"
"It is." Shion stepped forward, Gareth beside her. "I'm Shion. This is my husband Gareth, and our son Tenki." She gestured. "And this is Marcus's wife Lydia, and their son Ryu."
Kyle's eyes found me, then Ryu, studying us with the same analytical intensity he'd given the surroundings. "Ages seven and seven-and-a-half, according to the report. Both training under Marcus since age three." He looked at Marcus. "You've been thorough in your documentation."
"I was a guild Silver for twenty years," Marcus said. "I know what information matters."
"It shows." Kyle set the case down on the garden table Gareth had set up for this purpose. "The regional office receives dozens of appraisal requests every year. Most are routine. Some are... less routine. When a report comes across my desk describing a seven-year-old with combat-effective magic, Level 4 or higher, plus martial training from a Level 7 swordsman..." He glanced at me again. "That gets my attention."
He opened the case.
Inside, nestled in fitted padding, was a crystal.
I'd heard descriptions of appraisal crystals before—every ten-year-old in the kingdom underwent the standard assessment, and travelers' tales mentioned them occasionally. But seeing one in person was different.
It was roughly spherical, maybe six inches in diameter, perfectly clear except for a faint opalescent shimmer that moved through its interior like oil on water. The surface was smooth, almost impossibly so, reflecting light at angles that seemed slightly wrong—not quite matching the geometry that physics in my old world would have predicted.
Magic-enhanced material. Or possibly not material at all—something crystallized from pure magical principle.
"This is a Truth Crystal," Kyle said, lifting it carefully from its padding. "Standard assessment tool, military-grade precision. It operates on magical resonance—specifically, it reads the harmonic frequencies generated by a person's inner essence and translates those frequencies into measurable data."
He was explaining it like someone who actually understood the technical mechanics. Not just rote procedure—actual comprehension.
My scientific mind immediately started forming hypotheses. *Magical resonance. Harmonic frequencies. So the skill levels aren't arbitrary numbers assigned by some cosmic administrator—they're quantifiable measurements of a person's inner essence and skill integration. The crystal's acting like a biological scanner, reading the strength and complexity of that essence and translating it into a standardized scale...*
"The process is non-invasive," Kyle continued. "No discomfort, no risk. You'll place your hand on the crystal, channel a small amount of magic into it—or in your case, just stand near it, since you're not trained in conscious magical control yet—and the crystal will resonate with your inner essence. Results appear as written text inside the crystal face. I'll record them, and that's it."
He looked at us seriously. "What the crystal reveals is confidential. Standard protocol: only the subject, their legal guardians, and authorized assessment personnel see the results. I'll file a report with the regional office, but that report is sealed unless you authorize its release. Understood?"
Everyone nodded.
"Good." Kyle positioned the crystal on a flat stand he'd pulled from the case. "Now, I understand you've been training both boys, Marcus. I'd like to assess them both while I'm here—saves me a trip back in three years when the second one would normally be evaluated."
Marcus glanced at me, then Ryu, then back to Kyle. "That's acceptable."
"Excellent." Kyle gestured toward Ryu. "Let's start with you, son. What's your name?"
Ryu stepped forward, steady despite the nervousness I knew he was feeling. "Ryu, sir."
"Ryu. Good. Come stand here, about arm's length from the crystal." Kyle positioned him carefully. "Now, this might feel a bit strange—you'll sense a faint pulling sensation, like something's tugging at your chest. That's the crystal scanning your inner essence. Don't resist it. Just breathe normally and let it do its work."
Ryu nodded and took his position.
Kyle placed both hands on opposite sides of the crystal and closed his eyes. For several seconds, nothing visible happened.
Then the crystal began to glow.
---
The light started as a faint shimmer in the crystal's core, then spread outward—soft silver-blue, pulsing gently like a heartbeat. Ryu stood perfectly still, his expression calm but focused, as the light intensified.
Then text began forming inside the crystal.
Not surface engravings—actual letters suspended in the interior, glowing pale gold against the blue shimmer. They appeared slowly, line by line, as if being written by invisible ink.
Kyle's eyes opened. He leaned forward, reading silently, his expression shifting from professional neutrality to something approaching surprise.
He held the silence for a long moment, reading and re-reading. Then he straightened.
"Ryu. Age seven years, six months." He paused. "Primary skill: Swordsmanship, Level 4."
Marcus nodded once. "That matches my assessment."
"Secondary skill..." Kyle's voice changed—still professional, but with an edge of something else. Curiosity. "Spearmanship. Designation: *Spear Saint*. Level 1."
Silence.
Marcus's expression froze. Lydia drew in a sharp breath. Ryu stood utterly still, staring at the crystal.
"Spear Saint?" Marcus's voice was carefully controlled. "Not just Spearmanship. Spear *Saint*?"
"Correct." Kyle was studying the crystal intently. "The designation indicates a unique class skill—something beyond standard weapon proficiency. This particular variant is... extremely rare. I've seen it maybe twice in fifteen years of conducting appraisals." He looked at Ryu. "Have you ever trained with a spear?"
"No, sir." Ryu's voice was steady, but I could hear the confusion underneath. "Just swords. Since I was three."
Kyle's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Interesting. The skill is listed as Level 1, which means it's manifested but undeveloped. Likely dormant until activated by actual spear training." He glanced at Marcus. "You said his swordwork showed unusual characteristics?"
"His reach sense," Marcus said slowly, like pieces were clicking together. "He's always been exceptional at judging distance. And his strikes—they're not traditional sword patterns. More... linear. Stabbing thrusts instead of cuts, even when it's not optimal for a blade." He shook his head slightly. "I thought it was just personal style. But if he's naturally inclined toward spears..."
"His fighting instincts were trying to tell him something," Kyle finished. "The Spear Saint designation suggests this isn't learned—it's inherent. Potentially a bloodline trait, though that's speculation without genealogical records."
He turned his attention back to the crystal. "There's one more entry. Unique skill: *Last Stand*."
"Last Stand?" Lydia stepped closer. "What does that mean?"
Kyle studied the crystal for a moment. "The skill name appears, but the crystal doesn't provide detailed mechanics—that's common with unique skills. They manifest differently for each individual." He looked at Ryu thoughtfully. "Based on the name alone, I'd speculate it's some form of crisis-response enhancement. A skill that activates under pressure. You'll need to discover its exact effects through experience."
Marcus nodded slowly, understanding. "A 'last stand' skill... something that emerges when his back's against the wall."
"Possibly," Kyle said. "But that's speculation. What's certain is that it's classified as a passive combat enhancement—meaning it triggers automatically under specific conditions."
He stepped back from the crystal, letting the glow fade. "Ryu. Swordsmanship Level 4, Spear Saint Level 1, unique skill *Last Stand*. That's your official assessment." He pulled out a small journal and began writing, quick practiced strokes. "You have exceptional combat potential, son. But you're still seven years old. There's a difference between potential and readiness."
Ryu nodded slowly, still processing.
I was processing too. *Spear Saint*. A unique class designation that had been sitting dormant in Ryu the entire time we'd been training together. The fact that it appeared at Level 1 suggested he'd crossed some threshold recently—maybe during the goblin fight, or the boar encounter. Some moment of combat stress had triggered the manifestation of a skill he didn't even know he possessed.
And *Last Stand*... that fit. Ryu had always fought better when things got difficult. I'd noticed it during spars—the moments when he was losing, when he was pushed into a corner, his movements would sharpen. Get faster. More precise. I'd thought it was pure determination. Maybe it was something more—a unique skill amplifying that determination into something the system recognized.
Kyle turned from Ryu to me. "Tenki. Your turn."
---
I stepped forward, heart beating faster now.
This was it. The moment I'd been waiting for since the letter arrived. Seven years of internal voice announcements, of level-ups I'd experienced but never confirmed, of magic I'd developed in private—all about to be measured by someone with authority.
"Same process," Kyle said, gesturing to the position Ryu had vacated. "Stand here. Let the crystal scan. Don't resist."
I moved into position, standing arm's length from the crystal's faint shimmer. Up close, I could feel it—a subtle pulling sensation, exactly like Kyle had described. Not physical. Something deeper, like the crystal was reaching through the air and touching the part of me that generated clouds and held swords and heard that impossible internal voice.
Kyle placed his hands on the crystal again. Closed his eyes.
The glow began.
This time, it was different.
The light didn't pulse gently like it had for Ryu. It *surged*—flooding the crystal's interior in waves, silver-blue washing into deep storm-gray, shot through with flickers of white that looked unsettlingly like lightning. The intensity built rapidly, far brighter than Ryu's assessment, bright enough that Shion made a small sound of surprise.
Kyle's eyes snapped open. He stared at the crystal, expression shifting from surprise to something closer to shock.
The text appeared—faster than before, sharp gold letters blazing against the storm-gray glow.
Kyle read silently for a long moment. His jaw tightened.
"Tenki. Age seven years, one month." His voice was carefully controlled. "Primary skill: Cloud Magic. Level 5."
The words landed like stones in still water.
"Cloud Magic," Kyle repeated, almost to himself. "I've never seen that skill name in any assessment before." He looked at me with new intensity. "And Level 5..." He glanced at Marcus. "At seven years old."
"That's..." Kyle paused, choosing his words carefully. "That's prodigy-level progression. Most mages don't reach Level 5 in their primary skill until their late teens or early twenties. Some never reach it at all." He looked at me with new assessment in his eyes. "How long have you been actively training this skill?"
"Since I was a toddler," I said. "I could make mist before I could walk. I've been practicing control and applications ever since."
"Five years of dedicated practice," Kyle said, half to himself. "That would explain the progression, but the level of control implied by combat application at this age is still..." He shook his head. "Continue. Secondary skill: Swordsmanship. Level 3."
That was expected. Less shocking than my cloud magic, but still high for seven years old.
"And then..." Kyle's expression grew complicated. "Unique skill designation. This is... unusual."
"Unusual how?" Marcus stepped closer.
Kyle was reading the crystal intently, his brow furrowed. "The designation is *Coriolis Shield*." He looked up at me. "Have you experienced any unusual defensive effects during combat?"
I blinked. "No. Nothing like that."
"Not surprising," Kyle said. "According to the crystal's reading, this is a latent unique skill. It's manifested—meaning the pattern exists within your essence—but it hasn't activated yet. You'll need to discover the trigger conditions yourself."
*Coriolis Shield.*
My mind immediately connected the dots. The Coriolis effect—the deflection of moving objects in a rotating reference frame. On Earth, it was what made hurricanes spiral. Air masses moving toward low pressure didn't travel straight—they curved, deflected by the planet's rotation.
A shield named after that principle... could it deflect attacks when I was rotating? Spinning? Moving in circles?
It was speculation, but it fit. A defensive effect tied to rotational motion. Something that would emerge naturally from understanding weather systems—where rotation itself became protection.
"I'll... experiment with it," I said carefully.
"Good," Kyle said. "Unique skills reveal themselves through use. You'll figure it out."
Kyle stepped back, letting the crystal's glow fade. He was quiet for a moment, just looking at me.
"Seven years old," he said finally. "Cloud Magic Level 5. Swordsmanship Level 3. Latent unique skill." He pulled out his journal and began writing. "Tenki, you're going to be a person of considerable interest to the regional administration."
That didn't sound entirely positive.
"What does that mean?" Shion's voice was tight.
Kyle looked at her directly. "It means your son has talents that fall into the 'rare and strategically valuable' category. Magic skills themselves are uncommon—maybe one person in a thousand manifests any magical ability at all. But Cloud Magic?" He paused. "I've never seen it before. Not once in fifteen years of conducting appraisals. Combined with combat effectiveness at this age, martial training, and a unique defensive skill?" He closed his journal. "I've never seen a profile quite like this."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"So what happens now?" Gareth's voice was steady, but I heard the protective edge underneath.
Kyle met his eyes. "Now I file my report. The regional office reviews it. Given the classification—rare, combat-applicable, high development rate—they'll want confirmation. Probably send someone higher-ranked to verify my assessment and conduct a practical demonstration evaluation."
"What kind of demonstration?" Marcus asked sharply.
"Nothing dangerous. Controlled environment, specific skill tests to verify capability matches the crystal's readings. Standard procedure for unusual cases." He looked at me again. "They'll also want to discuss potential future options—training, deployment, service."
"He's seven," Shion said flatly.
"I know." Kyle's expression softened fractionally. "And nothing happens immediately. What *will* happen is registration. Your son's skills, levels, and unique ability will be documented in the regional census. That's non-negotiable for strategic assets."
"Strategic assets." Gareth's voice was cold. "He's a child."
"He's a child with abilities that could save lives in the conflicts currently developing on the southwestern border," Kyle said, not unkindly but firmly. "I'm not saying he'll be drafted tomorrow. I'm saying the administration needs to know he exists, so that when he *is* old enough—when he's trained and ready—they know who to call."
He packed the crystal back into its case with practiced care.
"My report will reach the regional office within three days. Expect follow-up contact within two weeks—probably a letter scheduling the verification assessment." He looked at Marcus. "I'm recommending they send someone with actual combat experience for the evaluation. No offense to standard appraisers, but reading Level 5 combat magic on a seven-year-old is one thing. Seeing it in action is another."
"Fair," Marcus said neutrally.
Kyle turned to leave, then paused. He looked at both me and Ryu.
"You're both talented," he said. "Genuinely, exceptionally talented. But talent isn't the same as readiness. The fact that you *can* do something doesn't mean you *should* yet." His expression was serious. "Take your time. Learn everything you can. And when the day comes that someone asks you to use these abilities for real..." He gestured vaguely southwestward. "Make sure you're absolutely certain you're ready for what that means."
He left without waiting for a response.
---
The silence after Kyle's departure stretched for nearly a minute.
Then Ryu broke it.
"Spear Saint?" His voice was somewhere between confused and amazed. "I don't even *own* a spear."
"We'll fix that," Marcus said quietly. "If you have a natural class designation for it, we need to explore that. Properly." He looked at Lydia. "I'll ask around the village. Someone must have a training spear I can borrow."
"And *Last Stand*?" Ryu was still processing. "What does that even mean?"
"Apparently something that manifests under pressure." Marcus's expression was thoughtful. "A crisis-response skill. You'll need to be careful with it—whatever it does, don't start relying on getting into danger just to trigger it."
Lydia put her hand on Ryu's shoulder. "We'll figure it out, sweetheart. Together."
Shion had moved to stand beside me, one hand resting lightly on my head. She wasn't saying anything, but I could feel the tension in her fingers.
"Level 5," Gareth said quietly. He was looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "Son... that's extraordinary."
"It's years of practice," I said. "Five years, like Kyle said."
"Most people practice their entire lives and never reach Level 5 in anything," Marcus said. He wasn't criticizing—just stating fact. "What you've accomplished isn't just practice. It's talent and understanding combined." He paused. "But Kyle was right about one thing. Having the skill level doesn't mean you're ready to use it in real situations."
"I used it against the boar," I pointed out.
"You did. And you saved Ryu's life." Marcus's expression was firm. "I'm not questioning your ability. I'm questioning whether throwing you into actual combat situations at age seven is wise, regardless of ability."
"What about the southwestern border?" Ryu asked. "Kyle said there are conflicts. If people are in danger—"
"Then trained adults will handle it," Lydia said firmly. "Not children."
"But we're trained," I said. I knew I was pushing, but the question had to be asked. "Ryu's Level 4 in swords. I'm Level 5 in magic. Those aren't child levels. Those are real capabilities."
"You're seven," Shion said quietly. "Both of you. Capabilities or not, you're still seven years old."
"But—"
"No." Her voice was gentle but absolute. "Tenki, I've watched you grow. I've watched you practice until your hands bled learning to control that magic. I'm proud of you—more proud than I can say. But I'm also your mother, and I'm telling you: you're not ready."
"Shion's right," Marcus said. "Look, here's reality: the regional office is going to send someone for verification. They're going to test you. And if everything checks out—which it will—they're going to put your names on a list of potential resources." He looked at both of us seriously. "That list exists whether you're ready or not. But it doesn't mean you have to act on it now."
"So we just... wait?" Ryu's frustration was clear. "Train and wait until we're old enough to be taken seriously?"
"You train and wait until you're old enough that deploying you won't get you killed," Marcus said bluntly. "There's a difference between being talented and being ready for war. Trust me. I've seen talented young fighters die because they confused the two."
His missing arm made that statement carry extra weight.
"Then what do we do?" I asked.
"You keep training," Marcus said. "You learn to use these new skills—Ryu's spear work, your Storm Spiral ability. You get stronger, faster, more experienced. And when someone from the regional office eventually comes asking if you're interested in serving..." He paused. "Then you'll be in a position to make that choice from readiness, not from enthusiasm."
Gareth nodded agreement. "Your mother and I support your training, Tenki. We always have. But we're not sending our seven-year-old son to a war zone because some administrator decided his magic is 'strategically valuable.'"
I wanted to argue. Part of me—the part that had spent forty years as an adult before this life began—knew I was more than just a seven-year-old child. I had experience. Perspective. Understanding.
But I also knew they were right.
I might have adult memories, but this body was seven. My stamina was a seven-year-old's. My reach was a seven-year-old's. My emotional processing—despite my best efforts—was increasingly colored by the hormones and neural development of a child's brain.
Being powerful didn't make me ready.
"Okay," I said quietly. "We train. We learn. We wait."
"Good." Shion kissed the top of my head. "That's my smart boy."
Ryu looked less convinced, but he nodded. "Fine. But when we *are* ready..."
"Then we'll talk about it," Marcus said. "As a family. No one's making decisions about your future without you being part of that conversation."
That seemed to satisfy him.
---
That night, I lay in bed thinking about the day.
*Coriolis Shield.*
A latent skill I hadn't known existed. Something tied to the Coriolis effect—the deflection force that appeared in rotating reference frames.
On Earth, the Coriolis effect was what made hurricanes spiral. Air masses moving toward low pressure got deflected by the planet's rotation, creating those characteristic curved paths.
Was *Coriolis Shield* the same principle, but personal-scale? A defensive effect that emerged when I rotated, making attacks curve away like winds deflecting around a storm's eye?
I'd need to test it. Experiment. Find the activation conditions.
But Kyle was right about one thing—I didn't need to rush. I had time.
Three weeks ago, I'd been training in secret, keeping my combat magic private. Now it was documented. Registered. Known to people with authority and plans.
The world had taken notice.
And somewhere in the regional administration, someone was reading Kyle's report and making decisions about what that notice meant.
I pushed the thought aside and focused on more immediate concerns.
Tomorrow, training would continue. Marcus would probably start drilling Ryu with whatever spear he could acquire. I'd start experimenting with circular footwork patterns, seeing if I could trigger *Coriolis Shield* through deliberate practice.
We had levels. We had unique skills. We had talent acknowledged by official assessment.
What we didn't have yet was readiness.
But we would.
I fell asleep thinking about rotation—not the massive cyclones of my old world, but the personal spiral of force I carried inside me, waiting to be understood.
The crystal has spoken—and with it, the truth of what Tenki and Ryu are becoming. But power documented is not the same as power mastered, and the road ahead will test more than just their skill levels. In Chapter 7, someone arrives from the regional office with questions... and a proposal. Thank you for reading!*
