I step out of the amphitheater, the echo of applause still humming in my ears. My legs feel oddly weightless even as fatigue tugs at every muscle. Sergeant Malin falls into step on my right, Corporal Estev on my left. Sierra's soft whisper reminds me of our next destination: Meridian Theory in Lab Wing B.
The courtyard mist hangs low, drifting over floating marble slabs. Fountains sigh vapor that catches the dawn light. Students pass by in their robes, glancing our way, some with curiosity, others warily. I keep my gaze forward and follow the guards through the rune-carved arch.
The portal's runes flare, the air shimmers, and we emerge into a vast lab chamber. Glass walls curve overhead, holo-projections dancing above benches. Each shows a spectral human form veined with hundreds of tiny nodes—three hundred sixty possible meridians per Art. The thought makes my chest tighten.
At the front, Professor Yarith stands beneath the Skin Forging projection. Her robes gleam with emerald runes. Two junior aides hover by scanner pads, awaiting instruction. A low murmur ripples through the students.
"Today we will open one meridian and focus on Skin Forging," Yarith announces. "Each meridian you open expands your Aethra capacity—push beyond your body's readiness and you risk permanent damage. Guards, please stand by."
Malin and Estev take stations at the back, swords sheathed but eyes sharp.
Malin leans close. "Remember, pace yourself. One meridian at a time."
Estev offers a brief nod. "We're here if you need us."
I give them a grateful look.
Yarith taps her console. The holo-trace of the Skin Meridian pulses in soft sapphire.
"Mercer, demonstrate."
My heart pounds. I step forward and place my palm on the pad. A fierce ache blossoms, raw heat beneath my skin. Sierra's voice threads through my thoughts: Focus the pulse. Let warmth spread. I picture Aethra flowing like a gentle tide. The pain steadies into comfortable warmth. The scanner chimes: fifty-two percent.
A collective breath rises from the benches.
Professor Yarith inclines her head. "Well done. Skin Forging complete. Observe the others."
I step aside. Saron, pale and trembling, approaches. He barely reaches twenty before stepping back, breath ragged. I meet his eyes and nod. He forces a shaky smile.
"Got this," I whisper.
Around me, students exchange amazed looks.
"Not bad for a foreign ward," a voice murmurs behind me.
I turn to see a noble scholar, embroidered robes whispering power. "Thank you," I manage.
Yarith surveys the room. "For those who didn't reach our threshold—use this session to practice raising your Skin Forging rating. Junior aides will guide you. For those who passed and wish to attempt opening the Muscle Forging meridian, step forward now."
A handful of hands rise, mine among them. Yarith shifts the holo-projection to golden lines tracing sinews and joints.
"Muscle Forging demands both strength and elasticity. Approach with awareness," she instructs.
I step to the pad again, bracing. A deep burn rips through my muscle fibers as Aethra courses beneath. Sierra's calm guidance steadies me: Sync micro-pulses with your heartbeat. The pain gives way to surging power. Forty-seven percent. Cheers ripple across the benches.
"You're a natural," someone whispers.
Estev steps forward, pride in his stance. "I've never seen someone reach that level on first attempt."
Malin's eyes gleam with approval. "You have a bright future, Mercer."
By midday, students cycle through practice and new openings, some honing Skin Forging, others bravely reaching for Muscle. The lab hums with effort and the occasional groan of strain.
Yarith raises her voice. "Session complete. Rest your channels. Tomorrow we begin Martial Fundamentals, integrating your meridians into movement."
I gather my holo-notes, tracings of Skin and Muscle lines glowing faintly in my palm. Malin and Estev flank me as we exit.
"You make this look easy," Malin remarks, half-jest.
I let out a breath. "Easy isn't the right word, rewarding, maybe."
Estev smiles. "We'll practice tonight. I can run meridian scans in the courtyard."
Their support feels genuine.
Back in Dorm Wing C, I collapse onto the narrow bunk. Outside, the shattered bridge stands silent under twilight. Sierra's final murmur echoes: Review diagrams before rest.
I trace the meridians in the air, fingertips humming with warmth and strength. My eyelids grow heavy.
"Goodnight, Sierra," I whisper.
The glow in my chest dims to embers. Tomorrow, I will fuse these channels with martial flow—and step closer to forging my own destiny.