Night again.
The others had gone to bed. The hallway lights had dimmed to soft orange glows in the sconces. And still she moved—barefoot, careful, steps practiced on old stone.
She wasn't wandering. She wasn't looking for quiet.
She was going to train like usual.
Her body still ached from the activity today. Her arms were heavy, her mana thin. But she had to keep going. She could feel it—not enough wasn't an excuse anymore. It was a verdict. One she had to overturn.
She moved past the main hall and slipped into the back corridor. Her hidden shed waited just beyond the far stairwell. She was almost there when she heard voices.
She stopped.
Behind the slightly open office door, two staff members were talking. One voice, steady and low, belonged to Elra.
She should've moved on. She should've gone to the shed.
But the tone in Elra's voice was different. Measured. Heavy.
She paused beside the door, just out of sight.
"...the placements are being finalized this week," Elra was saying. "Now that the formal letters went out yesterday, we're seeing more families asking for early adoption slots. It's only going to speed up."
The assistant—Miss Anel—replied in a whisper. "And that's it, then? They're really shutting us down?"
Elra's voice was quiet, tired. "We've known for a while, Anel. But yes. The central board made it official. Everything will be absorbed into the academy districts. No more independent homes."
Anel hesitated. "What about the children?"
"The ones with consistent mana levels—those in the normal range—they'll be placed in mage-track programs. There's a pipeline forming already. Assessors have started selecting."
The girl's heart pressed against her ribs.
Her fingers curled slightly.
"And the rest?" Anel asked.
Elra answered slowly. "They'll be placed in general orphanages. Or sent to service homes if they're old enough."
"And her?"
Anel's voice was softer now.
The girl didn't breathe.
"She's not on the transfer list," Elra said. "Her readings are too low. Even with her background—wizard-born or not—they won't make space for her. Our Reich doesn't have mercy when it comes to wizard with low mana count"
"They wouldn't even let her re-test?"
"I tried," Elra said. "I sent documentation. Notes. Training logs. Everything I could. They refused."
A pause.
"She works hard," Anel said, almost defensively.
"She does," Elra agreed. "More than most. But effort isn't what they're measuring."
Another silence.
Then, quietly:
"She deserves better."
The words hung there. Heavy. Too heavy.
The girl didn't wait to hear more.
She turned.
Walked.
Then walked faster.
The corridor seemed darker now, though the sconces hadn't changed. The air pressed closer to her skin, tight and thin, as if the walls were leaning in. Each step echoed wrong not louder, but sharper, like her heels struck the floor at the wrong angle.
She didn't blink much. Couldn't. Her vision prickled at the edges, not from tears, but from something deeper that distant kind of blur that came when thoughts ran too fast for breath to keep up.
She reached the stairwell.
Slipped outside.
The wind had stilled. The night felt too still.
She crossed the courtyard without looking at it. Past the edge of light. Past the normal path. Toward the shadow where the shed waited.
The door creaked as always. But this time it grated, sharp in her ears.
She stepped inside.
And let it close behind her.
The shed welcomed her with silence.
But it wasn't the same silence as before.
It pressed against her now—thicker, tighter—like the air had forgotten how to breathe. The scent of old rope and stone was sharper somehow, almost sour in the back of her throat. Familiar shadows warped into things she didn't recognize. The dim corner felt too dim.
She took a step forward, but her knees didn't move cleanly. Her breath came too fast—short, shallow pulls like she'd been running. She tried to slow it. Counted to three. Held. Let it go.
But it caught in her chest. Refused to settle.
Her fingers twitched at her side. Her mouth was dry.
She turned to the weights.
The 10 kyns bucket waited in its usual place—still, patient, unmoved.
She faced it. Focused.
Her mana gathered, barely.
The bucket didn't twitch.
She gritted her teeth. Reached again—forced the threads of herself outward.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Again.
Her vision trembled. Her legs locked. Her hands balled into fists.
She tried again.
The bucket stayed still.
Her breath hitched. Her throat burned.
She blinked, but her eyes didn't clear.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
And that's when the thoughts came. Slipping in through the cracks.
Why me?
Why just me?
Did I do something wrong?
Am I cursed?
Her breaths came faster. Shallower.
I hate my hair.
I hate my hands.
I hate this stupid, empty feeling inside me.
Maybe I was bad before. Maybe I did something horrible. Maybe I deserved this.
She pressed her palms to the ground. It felt cold. Real.
But her mind kept sliding.
Why was I born broken? Did I ruin something without knowing?
The bucket hadn't moved.
She reached for it again—shaking now, not from the effort, but from everything else.
And still it stayed.
The air around her felt too thick. The shed too tight. Her skin too small.
Her chest ached. Not from the effort—but from something deeper. Older.
She lowered herself to the ground without meaning to. Sat beside the bucket. Her arms wrapped around her knees, her head bowed low.
She then covered her ears.
Her body shook.
The game floated back to her. Rulin's voice. Her fake smile. That sinking feeling when the circle moved without her.
Her muscles throbbed. Her head pounded.
The cold floor pressed against her side. Hard. Real.
And without realizing it, she sank further into herself, into the dark.
Sleep didn't arrive gently.
It collapsed over her.
Curled on the cold floor, like an infant clutching her legs,
she disappeared into quiet.