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 going to bed. Instead she would train again, especially seeing how she wasn’t able to play that damn game.

  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 outside. But just as she reached the door, she paused. Voices drifted from behind a nearly closed door.

  She should have kept walking. She should have gone to the shed.

  But curiosity got the better of her, and she peeked inside.

  "...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.”

  Another voice replied in a whisper.

  “And that’s it, then? They’re really shutting us down?”

  “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.” Elra’s voice was quiet, tired.

  “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.

  “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. And the normal orphanages were full—or so they claimed. I thought they only cared about adoption rates, and since our girl kept getting turned down, they didn’t want her. At least, that’s how it seemed to me.”

  “They wouldn’t even let her re-test?”

  “I tried,” Elra said, “I sent documentation. Notes. Training logs. Everything I could. They refused.”

  “She works hard,” Anel said, almost defensively.

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  “She does,” Elra agreed, “More than most. But effort isn’t what they’re measuring”

  The words hung there.

  The girl didn’t wait to hear more.

  She turned.

  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. Her mind was too overloaded by the information. She’d been rejected so often, and now even her only place of refuge was being taken away.

  She slipped outside.

  The wind had stilled. The night felt too hollowed. She crossed the courtyard without looking at it. Her feet moved fast but quiet, threading through the cold, damp hush. Each step kicked up a bit of dust or dew—she couldn’t tell. Her breath stayed shallow.

  She passed the edge of the lamplight where warmth and safety ended, and the dark began. The stones beneath her feet were uneven, familiar, but tonight they felt sharper somehow. Like the ground was watching.

  She didn’t slow.

  Not when the chapel’s outline faded behind her.

  Not when the shadows thickened.

  The shed waited where it always did, hunched beneath the crooked tree at the far wall.

  She reached the door and paused just a moment. Her fingers curled tight around the edge then pushed.

  The creak came as always. But this time, it was too loud and too rough.

  She stepped inside.

  And let the door closed behind her.

  It pressed against her now, thicker, tighter, like the air had forgotten how to give breath. 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, her knees didn’t move cleanly. Her breath came too fast, short, and shallow pulls like she’d been running. She tried to slow it. Counted to three. It didn’t help. The panic didn’t fade. If anything, it worsened.

  Her fingers twitched at her side. Her mouth was dry.

  She turned to the weights.

  The ten kyns bucket waited in its usual place—

  She faced it. Focused—or at least, did something that resembled focus. Anything to keep the panic from swallowing her.

  Her mana gathered, barely. The bucket didn’t twitch.

  She gritted her teeth. Reached again—forced the threads of herself outward.

  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.

  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?

  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.

  She lowered herself to the ground without meaning to. Sat beside the bucket. Her arms wrapped around her knees, her head bowed low.

  Then, without thinking, she covered her ears—like she was on the battlefield, ducking fire.

  Trying to block out a voice that wasn’t there.

  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 hollowed deep dark

  It embraced her—like gentle hands folding her away.

  Sleep fell over her like a blanket dropped from too high.

  Curled on the cold floor, arms wrapped around her legs, she let herself drift.

  And though it came from exhaustion, from the weight she couldn’t carry anymore—

  it was peaceful.

  No voices. No footsteps. No eyes watching.

  For a little while, the dark held her like she was forgiven