Donnie didn't wait for his alarm. His body had woken him earlier, long before the device could interrupt his thoughts. He sat on the edge of his narrow bed, the sky outside still dim and pale. The Trace Band on his wrist displayed the time, but he wasn't checking it. His attention was locked on a fresh page in his sketchpad.
A half-finished combat diagram stared back at him—his own reconstructed version of Lucen's spiral flame kick, combined with a unique twist he was experimenting with. The hybrid movement from yesterday had nearly clicked. Almost. But not quite. It was unstable, breaking mid-motion every time he tried to execute it fully. The band didn't reject it. It just didn't classify it.
That was the part that kept him up.
If it couldn't be classified… then maybe it couldn't be limited.
Donnie stood, changed into his track uniform, and walked out of the dorm in silence. He didn't bother eating. His mind had already committed to the task ahead. There was only one thing he needed now: knowledge.
---
The Ridgewood Archives weren't for students like him. They were buried beneath the administration wing—an old facility no longer monitored by teachers. Most of it was automated now. The rest forgotten. But Donnie had found access last semester by pure accident. A cleaning drone had gotten stuck in a stairwell, and while helping it out, he'd found a rusted keypad door slightly ajar.
He stepped through that door now.
The archive room was cold. Machines lined both walls, softly active as blue light flickered across the data panels. Each one housed years of old Trace logs, simulation footage, ability evaluations, and rejected experimental reports—files that had no official home.
He approached the console, typing in keywords quickly.
> Query: "Trace mutations under flame-based ability lineages."
Filter: "Unranked or withdrawn cases."
Results flooded in. Many were locked behind staff clearance. But some weren't. He opened file after file, scanning for similarities.
Most showed signs of burnouts—students who overloaded during trace training and lost access permanently. A few mentioned brief instability in new formations. One entry stood out:
> Subject: Unknown Name
Entry ID: 57B-F
Initial Ability: Flame Projection
Status: Unregistered
Trace: Altered mid-formation, classified as "Unstable Hybrid"
Result: Trace output exceeded system expectations. All logs erased post-withdrawal. Case tagged under "Contagious Echo."
That phrase appeared again. He'd seen it once in a book—rare trace anomalies that spread like ripples. But no one had proven it real.
Donnie stared at the screen until the warning flashed: Unauthorized access. He logged out, backed away, and exited the room before any alert could escalate.
---
By the time he returned to the academy field, morning drills had already begun. Most students were engaged in solo trace rehearsals. Small bursts of light flared here and there as classmates tested elemental control. No one noticed him arrive. Except one.
Veera sat near the bleachers with her legs crossed, tracing energy diagrams in the dirt with a stick. She looked up when he passed.
"You're late," she said.
"I was researching."
"Same thing you were doing last night?"
"Yeah. The hybrid arc."
She nodded. "Try again. I'll watch."
Donnie moved to the open grass. He shook out his limbs, took a calm stance, and activated his trace. No flames erupted yet. He took the motion slow—right hand angled, left foot pivoted, shoulder lowered. His mind timed the swing as he stepped into the arc.
The flame appeared, curved and flickering.
Then it cracked and split apart halfway through.
"Still unstable," he muttered.
Veera walked over. "Your left shoulder tilts too early. Try tightening your arm position during the twist."
He tried again.
The energy formed better this time, riding the motion rather than breaking it. It wasn't perfect. But it held longer.
"Better," she said. "That rhythm might stabilize it."
They repeated the process several more times. Donnie adjusted his steps, breathing, and angle. The more he practiced, the clearer the movement became. It wasn't Lucen's style anymore. It was something else. Something unfamiliar—but personal.
The Trace Band blinked softly. A new notification appeared.
> Hybrid Arc: 9%
Status: Learning
Trace classification pending...
Veera leaned over his arm. "It's climbing."
"It still doesn't know what it is," he said.
"That's not always bad. Some of the strongest abilities were mistakes at first."
---
Later that day, the intercom cracked to life across the academy grounds.
"Attention. All students are to report to the courtyard immediately. Urgent gate security briefing."
Students gathered quickly. A large holoscreen floated above the courtyard, projecting static before stabilizing. On it, a masked figure in sleek indigo armor stood against a misty backdrop of shifting terrain. They spoke in a filtered voice.
"To all students of Region 43. Earlier today, a gate opened near the outer perimeter of the Blue Ridge fault line. It is not a simulation. It is real. Containment is underway, but the Rift is classified unstable. Mid-tier beasts have emerged."
The courtyard grew silent.
Donnie stared at the figure. Something about them seemed familiar. Their stance, the way they held their left arm slightly behind their hip. Like a movement he had drawn before but couldn't place.
The message continued.
"Watch closely. Study harder. The world outside does not wait for your permission to be dangerous. You are not safe just because you are ranked. There will come a day when you enter a gate… and you won't get to walk back out."
The screen vanished.
Crane stood beside it, arms folded.
"You're not ready to fight real gates. That's not the point of this message. But I'm telling you now—some of you are being watched. By more than this school."
The crowd murmured again, but Donnie didn't speak. He was still locked on that movement. The figure's stance had resembled the hybrid arc's follow-through.
Was it coincidence?
Or was that figure the original case?
---
That evening, Donnie returned to his dorm but didn't sit. He stood in the center of the small room, cleared the floor, and began tracing. He didn't rush it. He let his body remember the flow of every attempt. His sketchpad sat open nearby, diagrams updated with corrections from earlier.
The first few tries failed. The trace flickered, curved awkwardly, and vanished. He changed the elbow rotation. Changed the hip sway. Moved his feet slightly wider.
The energy gathered more cleanly.
This time, it launched.
A curved whip of fire shot forward, slicing through the air and marking the far wall with a scorch. Not digital flame. Real heat.
Donnie stared at the mark. A blackened curve seared into the plaster.
He checked the band.
> Trace Activated: Hybrid Flame Arc
Output: Exceeding standard bounds
System classification: Undefined
Ability tag: "Unregistered Class"
Another message appeared underneath.
> "Trace limit reached. Future usage may trigger enforcement review."
He sat down slowly.
This wasn't just mimicry anymore. The system had stopped trying to contain it.
---
Moments later, his Trace Band flashed again. A private message appeared.
Sender: Unknown Trace ID
Message:
> "I saw what you did. That wasn't an accident. Meet me near the tech tower at midnight. Don't tell anyone."
There was no signature.
No confirmation option.
The message disappeared after two seconds.
Donnie closed his eyes. His hand was still shaking.
Not from fear.
But from the feeling that things were finally about to start.
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