Donnie didn't report to the standard combat grounds that morning.
Instead, as drills began across the academy fields, he slipped into the side hallway behind the library, passed a restricted gate, and made his way down to the old quarter—Ridgewood's original east wing. It had been decommissioned years ago. Students barely remembered it existed.
But the Trace Band on his wrist had flashed a message again before sunrise:
> "Room 2C. After drills. Come alone."
— T.Z.
The door was unmarked.
Metal, rusted slightly at the edges, like it had been untouched for years. But the handle turned easily when Donnie pushed.
The room beyond looked nothing like a storage hall or forgotten wing.
It was clean. Lit with white trace panels in a grid on the ceiling. No chairs, no desks—just a square chamber with a chalkboard wall, five closed lockers, and what looked like a practice mat in the center.
A voice greeted him the moment he entered.
"You came."
Trace Zero stood at the far end, hood lowered. In this light, Donnie got a better look. Still young—probably not much older than Donnie himself. The eyes were sharp, confident, but tired in a way that didn't come from lack of sleep.
"You're flagged now," Trace Zero said.
Donnie nodded. "They're watching everything I do."
"Good."
"Good?"
"That means you're growing. And they're scared."
Trace Zero walked to the center of the room.
"I brought you here for a reason. There are others like you. Not many, but a few. People who unlocked traces that weren't meant to be unlocked. Who couldn't be ranked. Who stopped trying to be categorized."
Donnie stepped forward. "You were one of them."
"I was."
"You still are."
Trace Zero tilted their head. "Not quite. I stopped evolving a year ago. They clamped my growth. Locked my trace at 63% and sealed all access routes."
Donnie winced. "How?"
"They sent me to the Guild. Claimed it was for advanced training. But they placed inhibitors in my Trace Band—ones that override any system loop beyond a certain threshold. I can't trace above C-rank now. No matter how hard I try."
Donnie stared at the floor.
"So why help me?"
Trace Zero raised a hand, forming a soft blue spark between their fingers.
"Because you can go further. You're developing hybrid trace threads without artificial spikes. That means you're building naturally. Organically. That's rare."
Donnie looked up.
"You've seen the flame spiral?"
"I've seen the echo of it. More than once."
They walked to one of the lockers and opened it.
Inside was a simple set of gloves. Black, reinforced with trace-threaded seams. Trace Zero tossed them to Donnie.
"Put them on."
Donnie did.
The gloves tightened slightly on contact, adapting to his grip.
"They'll help you train without broadcasting everything to the external trace readers. I've rerouted the tracking signals into a ghost node. They'll think you're meditating."
"You hacked my Trace Band?"
"I helped it breathe."
Trace Zero stepped back. "Now show me what you've been working on."
---
Donnie took his stance at the center of the mat.
He performed the Flame Spiral. Then the Ascending Spiral. Both came easily now, like second nature. He didn't even need to think about the rhythm anymore.
Trace Zero observed without speaking.
Then Donnie tried the Spiral Surge—the triple-arc movement he'd only executed once before.
It stuttered halfway.
The flame collapsed before reaching full rotation.
He sighed.
"It still breaks mid-way."
"Because you're forcing the merge too early. Slow the first two motions. Treat the final swing like a rebound."
Donnie adjusted.
This time, the trace launched. The flame spiraled upward, then curved down hard in a backward sweep.
Trace Zero nodded.
"Now you're ready."
"For what?"
"To meet the others."
---
Later that afternoon, Donnie stood at the edge of the abandoned West Yard behind Ridgewood's gymnasium. It wasn't technically restricted, but no one ever used it. The concrete was cracked, the arena tiles long faded. The automated gates were shut.
Trace Zero waited with two other students.
Donnie didn't recognize them.
One was tall, dark-skinned, with short hair and a scar across the nose. The other was smaller, lean, with gray eyes and an almost casual stance—like nothing here could ever worry them.
Trace Zero introduced them simply.
"This is Lora. That's Kaito."
Donnie nodded.
Lora gave a sharp nod back. Kaito just waved lazily.
"He's the one?" Lora asked.
Trace Zero nodded.
Kaito stepped forward. "You built your own trace?"
"Working on it," Donnie replied.
"Prove it."
Donnie didn't hesitate.
He performed the Spiral Surge again. This time, smoother than ever. It flared high and sliced downward in a clean arc, leaving a scorch along the ground.
Lora let out a low whistle.
"That's not an academy move."
"No," Trace Zero said. "It's a break."
"A break?" Donnie echoed.
"It's when a trace detaches from standard flow lines. Not an enhancement. Not a mimic. A complete branch."
"Can you do it?" Donnie asked Kaito.
The gray-eyed boy smiled. "I can't do yours. But I've got mine."
He stepped forward and vanished.
Literally.
Donnie blinked.
Then Kaito reappeared two feet behind him, grinning.
"Phase Step," he said. "One-second displacement through trace frequency shift. Illegal, by academy standards."
Donnie turned slowly. "You moved."
"Sort of. Not teleportation. Just misalignment. Takes insane focus, but the payoff's worth it."
"And Lora?"
She extended one hand. A blade of air formed—not solid, not wind, but a translucent edge of vibrating trace energy.
"Trace distortion blade. Changes frequency to bypass defense coatings."
Donnie nodded slowly.
They weren't just anomalies.
They were weapons.
---
Over the next hour, they trained.
Not like regular students.
They didn't do drills. They broke patterns. Flipped standard abilities upside-down. Lora taught Donnie how to destabilize flame control just enough to get erratic motion curves. Kaito helped him correct his rebound pivot.
Trace Zero stood back and watched.
Finally, Donnie asked the question that had been building since the moment he entered Room 2C.
"How far does this go?"
Trace Zero walked to the edge of the yard, hands in pockets.
"As far as you're willing to be hunted."
Donnie froze.
"Hunted?"
"There are groups inside the Guild. Groups that monitor trace anomalies. They call themselves Watchmen. They don't arrest. They don't interrogate. They isolate and erase."
Kaito cracked his neck. "Trace deletion."
Lora said nothing.
Donnie's heart picked up.
"So what happens if they find us?"
Trace Zero turned.
"They've already found you. The moment you got flagged."
Donnie swallowed hard.
"Then why train me?"
"Because if they're going to come," Trace Zero said, "you better have something strong enough to fight back with."
---
That night, Donnie returned to his room.
His hands ached. His shoulders felt like stone. But his mind had never been clearer.
He opened his sketchpad.
For the first time, he didn't draw Lucen. Or Veera. Or Trace Zero.
He drew himself.
And beneath the sketch, he wrote:
> "Trace Type: Break Arc – Under Construction"
"Future Prediction: Unranked ≠ Weak"
Then, his Trace Band lit up with a system message.
> Trace Thread Surpassed 30% Hybrid Recognition
Alert: Classified Upgrade Pending
External Review Level: Red
Response Team En Route – Arrival ETA: 72 Hours
Donnie stared at the screen.
He was out of time.
© Anthony Osifo 2025 – All rights reserved.