The morning market stank of fried garbage and desperation.
Kay knelt on the muddy ground, his cloth spread out with a dozen wooden carvings—stars, animals, a tiny ship with folded wings. He'd worked until two in the morning, carving by the flicker of a dying energy lamp. His fingers were raw, dotted with fresh cuts.
No one stopped.
Vendors shouted over each other. A woman argued about the price of synth-rice. Somewhere, a child cried.
Kay kept his head up.
An old woman paused, picked up a star carving, turned it over in her wrinkled hands. Kay held his breath.
"Junk," she muttered, dropping it back onto the cloth. She walked away without a second look.
Kay picked up the carving. Wiped off the mud. Set it back down.
By noon, he'd sold exactly two pieces. Three credits. Not enough for a loaf of bread. Not even close to another vial of serum.
His stomach growled.
He ignored it.
Then a shadow fell over his cloth.
"Well, well. The rat's selling garbage now."
Kay didn't need to look up. He knew that voice.
Jax.
Karl's bulldog. Thick neck, thicker skull, and a scar across his cheek from some back-alley brawl. He grinned down at Kay, showing yellow teeth.
Behind him stood two other boys Kay didn't recognize. New muscle. Karl was expanding his pack.
Kay kept his voice flat. "Move along. You're blocking my customers."
"Customers?" Jax laughed. "What customers? You've got nothing but trash." He stepped forward deliberately, his boot coming down on the cloth. On the bird carving Kay had spent an hour on. The wood cracked under his heel. "Oops."
Kay's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Clumsy," Jax said, not apologizing. He ground his heel deeper. Splinters spread across the cloth. "You know, Kay, you should just give up. The academy? For a slum rat?" He snorted. "You'd have a better chance flying to the Core Star on a paper wing."
Kay stood up.
Slowly. Deliberately.
He was shorter than Jax. Lighter. But he didn't back down.
"Move your foot."
"Or what?" Jax leaned down, his face inches from Kay's. "You'll cry? Run to daddy?" His grin widened. "Oh wait. Your dad's a cripple. Can't even walk straight. What's he going to do—"
Kay moved.
He didn't punch. Didn't kick. He just *twisted* something in the air between them.
His spatial talent.
It was weak. Barely there. Most days, he could barely move a pebble. But right now, with anger burning in his chest, he reached out and bent the space in front of Jax's leading foot.
Just a fraction. Just enough.
Jax's foot caught on nothing. His eyes went wide as his balance shattered. He pitched forward, arms flailing, and slammed face-first into the mud.
*Splat.*
The market went quiet.
A few vendors stopped shouting. A woman gasped. Somewhere, a child laughed.
Kay looked down at Jax, sprawled in the dirt, mud dripping from his nose and chin. "Clumsy," he said, throwing Jax's own word back at him.
Jax scrambled up. His face turned purple. Mud streaked his cheeks like war paint. His two friends stepped back, unsure.
"You—!" Jax lunged.
Kay dodged left, but Jax was faster than he looked. The boy had muscle and reach. His fist caught Kay's shoulder—*crack*—and pain shot down Kay's arm like fire. Kay stumbled back, biting down a gasp. His left arm went numb.
Jax came again.
Kay tried to twist space again, but his focus was shot. The pain in his shoulder threw off his concentration. The distortion fizzled—a flicker, nothing more. Jax's second punch clipped his ribs. Something cracked.
Kay's vision blurred. He staggered.
"Kay!"
A voice cut through the chaos. Ella.
She shoved between them, holding something in her hand—a clunky metal box with wires sticking out. It sparked and hissed.
Jax backed up fast. "What is that?"
"Homemade taser." Ella smiled sweetly, but her eyes were cold. "Tested it on a pig yesterday. Worked great. Fried its insides." She held it up. "Wanna be my second test subject?"
Jax glared at her. Then at Kay. Then at the crowd that had gathered—slum residents watching with tired eyes. He spat mud onto the ground.
"This isn't over, rat." He turned and stomped off, his two friends scrambling after him.
The crowd dispersed.
Ella grabbed Kay's arm and pulled him away from the market, into a narrow alley between two rusted shipping containers. The stench of rotting vegetables filled the air.
"Let me see." She pushed up his sleeve. His shoulder was already swelling, purple and red. "You idiot. Why didn't you run?"
"Running doesn't pay."
"It pays better than getting killed." She rummaged in her bag—a worn leather satchel covered in grease stains—and pulled out a clunky metal band. Wires, a small screen, blinking lights. "Here."
"What's that?"
"Energy monitor." She strapped it to his wrist. The band was warm from her pocket. "Homemade. Measures battle energy in real time. I've been working on it for weeks." She tapped the screen. "Thought you might need it."
Kay looked down.
The screen flickered. Numbers appeared.
**0.22.**
His eyes widened. "It was 0.18 last night."
"The serum's still working through your system." Ella pointed at the reading. "See how it's climbing? Slow, but steady. And that little trick you did—the space thing? That uses energy too. Every time you use it, you're training your channels." She looked up at him. "You're getting stronger."
Kay stared at the number.
0.22.
Still pathetic. Still nowhere near the academy's 1.0 line.
But it was more than he'd had yesterday.
Ella glanced around the alley, then lowered her voice. "I overheard something. Last night, behind Karl's house."
Kay's attention snapped to her. "What?"
"Karl's family is trying to lock up all the academy recommendation slots. Only nobles get in this year." Her jaw tightened. "No civilians. No slum kids."
Kay's blood went cold. "They can't do that."
"They can. They're rich." Ella met his eyes. "And the admission board is full of their friends. If they pull this off, you won't even get to take the test. Doesn't matter what your battle energy is."
Kay's fists clenched. His nails dug into his palms.
Five days until the exam.
Five days to get strong enough that they couldn't keep him out.
"How do you know this?" he asked.
"I have my ways." Ella tapped the side of her nose. "People talk around machines. They think grease monkeys don't have ears." She reached into her satchel again and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. "Here. The recommendation quota. Karl's father filed the paperwork yesterday."
Kay unfolded it.
Official Federal letterhead. Legal jargon. But the meaning was clear: *Only candidates with prior family sponsorship may register for this year's entrance examination.*
His hands shook.
"This is..." He couldn't find the word.
"Wrong," Ella said. "It's wrong. But it's happening." She put her hand on his arm. "You have five days, Kay. Five days to get your battle energy high enough that they can't ignore you. High enough that even with no recommendation, they have to let you test."
Kay looked at the monitor again.
0.22.
The admission line was 1.0.
Five days.
He clenched his fist. "I'll make it."
"How?"
He didn't have an answer.
But as he walked home, limping from Jax's punches, his shoulder throbbing and his ribs aching, he saw the Core Star again. Distant. Bright. Untouchable.
And he remembered something his father once said, back when Kane could still stand without pain.
*"In the old wars, we didn't wait for power to find us. We went and took it."*
Kay touched the crystal in his pocket. The one the old hermit had given him years ago, when he was just a kid. It had always been cold. Dead. A useless trinket.
But tonight, as he limped through the darkening streets, it was warm.
He pulled it out.
The crystal pulsed faintly—a soft blue glow that matched his heartbeat.
Kay stared at it.
Then he changed direction.
He wasn't going home.
He was going to see the hermit.