The field emptied slow.
Not like a bell had rung. No dismissal order. Just bodies peeling off in groups once they realized Bradan wasn't going to shout again. Some kids wandered toward the far archways, still muttering about mana scores. Others headed back toward the barracks without looking back.
Rethan stayed.
So did Bradan.
The instructor crouched down near the scorched sigil. Ran a thick thumb across the outer edge like he was testing if the ground still remembered what happened.
It did. The lines were still warm.
He didn't look at Rethan when he spoke. "You burned hot."
"I didn't mean to."
"That's not what I said."
Rethan waited.
Bradan stood, finally meeting his eyes. "You're older than you look. Not in face. In the way you stand."
Rethan didn't answer. It wasn't a question.
Bradan crossed his arms. "You've channeled like that before."
"Once," Rethan said. "Maybe twice."
