"At the end of the day, you can't keep him locked up here forever."

Standing on the balcony of the manor, Master Black spoke calmly. His hands rested behind his back, posture relaxed, eyes fixed on the glowing pad hovering before him. The faint blue light washed over his dark robes as the footage played.

The video had been captured from high above the mountain. It showed Enzo standing alone against five sanctified weavers from Weavetech, the terrain around them torn apart by violence. Every movement was clear, every impact heavy.

It was unsettling to watch an exalted overwhelm so many sacrificed. Their formations broke too easily, their power crushed without ceremony. The scene forced an uncomfortable question to surface.

Just how strong had Enzo become.

"Yeah…" Master White exhaled softly.

The truth sat heavily in his chest. No matter how safe the manor was, no matter how controlled the environment, Enzo could not remain hidden here forever. Isolation would only dull him.

The boy needed to clash with others like himself. Talents forged by conflict, ambition, and expectation. His path was never meant to mirror theirs.

The institute's goal on Gaia was clear. Build influence. Secure alliances. Recruit promising figures and expand their reach across the super ice world. Politics, presence, leverage.

Enzo did not belong to that web.

He was meant to stand at the forefront.

He was here as the institute's representative in the Hunter Games of Gaia. A brutal, high level competition watched across worlds. Victories there shaped reputations, not just of individuals, but of the powers standing behind them.

Organizations rose or fell on those results.

And the ultimate winners earned something far greater.

The chance to receive a blessing from Mother Gaia herself. The high god of Gaia. A favor that could reshape fate.

"The new student intake is today," Master Black said after a pause. "Let them meet him first, before sending him away."

His gaze sharpened slightly.

"If he performs well in the games, it will lift morale. And it will remind everyone who the institute chose to stand behind."

"Sigh, that makes sense," White said, his gaze drifting away from the balcony and toward the distant peaks beyond the manor.

The wind brushed past him, cold and quiet, carrying the weight of inevitability he had been trying to ignore.

Behind the manor, hidden between jagged stone and frostbitten trees, a small training cabin stood isolated from the rest of the estate.

Inside, Enzo stood shirtless.

His body was lined with faint scars, old and new, muscles taut as he gripped a wooden dagger in one hand. The air around him felt tense, charged by intent.

Across from him stood two figures.

Roddy, his younger brother, and Carlos.

Roddy was still training under the mercenary company. With planet hopping restricted, his powers were forced inward, restrained, refined through repetition rather than instinct.

"Watch out."

Roddy vanished.

Several stones burst from the ground, slicing through the air toward Enzo from different angles before Roddy disappeared again.

Enzo did not flinch.

The dagger moved in short, efficient arcs as each stone was knocked aside. His eyes danced calmly, following distortions in space rather than Roddy himself.

Roddy's style had changed.

It was sharper. Cleaner. Too familiar.

Watching Enzo fight from within the void coffin over the years had etched those movements deep into him, shaping his instincts in ways Enzo had never noticed.

"Hmp!!"

That alone would never be enough.

Enzo surged forward.

He appeared exactly where Roddy was still fading back into existence and struck with a soft open palm to the chest.

The blow carried no cruelty, only certainty.

Roddy was sent flying.

"Hold."

Just before impact, an unseen force seized Roddy midair. His momentum vanished as he was lowered gently to the ground, gasping as his lungs burned.

Enzo let out a slow breath.

Both of them had grown.

Their control was better now. Cleaner. More deliberate than before.

Carlos too had not been spared by the curse.

Spatial power clung to him, but unlike Roddy's unstable displacement, Carlos's manifested as domination. Objects bent and obeyed his will, crushed within invisible boundaries.

Sometimes it slipped.

Furniture imploded. Metal warped. Walls groaned.

And when his emotions spiraled far enough, living beings paid the price.

That was why he spent so much time sealed away, especially during sleep.

"Brace yourselves!!" Enzo barked.

He vanished.

The next instant he stood before them, wooden dagger flashing as a storm of controlled strikes rained down. Each attack targeted balance, timing, awareness.

One man against two.

An unnatural matchup.

Yet the gap between them was brutal.

Strength. Experience. Intent.

No matter how they resisted, no matter how desperately they tried to adapt.

They could not win.

""That's that for today," Enzo sighed, pulling the dagger back abruptly.

The tension in the cabin eased as his arm lowered, the wooden blade no longer humming with intent. His breath steadied, warmth fading from his muscles as the moment passed.

His gaze lingered.

Roddy grabbed Carlos by the shoulder and vanished, space folding around them in a hurried retreat. The cabin was left quiet, the disturbed snow outside already settling.

"Hehe, did I go too far?" Enzo muttered.

The thought surprised him, but after a brief pause, he nodded to himself.

They had blocked his attacks. Not cleanly, not comfortably, but they had endured. The real reason they fled was simple. He had smothered them, denying them even a second to breathe.

The instant he eased the pressure, they escaped.

That was good.

It meant they could withstand stress. It meant they understood when a fight was unwinnable. More importantly, it meant they were not foolish enough to die proving pride.

That realization settled something inside him.

They could survive out there.

Turning away, Enzo stepped into the snow. Each footfall crunched softly as he walked toward the edge of the house, cold air brushing against his bare skin.

Master White stood there, watching. A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

"Your friend came back last night," he said. "He was looking for you."

The smirk lingered as Enzo approached.

It had been a month since the ambush on the mountain. A month since Enzo had been forbidden from leaving the manor. Long enough for frustration to coil tight beneath the surface.

Master White knew it.

Perhaps that was why Enzo had pushed his brothers so hard today.

Enzo did not see it that way.

He had lived through worse. He had seen what hesitation cost. And after what happened to Raven, he refused to let them cling to comfort built on lies.

The world would not warn them before it struck.

They needed to know when to run.

"Oh?" Enzo paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Zeke?"

The name lingered in the cold air, carrying with it memories he had not expected to face so soon.

Zeke had been taken before Raven.

He never learned what became of her. Never saw the aftermath or the cost. The news would have reached him late, distorted and incomplete. For him to appear now, so soon after hearing it, could only mean fear had finally caught up.

Panic rarely waited long.

"Yes," Master White confirmed. "Get your uniforms. We'll be addressing some of the new intakes."

The order was delivered without emotion. It was already decided.

The new intake consisted of various forces that had chosen to align themselves with the institute. Mercenaries, scouts, defectors, and contracted elites. They were called students, but none of them were naïve.

They were fighters first.

In front of the manor, rows of them stood in formation.

"This is humiliating," one man muttered, fingers tugging at the tight fabric stretched across his shoulders. "Being made to wear clothes like this."

He glanced at those around him, annoyance written plainly across his face. They had signed on expecting loose cooperation, not rules, not uniforms, and certainly not school assemblies.

"This is completely unnecessary."

"It's just one of those things," another replied, scanning the crowd. "I heard the classes are optional. Only the yearly projects matter."

His tone was casual.

"After the assembly, we can take them off."

For him, the embarrassment meant little. The one who led this institute was a god. Powers backed by divine entities were not something to dismiss.

If wearing a uniform was the price, so be it.

"Whatever."

While low conversations rippled through the crowd, the heavy doors of the manor opened.

Three figures walked forward.

Their pace was unhurried. Measured. When they reached the front, they stopped and stood still, saying nothing.

They were all exalted.

Yet their presence felt different.

Their uniforms were not new. The fabric was faded, edges worn, reinforced in places that had seen repeated damage. These were not ceremonial garments.

They were survivors' clothes.

"Who are they?" someone whispered.

Before an answer could form, the air behind the front of the manor shimmered.

A large hologram unfolded, light bending into shape as a video interface stabilized. The surrounding chatter died instantly.

Text appeared across the projection.

How to survive an encounter with five sanctified weavers as an exalted.

A murmur swept through the crowd.

Sanctified weavers were not training targets. They were executioners. Weapons deployed by Weavetech when annihilation was required.

Surviving one was rare.

Five was unthinkable.

As the video began to play, the first frame froze on a familiar, blood stained battlefield. The camera angle was high, distant, showing a lone figure surrounded.

The realization crept in slowly.

This was not a lesson.

It was a warning.

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