Lira's voice sliced through the heavy air. Rian stood in the center of the chamber, his feet planted on a glowing pattern carved on the cold stone floor. The light from it flickered, reaching up the curved walls like ghostly hands. Above him, the five Council members sat high on their platforms, their faces masked by shadows and the faint, pulsing glow of Shiko-powered orbs. Each breath felt colder than the last, the hum of Shiko energy in the room growing louder, as if it were listening.

  "Do you understand the chaos you've unleashed?" Lira asked, leaning forward, her tone cutting through the chamber like a blade. "You defied our teachings and risked not only your life, but also the balance of the Shiko itself. Do you realize what you've done?"

  Rian opened his mouth, but another voice shattered the silence like a crack of thunder.

  "It's arrogance," Marcus said, his voice sharp with disdain. The senior Council member, known for his staunch adherence to tradition, shifted in his seat. His face, partially illuminated by the glowing orbs above, was a mask of controlled fury. "You believe you're above the rules, above centuries of wisdom. Raw Shiko energy isn't some tool you can toy with. It's destruction waiting to happen."

  "It's more than arrogance," Kara said, her tone as cold as steel. She stepped forward from the edge of the room, her uniform glowing faintly with Shiko sigils that marked her as the Council's chief enforcer. Her piercing gaze locked onto Rian, unyielding. "It's recklessness. The Shiko doesn't react like this without cause. Whatever it is about you that causes this instability needs to be controlled before it destroys everything we've built."

  "I didn't mean to—" Rian began, but Marcus's sharp laugh cut him off.

  "Didn't mean to?" he repeated, his voice dripping with scorn. "Tell that to the trainees who could have been crushed by your reckless flare. Tell that to the Shiko itself, which rippled and strained as though rejecting your very presence. Tell that to the countless lives lost when raw Shiko energy last surged unchecked, ripping an entire isle from the sky."

  Each accusation struck like a blow, cutting deeper with every word. Rian's fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. They made it sound like he had done this on purpose, like he was some reckless fool who didn't care who got hurt.

  Marcus wasn't finished. "Solve this?" he spat, turning toward Eryndor, who had been listening in silence until now. "Solve what, exactly? A boy who thinks he can outsmart the very force that holds our world together? Tell that to the isle swallowed by Kagen when someone thought like him before. Tell that to the families who mourned as their loved ones were torn apart by chaos they didn't cause." His eyes burned into Rian. "And tell that to Althera herself, who believed she could command the Shiko and paid the price with her life."

  The mention of Althera sent a ripple through the room. Even Lira's expression tightened, though she quickly masked it. Althera's fall wasn't just history. It was a warning, etched into the Sky Isles themselves.

  Finally, Eryndor spoke. His voice was steady, calmer than Marcus's but no less firm. "Enough, Marcus," he said, lifting his head slightly. Seated near the edge of the circle, his figure was partially obscured by shadow, but his words carried a weight that demanded attention.

  "Rian's actions were reckless," Eryndor admitted, his tone measured but lacking Marcus's venom. "But you act as if this is new. The Shiko has always been unstable, always dangerous. His connection, raw as it maybe, is not the first time the Shiko has tested its boundaries. We cannot ignore the risks, but neither can we pretend we understand it entirely. Condemnation alone will not solve this."

  "Silence!" Lira's voice struck like a thunderclap, slicing through the escalating tension with an edge that left no room for defiance. She stood, her full height radiating power, as the Shiko-powered orb above her bathed her in an otherworldly glow. The subtle resonance of the Shiko seemed to pulse in harmony with her words, lending them an almost unbearable gravity.

  The room fell silent, save for the rhythmic pulsing of the Shiko's energy. Her gaze swept over the Council, lingering on Marcus for a moment before settling on Rian, who stood motionless in the center of the chamber, the sigil beneath his feet faintly glowing with Shiko energy.

  "We will not let this debate descend into chaos," Lira said, her voice steady but firm. "The Shiko's power is not something we take lightly. Every moment we argue, we risk losing sight of what's at stake. It is time to decide."

  Her words were followed by a deliberate gesture. She raised her hand, and a smaller, unlit orb materialized in the center of the table. Its surface shimmered faintly, awaiting activation.

  "As is our custom," she continued, "we shall cast our decision. Let the Shiko light the way."

  The Council members exchanged brief, knowing glances before raising their hands, each summoning a thread of Shiko energy. One by one, the threads connected to the orb, igniting it in a soft, radiant glow. Marcus's light was the first, bright and fierce, casting sharp shadows. Eryndor's was next, calmer but resolute, followed by two others, their energies blending in a slow, pulsing rhythm.

  The youngest Council member paused, their hand trembling just above the orb. Their connection to the Shiko faltered, the energy thread quivering before finally intertwining with the others. The orb's glow pulsed unevenly as they found their voice, uncertain but resolute enough to carry through the chamber.

  "What if this is an opportunity?" they asked, their words hanging in the charged air. "If we could understand why the Shiko reacts this way, what it's trying to tell us, maybe there's more to this than a mistake."

  Marcus's scorn was immediate. "Enough!" he snapped, his voice slicing through the chamber. "We do not gamble with forces we cannot control. This is not a matter of curiosity. It is a matter of survival."

  Eryndor, however, turned his attention to the youngest member, his tone measured. "There is value in understanding," he said. "But it is also true that ignorance can be fatal. We must tread carefully."

  "Stop this." Lira's voice sliced through his, quelling the argument before it could ignite further. "The decision is final."

  With a final, decisive gesture, she motioned toward the central orb. Its glow solidified into a steady pulse, signaling the Council's unanimous verdict. The room seemed to hold its breath as she turned back to Rian.

  "Rian," she said, her tone as final as a closing door, "you are forbidden from attempting to channel raw Shiko energy again. Your training will be restricted, and you will remain under constant supervision. Any further violations will result in exile, or worse."

  The glowing orbs overhead pulsed faintly, their light casting shifting patterns on the stone walls. Rian's fists tightened at his sides, his jaw clenched as her words echoed in his mind. Exile. Or worse. This wasn't just about punishment. It was about their fear. Fear of the Shiko, fear of him, and fear of what they didn't understand.

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  The words hung in the air, heavy and final. The chamber's hum seemed to grow louder in Rian's ears, drowning out his thoughts. He wanted to speak again, to say something, anything, but the weight of the Council's judgment pressed down on him, keeping him silent. The sigil beneath his feet dimmed as its pale light faded, signaling the end of the session.

  Two enforcers stepped forward, their Shiko-powered armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. One of them motioned for him to move, but Rian remained frozen, his legs unwilling to obey. The taller enforcer stepped closer, his grip firm but not rough as he took Rian by the arm.

  "Let's go," he said, his voice low and steady. "It's over."

  Over. The word echoed in Rian's mind, carving through his resolve. He forced his feet to move, each step dragging as though the weight of the Council's judgment had seeped into his bones. The chamber doors creaked open, spilling light from the corridor into the oppressive space. As they began to escort him out, he turned his head, stealing one last glance behind him.

  Lira's gaze lingered on him, piercing and unreadable, her expression as cold as the Shiko-powered orb that cast faint light above her. Marcus leaned toward Eryndor, muttering something sharp and disdainful that Rian couldn't hear. Eryndor, seated in the shadows, remained impassive, his face betraying nothing. It was as though he'd already dismissed Rian as a failure or worse, an afterthought.

  The heavy doors swung shut with a deafening thud, the sound reverberating in Rian's chest like the toll of a bell. The enforcers flanked him, their armored boots clicking against the stone floor in rhythmic precision. Their silence only made the weight on Rian's shoulders feel heavier.

  The taller enforcer gave him a nudge when he hesitated. "Move."

  Rian clenched his fists, but said nothing. His steps echoed in the empty corridor, a stark reminder of how alone he truly was. The walls were lined with faintly glowing Shiko runes, their soft pulse matching the rhythmic hum that seemed to permeate the Citadel. No matter where he went, the Shiko was there, watching, judging, waiting.

  The younger enforcer glanced at him briefly, his tone quieter, almost reluctant. "Do yourself a favor," he said. "Don't fight this. They've already decided what you are."

  Rian didn't respond, his jaw tightening. What I am? The words burned in his mind. They didn't understand. None of them did. He wasn't a danger, at least, not in the way they believed. The Shiko wasn't rejecting him. It wasn't chaos. It was something more, something they were too afraid to face.

  They reached Rian's quarters, a modest home perched along one of the lower tiers of the Sky Isles. The structure was simple compared to the grand, Shiko-infused spires that surrounded it. Its curved walls, crafted from translucent Shikostone, pulsed faintly with energy, catching the soft light of the floating city above.

  The taller enforcer placed a hand on the Shiko-powered panel, unlocking the door with a low hum. It slid open smoothly, revealing a small but functional interior. He glanced at Rian, his expression sharp. "Stay put. Don't make us come back."

  The younger enforcer hesitated, his eyes lingering on Rian for a moment before muttering, "Let's go." His voice carried a calm finality, a dismissal as much for himself as for Rian. Without another word, the two turned and walked away, their heavy footsteps fading down the winding path.

  Rian lingered at the doorway, watching their retreating forms until they disappeared around a corner. The soft hiss of the door sliding shut behind him brought him back to the present. He turned and stepped into his home, the faint Shiko energy embedded in the walls casting a soothing glow. It was modest, but it was the only place that hadn't turned against him. A small refuge on the edge of a city that had never truly welcomed him.

  The main room was sparsely furnished. A low table sat in the center, surrounded by worn cushions, and a single shelf along the far wall held a few books, scraps of his parents' research, and the small, wooden carving his mother had made for him as a child. It was shaped like a bird, a symbol of freedom she had often spoken about but he'd never truly felt.

  Rian moved to the small window, its frame glowing faintly with the soft pulse of Shiko energy. Outside, the Sky Isles floated like quiet lanterns in the dark, their lights twinkling softly. Below, the Kagen churned, wild and endless, a reminder of the force that held their world together and the chaos waiting to break it apart.

  Through the glass, he heard voices. Low and steady, they drifted up like a soft song carried by the night. Leaning closer, he squinted at the streets below. Groups of people walked slowly, their hands folded or raised toward the sky. Their heads were bowed, their steps quiet and careful. They were praying.

  The glow from the nearby shrine lit the streets with pale light. Its tall spire reached high into the sky, and its hum, faint but constant, blended with their chants. The people spoke softly, their words carrying hope that seemed to fill the air.

  Rian turned away from the window, his jaw tightening. Their prayers weren't for him. They were for the Shiko. Always for the Shiko. They begged it to protect them, to keep their world safe. To forgive.

  The hum of the Shiko surrounded him, both inside and out. Its energy pulsed faintly in the walls of his home, the same way it pulsed in the streets below. To the people, it was a god. Something they could trust, something they could believe in. But to Rian, it didn't feel like a protector. It felt like it was watching. Waiting.

  His eyes fell on the wooden bird sitting on the shelf. He reached for it, turning it over in his hands. His fingers ran along the edges of its carved wings, and for a moment, he could almost hear his mother's voice. "The bird doesn't follow the flock. It finds its own way. That's how it learns to fly."

  Her words stayed with him as he set the carving back down, her voice mixing with the chants from the streets. How many prayers had they said to the Shiko tonight? How many offerings had been left in the shrine's glow? And how many times had those prayers gone unanswered?

  The hum of the Shiko seemed louder now, like it was pressing on his thoughts. It wasn't chaos, not like the Council said. And it wasn't rejecting him either. It felt like it was testing him. Watching to see what he would do.

  Rian crossed to the low table and sank onto one of the cushions. The Council had made their decision clear. Stay quiet. Follow the rules. Don't ask questions. But that wasn't enough. Not anymore.

  The prayers from outside grew louder, a steady rhythm of voices filling the air. They were full of faith, but faith wouldn't bring answers. And answers were what Rian needed.

  He looked back at the window. Below, the Kagen churned, wild and endless, its storms twisting like a living thing against the soft lights of the Sky Isles. Somewhere in that chaos, the truth waited. Hidden, but calling to him.

  The Shiko's glow along the walls flickered, shifting from cool blues to fiery reds to soft golds. Each color stirred something inside him. Was it a gift? A curse? The Council believed it was dangerous, but what if they were wrong?

  His hands curled into fists. His voice came out steady, but low. "If it's a curse, I'll carry it. If it's a gift, I'll prove it. Either way, I won't stop."

  The colors steadied, casting soft light across the room as Rian turned away from the window. He closed his eyes, thinking of his parents and everything they had given up to learn more about the Shiko. "For them," he whispered. "For what they believed. I have to know."

  He opened his eyes and stepped back. The Council's fear wouldn't hold him forever. The truth was out there, waiting. And he would face it, no matter what it cost.

  At last, a voice whispered in his mind, the same presence he had felt in the training yard. "You begin to understand."

  Rian didn't flinch this time. He had expected it, welcomed it, even. "What should I do?" he asked aloud.

  "Look beyond the Academy's walls," the voice replied. "Find those who remember the truth. The Breaking has begun, and you must be ready."

  "Ready for what?"

  "To become what they fear most. A bridge between worlds, not bound by their rules. The path will reveal itself when you are willing to see."

  With those cryptic words, the presence faded, leaving Rian alone with his thoughts and the steady hum of the Shiko in the walls around him. But he wasn't truly alone anymore. And for the first time in years, he felt something like purpose stirring inside him.

  Outside his window, the twin moons rose over the city's spires, casting long shadows across the Academy grounds. Somewhere in those shadows, ancient truths waited to be rediscovered, and forgotten powers stirred back to life.