Peering beneath the Veil's cold order didn't ease Alan's safehouse existence; it ushered in a phase of rigorous, systematic scrutiny. Thorne's "protection" and "guidance" demanded complete parameters for the unstable asset he represented. Grandfather remained asleep in the Warden medical pod, updates nonexistent, the gnawing worry Alan's sole anchor.
Assessment began with basic physiology. Simon, buzzing with excitement, invaded Alan's room with instruments. He fitted Alan with an upgraded black monitor cuff, its internals more complex, pulsing faint blue light. Several coin-sized sensor pads adhered to his chest, temples, and inner wrists.
"Relax, standard stuff!" Simon chirped, fingers flying over his tablet. "Heart rate, BP, brainwaves, BMR, ambient Anima radiation… all baselines! Gotta know what's normal wobble versus actual meltdown!"
Alan felt like a lab rat. The cold sensors on his skin, Simon's relentless jargon – overwhelming. The constant low-level tingling from passive Anima absorption, his background noise, felt amplified under the instruments' gaze, making him fidget.
"Baselines locked!" Simon snapped his fingers. "Now, the main event! Active ability testing! Follow me!"
The venue was a specialized chamber deep below: the Containment Bay. A perfect sphere, over sixty feet in diameter. Walls, floor, ceiling were seamless, mirror-smooth silver-grey composite, shimmering with energy channels, studded with countless sensor probes like cold eyes. At its heart stood a solitary, transparent glass cylinder on a platform.
Lena and another Warden awaited them. A stern, grey-haired man in deep grey Arcanum robes, gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, eyes sharp and devoid of warmth. His chest bore the Arcanum emblem: intertwined book and staff.
"Alan Shaw, Master Arnold, Arcanum specialist in Anima kinetics. Overseeing the directed Anima portion." Lena introduced curtly. Master Arnold gave a minimal nod, his gaze dissecting Alan like a scalpel.
"Assume position on the platform, Mr. Shaw." Arnold's voice was flat, academically precise. "Remain relaxed. Follow instructions. Report discomfort or anomalies immediately."
Alan took a deep breath, stepping onto the cold glass. Transparent barriers rose silently, sealing him inside the instrument-studded sphere. He felt exposed, trapped in a cosmic bubble. Lena and Simon manned the external console; Arnold stood at a complex panel covered in runic keys and energy displays.
"Phase One: Passive Absorption Range and Intensity." Arnold pressed a rune.
Hum—
Soft white light glowed from the walls. Alan immediately felt the safehouse's thin ambient Anima being guided, concentrated, flowing like rivulets towards the platform! His Harmonizing power reacted like a starved beast, instinctively accelerating, passively drawing in the influx. The tingling surged!
"Energy density: 5%...10%...15%..." Arnold reported coolly, eyes fixed on sensor data and energy flow maps.
Alan felt warmth, like a mild bath, manageable. Instruments showed energy flowing steadily in, stored or converted, minimal leakage.
"20%...25%...30%..." Density climbed.
Tingling became pinpricks! Alan felt a twinge of tightness in his chest, breathing shallower. Passive absorption seemed capped; excess energy formed a faint, chaotic nimbus around him.
"35%...40%... Absorption rate plateauing. Passive range stabilized at 1.5-meter radius. Intensity: Low-tier ambient absorbed naturally. Over 30% concentration induces minor leakage and physiological stress." Arnold recorded swiftly.
"Attempt to suppress it, Mr. Shaw," Lena's voice came through the comm.
Alan focused, desperately recalling Grandfather's breathing techniques, trying to suppress the instinctive pull. Like stopping his own heartbeat – futile! The absorption was as involuntary as breathing! Readings showed no change.
"Failure. Passive absorption cannot be consciously deactivated." Arnold noted, unsurprised.
"Phase Two: Active Channeling and Interaction." Arnold switched runes.
The wall light shifted. No longer uniform radiation, but distinct streams:
A searing, crimson flow of elemental fire.
A vibrant, verdant stream of vital life energy.
An icy blue current carrying subtle mental suggestions.
"Attempt to channel one stream. Alter its direction. Or… use your 'Harmonizing' affinity to interact with, influence it." Arnold instructed clearly.
Alan stared at the flowing energies, straining to concentrate. He imagined himself a magnet, trying to draw the crimson fire. His will dissipated like smoke; the fire stream flowed unchanged. Gritting his teeth, he tried to form a mental barrier against the life stream. It merely rippled, flowing around the weak point!
"Channeling failure. Conscious control negligible." Arnold frowned.
Frustrated, Alan looked at the icy blue mental stream, instinctively wanting to soothe its cold discomfort. He stopped forcing, relaxing, letting his Harmony flow naturally, reaching out to touch it, like at the gallery.
Buzz!
Contact! The blue stream recoiled! Its icy suggestions dissolved, neutralized! The energy gentled, like a tamed brook! Simultaneously, a warmth flowed into Alan, easing the earlier chest tightness.
"Whoa!" Simon exclaimed at the console. "Look! Mental stream neutralized! Properties altered! Alan's vitals… stress markers dropping?!"
Master Arnold's eyes sharpened behind his lenses! He adjusted parameters, intensifying the mental stream, adding chaotic whispers and fear pulses!
Alan instantly felt agitation and dread. He reached out again. Contact! The whispers silenced; the fear ebbed! The chaotic flow smoothed, calmed! He even felt a trickle of purified energy feedback!
"Confirmed! Pronounced 'pacification/neutralization' affinity towards psychic, chaotic, negative Anima! Efficacy diminishes with intensity, but core trait stable!" Arnold's voice held rare animation, scribbling notes. "Test elemental fire!"
Alan tried the same with the searing fire. Contact! Instead of calming, the fire roared violently! A wave of heat slammed the glass cylinder! Alan felt a surge of heat in his skull, his power lurching wildly!
"Alert! Elemental stream reactivity spiking! Stability compromised!" Simon yelled.
"Neutralization failure! Minimal effect on pure elemental energy; may induce instability!" Arnold cut the fire stream.
Attempts on the life stream yielded similar weak results, barely nudging its flow, not altering its nature.
"Phase Three: Stress and Threshold Testing." Arnold's voice turned icy again. Alan's dread deepened.
The sphere's light snapped to a harsh crimson! A torrent of blended energy – chaotic elemental force (simulating blast waves), potent psychic assault (screams, despairing visions), and entropic distortion (mimicking Old God resonance) – surged towards the platform!
"AAGH—!" Alan felt plunged into hell! His body wrenched by unseen force; his mind flooded with shrieks and nightmarish images; a cold rot gnawed at his will! His Harmony power, triggered by the onslaught, went berserk!
He fought for control – impossible! Passive absorption raged, trying to devour the chaos, but too slow! Active channeling? His will was tissue paper under such pressure! He was battered, his internal power thrashing, trying to "pacify" the worst of the negativity, but it was a drop in the ocean.
KA-BOOM—!
Chaotic energy clashed violently with his rampaging Harmony! An uncontrolled, discordant shockwave erupted from Alan, slamming the glass cylinder! The reinforced platform shuddered violently, shrieking! Energy readings spiked red! Alarms blared!
"Containment breach! Terminate test!" Lena barked.
Arnold severed all energy feeds. The crimson light and chaos vanished. Alan collapsed onto the platform, gasping, drenched in sweat, trembling uncontrollably, face ghostly pale. For a moment, he'd truly felt he would explode.
"Record: Passive absorption inescapable; Active channeling highly unstable, prone to loss of control under duress; Innate 'pacification/neutralization' of chaotic/negative Anima significant but control-limited; Minimal effect on pure elemental or vital energy; Potential Assessment: Extreme (S-Class); Control Assessment: Null (F-Class); Aggregate Risk Profile: High (A-Class)." Master Arnold recited the cold verdict, like an inventory report.
The sting of assessment barely faded before training began. Thorne allowed no respite.
Physical and combat training fell to Lena. Venue: the Simulation Grid. A vast, open space with padded floors and walls, capable of mimicking various terrains.
Lena wore black tactical gear, emphasizing a lean, powerful frame. She tossed Alan similar gear and trainers.
"Change. Warm-up: Twenty laps, interval running." No room for argument.
Alan started running. He wasn't unfit, but the Warden track was punishing, Lena's intervals brutal. Five laps left him gasping, lungs burning. Lena stood like a metronome, commands sharp:
"Accelerate!" "Jog!" "Sprint!" "Maintain!"
Twenty laps finished, Alan nearly collapsed.
"Rest: Thirty seconds. Basic combat stance." Lena approached, demonstrating: feet staggered, knees bent, weight low, hands guarding head and chest. "Stable. Balanced. Ready to move or strike. Hold!"
Alan mimicked, stiff and awkward. Lena's training baton tapped mercilessly – insufficient knee bend, high center of gravity, lax arms. "Lower!" "Sink!" "Tight!" "Hold!"
Each command punctuated by precise taps, not painful but intensely corrective. Alan gritted his teeth. He felt like raw ore needing hammering.
Footwork drills, basic evasions, jabs, crosses… each movement broken down with excruciating precision, standards impossibly high. Weak strikes, sloppy form, slow reactions… every error earned Lena's icy glare and relentless correction.
"Too slow! Claws would be in your throat!"
"Power generation wrong! Couldn't punch through paper!"
"Anticipate! Use your eyes! Your brain! Not your face!"
The grid echoed with Lena's sharp commands, Alan's ragged gasps, and the thud of impacts on padding. Fenrir sometimes appeared at the edge, arms crossed, watching Alan's struggles with open scorn, punctuated by derisive snorts. Alan ignored him, channeling humiliation into stubborn endurance.
The most defeating training was Anima control. Instructor: Master Arnold. Venue: the quiet Focus Chamber, walls inscribed with complex serenity runes.
"Anima is water. Will is the dam. Control begins with stillness. Still mind, stilled thoughts, stilled power." Arnold sat on a cushion, voice like a chant. "Clear the mind. Feel the Anima flow within, as you feel blood. Seek to guide it to the Lower Dantian. Condense it into the Core Seed."
Alan tried to emulate, closing his eyes. But worries about Grandfather, the safehouse pressure, Fenrir's hostility, Lena's harshness, assessment failure… boiled in his mind. His Harmony power felt like unbroken mustangs, impossible to corral. The harder he *tried* to "guide," the more restless it became, the tingling intensifying.
"Agitation!" Arnold's voice was cold water. "Monkey mind cannot calm the sea! Again!"
"Focus scattered! Concentrate!"
"Breath erratic! Control it!"
"Anima leakage! Contain it!"
Each failure drew Arnold's blunt criticism. Alan's focus felt like tangled yarn, tightening with each pull. He tried recalling Grandfather's Eastern breathing, seeking that "sinking into the dantian" feeling. But the Wardens' academic, willpower-centric meditation clashed violently with the natural-flow approach he knew, leaving him more adrift.
"Intractable!" Arnold finally snapped after another minor power leak disrupted the chamber's runes. He rose, robes swirling. "A waste of time!" He stalked out, leaving Alan alone on the cold rune-etched floor, sweat mingling with tears of utter defeat.
The simulated sunset cast long shadows across the training grid floor. Alan dragged his battered, aching body back to his small room. A day of assessment and training left him physically shattered and mentally crushed. He'd seen his power's vast potential, but the chasm between him and controlling it felt unbridgeable. He couldn't turn it off, couldn't reliably guide it, and under pressure, it turned against him. To the Wardens, he must truly be just a high-yield liability.
He collapsed onto the cold bed, unable to move. The faint red light of the camera in the ceiling corner watched, as ever, documenting each failure, each struggle. In the vast, cold machine maintaining the Veil's order, what shape would they try to forge this flawed ore? Or would he be discarded as irredeemable scrap? Alan stared at the red dot, consciousness sinking into a morass of exhaustion and despair.