The assessment room was uncomfortably quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind where you could hear your own heartbeat and start to wonder if other people could hear it too. August sat in the center chair, surrounded by enough monitoring equipment to launch a small satellite, while Agent Carver and two technicians observed from behind reinforced glass.
"Alright," Carver's voice came through the intercom, artificially calm. "We're going to start with some basic resonance testing. Just sit normally and try to relax."
"Define relax," August muttered.
One of the technicians—a woman with silver hair and tired eyes—leaned toward the microphone. "Think of something pleasant. A memory, a person you care about, a place that makes you feel safe."
August closed his eyes and tried to think of home. His messy apartment, his laptop, the manuscript he'd been working on before… before all this. It felt like remembering someone else's life.
The machines around him hummed softly, then began to whine at increasingly higher pitches.
"Interesting," Carver said. "Technician Yates, are you seeing this?"
"Baseline manifestation is… unusual," Yates replied. "The energy signature keeps shifting. It's like his Foundation is adapting to our scanning methods in real-time."
"Is that bad?" August asked.
"It's unprecedented," Carver said. "Most Foundations have consistent signatures. Yours is… evolving. Even as we watch."
August felt that coiled feeling under his ribs stir slightly. Not unpleasant, but definitely present.
"Okay, next test," Carver continued. "We're going to introduce some mild stressors. Nothing dangerous, just controlled environmental changes. The goal is to see how your Foundation responds to perceived threats."
"Perceived threats?" August didn't like the sound of that.
"Temperature fluctuation, air pressure changes, minor physical discomfort. All perfectly safe."
The room suddenly got very cold. August's breath misted in front of his face, and he could feel goosebumps rising on his arms. The cold was sharp, biting, the kind that made your bones ache.
Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
The machines went crazy.
"What was that?" Yates sounded genuinely excited. "The readings just spiked and then normalized completely."
"Run it again," Carver ordered.
The cold hit August a second time, even more intense. His teeth started to chatter, and his whole body began to shiver violently.
And then… nothing.
Not warming up gradually. Just immediate, perfect comfort, like the cold had never existed.
"Remarkable," Yates breathed. "His Foundation just made him completely immune to temperature extremes. In real-time."
"Try the pressure test," Carver said.
August felt like someone was slowly inflating a balloon inside his skull. The pressure built until his ears popped and his vision started to blur.
Then it stopped.
"Same result," Yates reported. "Complete adaptation within seconds."
They tried sound—a piercing shriek that should have been unbearable. August winced for maybe three seconds before his Foundation made him immune to auditory damage.
They tried light—blinding strobes that should have triggered seizures. His eyes adapted almost instantly.
"This is incredible," Carver said. "Your Foundation appears to be a real-time adaptive immunity system. Every form of harm or discomfort we introduce, you become permanently immune to within moments."
"Permanently?" August asked.
"Well, theoretically. We'd need long-term studies to confirm, but based on these readings, yes. Once your Foundation adapts to a specific threat, that threat should never be able to affect you again."
August thought about the fall that should have killed him. The Forsaken that had run away. The way he'd walked for hours without getting tired.
"What's the classification on something like this?" he asked.
Silence from the observation room.
"That's… complicated," Carver said finally. "On one hand, it's clearly powerful enough to warrant a high classification. On the other hand, it's purely defensive. You're not a threat to others, but you could theoretically become immune to any form of control or containment."
"Which makes you very dangerous in a different way," Yates added.
The door to the observation room opened, and Carver stepped out. His expression was thoughtful rather than alarmed, which August took as a good sign.
"I need to ask you some questions," Carver said. "And I need you to be completely honest with me, because the answers will determine how we proceed."
"Okay."
"Have you ever deliberately harmed another person?"
"No."
"Have you ever felt uncontrollable urges to use your Foundation aggressively?"
"I didn't even know I had a Foundation until today."
"When did it first manifest?"
August hesitated. How do you explain falling through reality after meeting a mysterious entity on a bridge made of crystallized dreams?
"Recently," he said. "Very recently."
"Trauma-induced manifestation," Carver nodded. "That fits the profile. Sometimes extreme stress can trigger late-developing Foundations." He sat down across from August. "Here's the thing. Your Foundation is powerful, but it's also potentially stabilizing. If what we've observed is accurate, you could become one of the safest people in the city. Nothing could hurt you, which means you'd never be forced into a situation where you might lash out."
"That sounds good?"
"It is good. But it also means we have no way to control you if you decide to become a problem. No prison could hold you, no weapon could stop you, no authority could compel you if you chose to resist."
August shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm not going to become a problem."
"I believe you. But I also need to make sure the city council believes you." Carver pulled out a tablet and began making notes. "I'm going to recommend a provisional Class B classification with a six-month review period. That gives you most of the freedoms of a normal citizen while keeping you under observation."
"What would happen if I got classified higher?"
"Class A Foundations are required to live in monitored housing and report for regular evaluations. Class S…" Carver paused. "Let's just say there's no Class S housing. People with Class S Foundations either work for the government or they live outside the city."
"Like Arthur Solvain?"
Carver's expression went carefully neutral. "What do you know about Arthur Solvain?"
"Just that he's supposed to be dangerous. But I thought he was one of the good guys."
"Arthur Solvain," Carver said slowly, "is the reason we have Foundation classifications in the first place. His manifestation is so far beyond anything we understand that we had to create new categories just to describe it. He's not evil, as far as we know, but he's also not exactly stable."
"What does his Foundation do?"
"Nobody knows for certain. The reports are contradictory and frankly unbelievable. Reality manipulation, time distortion, matter conversion—pick any impossible thing and there's probably a witness who claims they saw Arthur do it."
August felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room temperature. "Where is he now?"
"Why do you want to know?"
August realized he was treading on dangerous ground. "Just curious. You made him sound so mysterious."
Carver studied him for a moment. "Arthur Solvain operates in the Disputed Zones, beyond the reach of any city's authority. He appears when there are major Forsaken incursions, deals with the threat, and then disappears again. Some people call him a hero. Others call him a walking apocalypse waiting to happen."
"And which do you think he is?"
"I think," Carver said, "that he's a person who's been alone with power too great for any one individual to possess. And that never ends well for anyone."
The door to the observation room opened again, and Yates emerged carrying a small device that looked like a cross between a smartphone and a medical scanner.
"Personal Foundation monitor," she explained, handing it to August. "It'll track your manifestation events and alert medical personnel if your Foundation shows signs of instability. Standard issue for all classified individuals."
August clipped the device to his belt. It was surprisingly light.
"Congratulations," Carver said. "You're now officially August Philistine, Foundation Classification B-7, Adaptive Immunity Manifestation. Welcome to the registered population of Edgeharbor."
"That's it? I can just… go?"
"You can go. But remember—six months of observation. Stay out of trouble, report any unusual manifestation events, and don't try to leave the city without filing the proper paperwork."
August stood up, still slightly amazed that he wasn't being locked in a cell somewhere.
"One more thing," Carver said as August reached the door. "Your Foundation is remarkable, but it's also new. New manifestations can be unpredictable. If you start experiencing side effects—mood changes, sensory distortions, anything unusual—report them immediately."
"What kind of side effects?"
"Foundations change people," Yates said quietly. "Sometimes in ways that aren't immediately obvious. The more powerful the Foundation, the more… significant the changes can be."
August nodded, trying not to think about what that might mean for Arthur, whose Foundation was apparently beyond classification.
"I'll be careful," he said.
"See that you are," Carver replied. "Because if your Foundation starts manifesting in ways we haven't anticipated, our current assessment could change very quickly."
August left the registry building with a head full of questions and a growing sense that he was walking a tightrope he couldn't see. The city spread out around him in all its impossible complexity, and somewhere out there in the Disputed Zones, Arthur Solvain was doing things that defied explanation.
He pulled out the manuscript page, now thoroughly worn and barely legible. Only a few words were still visible:
"Arthur appears… storm rises…"
"Well," August said to himself, "at least now I know why there's a storm."
He just had to figure out how to survive it.