The Forgotten Teacher

Dawn broke with merciless efficiency over Vertex Academy. Kai woke to the sound of his alarm, a thin electronic wail that sliced through the remnants of a dream he couldn't quite recall. Something about smoke and shadows, about running down endless corridors.

Beside him, Tamir's bed was already empty, the sheets rumpled and still warm. The faint smell of something acidic lingered in the air—a reminder of his roommate's minimal but ever-present ability.

Kai dressed quickly in the standard-issue training uniform provided to all first-year students: black compression pants, a gray moisture-wicking shirt, and a lightweight jacket emblazoned with the academy's insignia. The material felt strange against his skin, designed for students whose bodies might abruptly transform or emit various substances. For most of his life, Kai had worn ordinary clothes, only occasionally burning small holes in his shirts when his smoke emissions became particularly agitated.

He caught his reflection in the small mirror over the dresser. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his black hair stood in unruly spikes despite his attempts to smooth it down. He looked exactly like what he was: unremarkable, unrested, and unprepared for whatever the day might bring.

The dormitory was already buzzing with nervous energy when Kai made his way to the common area. Approximately fifty students—all classified as "Developmental Candidates"—huddled in small groups, comparing notes on their minimal manifestations and speculating about the mysterious Professor Mantis.

Tamir waved him over to where he stood with three other students. "I saved you some breakfast," he said, handing Kai a protein bar. "The cafeteria was a madhouse. All the Type-A hybrids fighting for premium nutrition before dawn."

Kai accepted the bar gratefully. "Any word on what to expect today?"

A girl with pale blue hair and slightly webbed fingers shook her head. "Nothing specific, but my cousin was in Professor Mantis's group three years ago. She said..." The girl glanced around and lowered her voice. "She said only two students from her orientation group remained at the academy by winter break."

A heavy silence fell over their small circle.

"I'm Nadia, by the way," the girl continued, extending her webbed hand. "Minimal aquatic adaptation. I can hold my breath for about four minutes underwater, and these." She wiggled her partially webbed fingers. "Not enough to make me a good swimmer, just enough to make playing the piano awkward."

The others introduced themselves in turn. Besides Tamir with his mildly acidic sweat, there was Devin, who could sense approaching weather changes in his left knee "like an old man," and Ellis, whose eyes could adjust to darkness slightly faster than the average human.

Small talents. Borderline cases. In a world of spectacular hybrid abilities—of students who could control elements, transform their bodies, generate destructive energies—they were afterthoughts, statistical anomalies allowed into Vertex Academy through some combination of policy requirements and bureaucratic oversight.

"Seven minutes until orientation," Ellis announced, checking her watch. "We should head out."

They moved as a group through the winding paths of Vertex Academy, past immaculate training fields and gleaming facilities that seemed to exist in another reality from their dingy dormitory. Occasional groups of regular first-years—students whose hybrid manifestations had earned them proper placement—stared as they passed, some with curiosity, most with thinly veiled disdain.

"Remember," Tamir muttered as they approached the eastern training field, "we're just as entitled to be here as they are. We passed the entrance requirements."

"Barely," Devin replied with a grimace. "Let's not kid ourselves."

The eastern training field was the smallest and most isolated of the academy's outdoor facilities. Unlike the central fields with their advanced training apparatuses and holographic simulations, this area contained little more than an open dirt expanse bordered by a few weathered wooden benches. A solitary figure stood at its center, so still that Kai initially mistook him for a training dummy.

Professor Mantis was not what any of them had expected. Where most Vertex instructors were imposing physical specimens—their hybrid physiologies enhanced through years of training and combat—this man was slight, almost frail in appearance. He stood no taller than Kai himself, with stooped shoulders and limbs that seemed too thin for his oversized academy uniform. His age was impossible to determine; his face was deeply lined, yet his movements, when he finally stirred at their approach, possessed an unsettling fluidity.

"Developmental Candidates," he said, his voice surprisingly resonant for such a diminutive frame. "Form a circle around me, please."

The fifty-odd students complied, arranging themselves uncertainly on the dusty ground. Up close, Kai noticed the professor's most distinctive feature—his eyes. They were a vibrant green with elongated pupils that constantly adjusted, seeming to observe everything at once.

"My name is Professor Mantis. I have been teaching at Vertex Academy since its founding, though you will not have heard of me." He spoke matter-of-factly, without bitterness. "I specialize in students like yourselves—those whose hybrid manifestations are minimal, undeveloped, or seemingly unsuited to combat applications."

He began to pace slowly around the inner edge of their circle, his gaze moving from student to student with methodical precision.

"Each of you possesses genetic markers indicating hybrid potential, yet your manifestations have thus far been... modest. Society calls you borderline cases. The academy administration calls you developmental candidates." His thin lips curved into what might have been a smile. "I call you my students, and I have different expectations than most."

He stopped directly in front of Kai, those unsettling eyes focusing with laser intensity. "You. What is your name and manifestation?"

"Kai Ashen, sir. I produce smoke."

"Show me."

Kai hesitated, aware of every eye in the circle fixed upon him. He reached for the familiar sensation inside his chest, that subtle warming beneath his skin. A thin wisp of gray smoke escaped his lips, dissipating quickly in the morning air.

Professor Mantis nodded, unimpressed. "Stronger."

Kai's hand moved instinctively toward his pocket where he kept his cigarettes, but something in the professor's gaze stopped him. Instead, he closed his eyes, focusing more intently on the heat building in his core. He imagined it expanding, traveling through his veins to the microscopic pores covering his skin. When he exhaled this time, the smoke came more forcefully—not just from his mouth and nose, but in thin tendrils from his neck and face.

It still wasn't much—just ordinary gray smoke with no special properties—but it was more than he typically managed without chemical stimulation.

Professor Mantis's expression didn't change, but he held Kai's gaze a moment longer than necessary before moving on. "You," he said, pointing to Nadia. "Name and manifestation."

One by one, he had each student state their name and demonstrate their minimal hybrid ability. Some, like Tamir, produced effects so subtle they were barely visible. Others, like a boy who could raise his body temperature by two degrees or a girl who could slightly alter the pigmentation of her skin, showed abilities that might go completely unnoticed in daily life.

When the last student had finished, Professor Mantis returned to the center of the circle. "What do you all have in common?" he asked.

Silence fell across the group. Finally, Ellis spoke up. "We're all... weak, sir. Compared to regular hybrids."

"No." The professor's voice cut like a blade. "That is what the academy believes. That is not what I asked."

More silence. Kai found himself studying the professor more intently. Despite his unimposing stature, there was something about the man that suggested carefully controlled power—like a compressed spring waiting to release.

"Sir," Kai said suddenly, "we all have abilities that are difficult to categorize. They don't fit neatly into the standard combat or utility classifications."

Professor Mantis tilted his head, those unsettling eyes fixing on Kai once more. "Closer," he said. "The truth is simpler: You all have abilities you don't understand."

He began pacing again, his movements so fluid they seemed almost predatory. "The academy's training methodology is built upon a fundamental assumption: that hybrid abilities manifest in predictable, classifiable ways. Students with fire manipulation train one way. Students with enhanced strength train another. Each ability type has its corresponding training protocol, its expected progression path."

He stopped, sweeping his gaze across the entire group. "But what about abilities that don't conform? Manifestations that operate on principles the academy hasn't categorized? These are labeled 'minimal' or 'undeveloped' and assigned to me—not because they lack potential, but because the standard protocols cannot accommodate them."

For the first time, something like passion entered his voice. "In the eight years since the Chimera asteroid changed our world, Vertex Academy has produced 324 graduates with spectacular hybrid abilities—transformers, elementals, enhanced physicals—who now serve in various defense and security capacities. In that same period, my developmental program has produced seventeen graduates."

He let that number hang in the air, and Kai felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. Seventeen out of what must have been hundreds, perhaps thousands of borderline cases.

"Those seventeen," Professor Mantis continued, "now include some of the most effective operatives in the field. Not the most visually impressive, not the most conventionally powerful, but among the most successful at completing their assigned missions."

He clapped his hands together suddenly, the sound startlingly sharp in the morning air. "Today begins your true assessment—not of what your abilities are, but of what they might become when properly understood."

With that, he reached into his oversized uniform jacket and withdrew a small device the size of his palm. He pressed a button, and a holographic display flickered to life above it, showing a map of the academy grounds.

"The standard first-year training regimen includes strength assessment, reflex testing, and basic combat orientation. We will be doing none of that today." A thin smile crossed his face. "Instead, you will complete a task that requires something far more fundamental: observation."

The holographic display zoomed in on the forested area at the northern edge of campus. "Within these woods, I have placed fifty markers, each containing a simple message. Your task is to locate and retrieve one marker before sundown. Each marker is hidden in a location that relates, in some way, to your specific hybrid manifestation."

Confused murmurs rippled through the circle. Kai exchanged glances with Tamir, who looked as perplexed as he felt. How could a location relate to smoke production or acidic sweat?

"You will work individually," Professor Mantis continued. "Use of any technology beyond basic communication is prohibited. This includes your student tablets and any personal devices."

He deactivated the holographic display. "One final note: Markers can only be retrieved by the student whose manifestation corresponds to their location. Attempting to retrieve someone else's marker will trigger a rather unpleasant deterrent system."

With that ominous warning, he dismissed them toward the forest edge, where a senior student waited to record their departures and eventual returns.

As they walked, Nadia voiced what many were thinking: "How exactly am I supposed to find a marker related to partially webbed fingers in a forest?"

"That's the point," Ellis replied thoughtfully. "It's not about finding a marker that physically matches our abilities—it's about understanding what our abilities actually mean."

Kai considered this as they reached the forest perimeter. Standard Vertex training focused on application—how to use your hybrid abilities in combat or utility situations. But Professor Mantis seemed interested in something more fundamental: the nature of their manifestations beyond their obvious expressions.

The registrar, a bored-looking fourth-year with metallic scales visible along his hairline, checked each of their names against a tablet. "Time starts now," he announced. "Return to this point with your marker before sundown or receive an automatic failing grade."

The students dispersed along the treeline, each choosing a different entry point into the forest. Kai found himself alone, staring into the dense vegetation that stretched before him. Unlike the manicured grounds of the main campus, this area had been left deliberately wild—a training ground that mimicked real-world conditions.

"Just find a smoking gun, right?" Tamir joked as he passed by. "Should be easy."

Kai managed a weak smile, but as he stepped into the dappled shadows beneath the forest canopy, uncertainty gnawed at him. What aspect of his smoke production—minimal, ordinary, unremarkable—would lead him to his marker? And more concerning: what if there was nothing more to understand about his ability? What if, unlike the professor's cryptic suggestions, his smoke truly was just smoke?

The forest closed around him, the sounds of the other students quickly fading into the background rustle of leaves and distant birdsong. Kai stood still for a moment, considering his approach. The logical method would be a systematic search pattern—concentric circles or a grid—but that would take far more time than he had. With fifty markers hidden throughout the forest and no clear indication of what he was looking for, random searching seemed futile.

Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. If this test was about understanding his manifestation, then perhaps the first step was to experience it more deliberately.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the air fill his lungs, then exhaled slowly, allowing the familiar warmth to build beneath his skin. A wisp of smoke escaped his lips, curling upward through a shaft of sunlight that penetrated the canopy. It was so insubstantial, so ordinary—just particles of carbon suspended in hot air. What could possibly be special about that?

Opening his eyes, Kai noticed something he'd overlooked before. His smoke, thin as it was, didn't dissipate evenly. Instead, it seemed to drift slightly to his right, following some subtle air current he couldn't feel. On impulse, he produced another wisp and watched as it, too, drifted in the same direction.

An idea began to form. His smoke responded to air currents—obviously, as all smoke did—but perhaps this sensitivity could be useful. Kai began walking in the direction the smoke had drifted, producing small puffs every few meters to confirm he was following the airflow.

The forest grew denser as he progressed, the underbrush scratching at his legs through the uniform pants. Twice he had to alter his course to navigate around impenetrable thickets, but each time he returned to following the subtle air current that pulled his smoke along.

After nearly an hour of walking, Kai's initial optimism began to fade. The air current he'd been following seemed to weaken, his smoke now hanging almost motionless when he exhaled it. Had he lost the trail? Was there even a trail to begin with, or just a coincidental breeze?

Frustrated, he sat on a fallen log, his back against a broad oak tree. The morning had grown warm, and sweat dampened his uniform despite the moisture-wicking fabric. From his pocket, he withdrew a cigarette—a habit his grandmother despised but tolerated, understanding it was the only thing that made his minimal ability even minimally impressive.

As he lit it, the familiar chemical burn filled his lungs, enhancing the warmth that preceded his smoke production. He exhaled a much thicker cloud than he could produce naturally, watching as it hung in the still air.

But instead of dissipating, something strange happened. The smoke began to move—not drifting with any breeze, but coalescing, drawing together as if magnetized. Kai sat up straighter, watching in fascination as his smoke formed a tendril that extended horizontally, pointing deeper into the forest.

He stood, taking another drag and exhaling forcefully. Again, his smoke gathered and pointed in the same direction, more definitively this time.

Heart racing, Kai began to follow this new lead, continuously producing smoke to maintain the strange guiding tendril. The phenomenon made no logical sense—smoke didn't behave this way naturally—yet the evidence before his eyes was undeniable. Something was influencing his emissions, drawing them forward like an invisible hand.

The forest grew darker as the trees pressed closer together, their upper branches forming a thick canopy that blocked most of the sunlight. Kai continued following his smoke tendril, which grew stronger and more insistent with each step. The cigarette burned down to the filter, and he lit another, conscious of the tremor in his hands.

Finally, the trees opened into a small clearing dominated by an ancient oak. Its massive trunk must have been at least two meters in diameter, with roots that emerged from the ground like the twisted fingers of some enormous hand. And there, nestled in a hollow where two roots joined, was a small metallic object that gleamed in a stray beam of sunlight.

Kai approached cautiously, remembering the professor's warning about "unpleasant deterrents." The object was a simple metal cube, no larger than his palm, with the Vertex Academy insignia etched into its surface. As he drew nearer, his smoke—still streaming from his lips and nostrils—began to swirl around the cube as if drawn to it.

Taking a deep breath, Kai reached out and touched the cube. Nothing happened—no shock, no alarm, no deterrent activated. Emboldened, he picked it up, finding it surprisingly warm to the touch. As he lifted it, a seam appeared along one side, and the cube unfolded in his palm like a mechanical flower, revealing a small screen embedded within.

Text appeared, glowing softly in the forest gloom:

*Smoke does not create itself. What have you learned?*

Kai stared at the message, turning it over in his mind. What had he learned? That his smoke could be influenced by external forces? That it responded to... something in this clearing?

He looked around more carefully, noticing details he'd overlooked in his excitement. The clearing wasn't natural—the ground had been deliberately cleared, the underbrush removed. And the ancient oak at its center had peculiar markings along its trunk—small, regular indentations that almost resembled...

Ventilation holes.

On a hunch, Kai moved closer to the massive tree, examining its base more carefully. There, almost invisible unless you knew to look for it, was a seam in the bark—a door, disguised to blend perfectly with the tree's natural texture. And from this seam, so faint he might have imagined it, came the slightest current of air—the same current that had been drawing his smoke across the clearing.

"It's hollow," he murmured in amazement. The ancient oak wasn't a tree at all, but some kind of structure, disguised to appear natural. And it was ventilating—drawing air inside through some hidden mechanism.

Kai looked back at the message on the cube. *Smoke does not create itself.* Of course it didn't. Smoke was a product of combustion, of chemical reactions. But his smoke—the smoke his body produced—where did it come from? What was burning inside him to create those carbon particles suspended in heated air?

For the first time since his manifestation had appeared three years ago, Kai found himself considering his ability not as a final product, but as the result of an internal process he didn't understand.

The cube in his hand vibrated gently, and the text on the screen changed:

*Marker retrieved. Return to checkpoint for assessment. Time elapsed: 1 hour, 42 minutes.*

Kai pocketed the cube, casting one final glance at the disguised structure. Whatever secrets it held would have to wait for another time. He had a marker to return—and, perhaps, a professor who might finally explain what his smoke actually meant.

The return journey passed in a blur of thoughts and questions. By the time Kai emerged from the forest edge, the sun had climbed high overhead, signaling mid-afternoon. The registrar looked up from his tablet with mild surprise.

"Ashen, Kai. Marker retrieved at 13:47," he noted, scanning the cube Kai presented. "You're the fourth to return. Report to Professor Mantis at the eastern field for debrief."

Fourth? Kai felt a surge of unexpected pride. Out of fifty students, he'd completed the task in the top ten percent—certainly not what anyone would have predicted for a student with his evaluation rankings.

The eastern field was largely empty when he arrived, with only three other students seated before Professor Mantis. Kai recognized Ellis among them, her expression thoughtful as she examined a cube identical to his own.

"Mr. Ashen," Professor Mantis acknowledged as Kai approached. "Please, join us."

Kai sat cross-legged on the dusty ground with the others, the cube warm in his hands. Now that the initial triumph of retrieval had faded, uncertainty crept back in. What had he actually discovered? That his smoke followed air currents? That wasn't exactly a revelation that would transform him into one of the professor's seventeen success stories.

"While we wait for others to return, each of you will share what you discovered," Professor Mantis instructed. "Ms. Chen, begin."

A girl with short-cropped hair and eyes that seemed slightly too large for her face nodded. "My manifestation is enhanced peripheral vision—about twenty degrees beyond normal human range, but with reduced clarity. My marker was placed high in a tree, visible only from a specific angle that required me to use the edges of my visual field rather than looking directly."

Professor Mantis nodded. "And what did you learn?"

"That I've been using my ability incorrectly," she admitted. "I've always tried to focus directly on what I see at the edges, which blurs it. But if I maintain central focus and simply accept the peripheral input without trying to clarify it..."

"You gain information without sacrificing clarity," the professor finished. "Excellent. Mr. Davis?"

A stocky boy with faintly luminescent freckles spoke next. "My manifestation is minor bioluminescence—just these spots on my face and hands that glow slightly in complete darkness. Pretty useless, I always thought."

He held up his cube. "My marker was in an underground chamber, in complete darkness. When I entered, I noticed that my luminescence was reflecting off surfaces differently depending on their composition. I could actually 'read' the space through the pattern of reflections."

Again, Professor Mantis nodded approvingly. "Ms. Ellis?"

"My manifestation is accelerated dark adaptation," Ellis said. "My eyes adjust to darkness about thirty percent faster than average. My marker was in a series of increasingly dark chambers, requiring quick adjustment as I moved between them."

"And your discovery?"

Ellis looked thoughtful. "That the speed of adjustment isn't the limit of my ability. When I stopped focusing on how quickly I could see and instead paid attention to what I could see in the transition moments, I noticed details that disappeared once my eyes fully adjusted—like thermal signatures fading as my night vision activated."

Professor Mantis turned to Kai. "And you, Mr. Ashen?"

Kai hesitated, suddenly uncertain how to articulate what he'd experienced. "My manifestation is smoke production. My marker was in a clearing with... I think it was a structure disguised as a tree. It was ventilating, creating an air current that affected my smoke."

"And what did you learn?" the professor prompted, those unsettling eyes fixed intently on Kai's face.

"That smoke doesn't create itself," Kai said, echoing the message from his cube. "That it's the product of something else—some process happening inside me that I don't understand."

A ghost of a smile crossed Professor Mantis's face. "Precisely, Mr. Ashen. Your manifestation is not smoke production—that is merely the visible output of your actual ability."

Kai's heart quickened. "Then what is my actual ability?"

"That," said Professor Mantis, "is what you will spend the next four years discovering—if you survive the cut."

The professor stood, signaling the end of their discussion. "Return to your dormitories. Rest. Consider what you've learned today. Tomorrow, we begin the real work."

As they dispersed, Ellis fell into step beside Kai. "Your smoke followed air currents?" she asked. "That doesn't seem particularly special."

"It wasn't just following them," Kai replied, trying to articulate the strange behavior he'd witnessed. "It was... attracted to something. Like it was being pulled rather than pushed."

Ellis considered this. "Smoke is just particles suspended in air. Maybe whatever was in that structure was magnetically charged or had some property that attracted those particles specifically."

"Maybe." Kai wasn't convinced. The behavior had felt more deliberate, more directed than simple physical attraction. But he lacked the vocabulary to explain it properly, even to himself.

As they approached the dormitory, they encountered other Developmental Candidates returning from the forest—some triumphant with markers in hand, others dejected and empty-handed. Tamir was among the latter, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation.

"Nothing," he said when he saw Kai. "I searched for hours. No idea what an 'acidic sweat location' would even look like."

Kai felt a pang of sympathy. The exercise had seemed specifically designed to illuminate the nature of one's manifestation, but that assumed there was something to illuminate in the first place. What if some abilities truly were as minimal and straightforward as they appeared?

He thought of the message on his cube again. *Smoke does not create itself.* Something inside him was burning, creating the carbon particles he exhaled. Something chemical, perhaps, or biological in nature. And if he could understand that process, control it more directly...

Then what? What possible application could there be for more precisely controlled smoke? It wasn't as if he could use it offensively or defensively in any meaningful way. Unlike fire manipulation or toxic gas production, ordinary smoke had limited practical applications beyond concealment.

Yet Professor Mantis had seemed pleased with his realization, as if it represented the first step toward something significant. The man clearly saw potential where others—including Kai himself—saw only limitations.

Back in their room, Tamir threw himself onto his bed with a groan. "One day in, and I'm already failing. Right on schedule."

"It was just one exercise," Kai said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "And we still don't know what it was really testing."

"Doesn't matter. If half the class already failed, that's an easy way to thin the herd before real training begins." Tamir stared at the ceiling, his expression bleak. "You know what the second marker retrieval meant?"

Kai frowned. "I assumed it was a backup in case someone else found your primary marker."

"No. I overheard the registrar talking when I checked back in. The second marker contained the notice of dismissal for students who failed to retrieve one." Tamir's voice hardened. "By this time tomorrow, half of us will be packing to leave."

The statement hung heavily in the air between them. Kai thought of his grandmother's face when he'd left that morning—her mixture of pride and concern, her certainty that he would return disappointed. He thought of Jin's cryptic warning about the academy's inability to recognize potential that didn't fit standard expectations.

And he thought of the strange behavior of his smoke in that clearing—the way it had gathered and pointed, almost with purpose, leading him to his marker.

There was something there—something beyond the simple production of carbon particles. A connection he didn't yet understand, a potential he couldn't yet access.

Outside their window, the sun began its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the academy grounds. In the distance, the central spire still gleamed imposingly, but it no longer seemed quite as unreachable as it had the day before.

Kai withdrew the metal cube from his pocket, turning it over in his hands. Its surface caught the fading light, reflecting it in patterns that seemed almost deliberate—like signals, like messages he couldn't quite decode.

*Smoke does not create itself.* And neither did success at Vertex Academy. Both required something burning beneath the surface—something hot enough to transform potential into reality.