The Gym Where We Faced the Truth

The gym doors groaned as another impact slammed into them from outside.

The metal creaked—but held. For now.

Eli leaned against the wall beside the emergency light, chest still rising and falling like he couldn't catch up with his own breathing. Halden had dropped into a crouch, one hand still gripping the bench they'd wedged under the handles, knuckles white. Mitchel had collapsed entirely, spine curled against the wall, eyes still wide and unfocused.

Bria stood in the center of the room.

Still shaking.

Still wet with blood that wasn't hers.

She didn't speak. No one did.

Temp padded in slow circles near Eli, growling low at every bang, every rattle from the barricaded entrance.

"We need to talk," Eli finally said.

Everyone looked up.

"About what's happening out there."

No one argued.

He stepped into the open space near the center mats, rubbing the bridge of his nose before lowering his voice.

"I don't think this is just magic anymore," he said. "It might've started that way—maybe someone's power mutated, maybe it's tied to some mana-core instability—but this isn't how powers work. We've seen magic. We've trained with it. This… this is different."

Bria blinked slowly, dazed.

Mitchel coughed. "You think it's… what? A sickness?"

"A virus," Eli said. "I saw how fast the woman turned. How fast the others went. It spreads through bites, through scratches. That's not mana-based—that's biology."

Halden stayed quiet, eyes shadowed, but not dismissive.

"Then why do some of them still use powers?" Mitchel asked. "They shouldn't be able to cast anymore—magic takes focus."

"That's what makes it worse," Eli replied. "Whatever this is, it's keeping their last power signature alive. Not conscious casting. Residual energy. That woman with root magic wasn't casting—her body was reacting. Like a corpse with instincts."

Bria flinched. Eli noticed.

"But if that's true," Halden said slowly, "then we need to assume exposure is lethal. And fast."

Eli nodded. "Which brings us to the next part."

He tugged his jacket off. Then his shirt.

The room went still.

Eli didn't look at them as he pulled his undershirt over his head, tossing it to the side. His skin was damp with sweat, bruised from when the shield burst, but clean. No blood. No cuts.

"We check each other," he said. "Now."

"What?" Bria asked faintly.

"Anyone could've been scratched in the chaos," Eli said, unbuckling his belt. "We've seen how fast it happens. You can't miss a bite or a shallow cut. We prove we're clean now, or someone turns mid-sleep and kills us all."

He stepped out of his pants, standing now in just his underwear. Practical, nothing fancy.

Bria's mouth opened, then closed.

Mitchel turned away instantly, ears red, already fumbling with his jacket.

Bria didn't move.

Halden exhaled deeply, stripping off his ruined overcoat and shirt with a wince. Old scars crisscrossed his ribs—battle damage from a war most students only studied. His expression was distant, detached.

But Bria… hesitated.

Her breath caught.

Then she moved her hands up to her jacket, fingers trembling as she began to unfasten the buttons. One. Then another. The wet fabric clung to her skin, and she struggled briefly before Eli stepped forward, offering help without a word. She shook her head. Did it herself.

The jacket dropped.

Her blouse underneath was thin, soaked through from blood and mist both. The fabric clung to her in patches—over her chest, across her stomach—revealing the tight contours of her figure in soft silhouettes. A gentle arch to her back. Narrow waist. Feminine, athletic lines honed from magic training, not vanity. Her collarbones rose and fell as she breathed, still uneven.

She paused again, then unfastened her skirt.

It fell to the floor, revealing skin flushed pink from strain, flecked with mist-crystals and the occasional bruise from being thrown earlier. Her thighs were curved, strong, and the compression shorts beneath clung tightly to her form. Her posture—shoulders tight, chin slightly lifted—wasn't confident.

It was brave.

She stood there, trembling but upright, facing Eli's gaze with something between pride and fear.

Eli didn't leer. Didn't comment.

Just looked for wounds.

So did Halden.

So did Mitchel—briefly, awkwardly, then turning away again.

No bites.

No blood not accounted for.

"Clear," Eli said.

She nodded once, then turned away quickly, arms folding across her chest, face flushed. But it wasn't shame.

It was the weight of survival.

Everyone dressed again in silence.

But now, at least, they knew.

No one is infected.

They all sat on the sweat-warped exercise mats, hunched in a loose circle beneath the orange glow of the emergency lights. The auxiliary gym echoed with their breath. No groans. No banging for now—just silence and the weight of it pressing on their shoulders.

Professor Halden sat cross-legged, his back slumped against a stack of old mats, fingers pressing against the sides of his head, eyes still shut. Every now and then, his jaw clenched like he was bracing through a migraine.

Temp lay beside Eli, ears perked, body low and tense.

Eli looked around the circle. Bria hadn't spoken since they got dressed again. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, knuckles white. Mitchel sat with his back against the wall, ankle stretched awkwardly in front of him, his lips slightly parted as he tried to catch his breath without fully crying.

Eli exhaled.

"We can't survive like this," he said quietly.

Bria didn't move. Halden didn't look up.

But Mitchel flinched, like the words had hit something raw.

"I mean it," Eli continued. "No more guessing. No more hesitating. We can't afford to assume anymore. We need to know what each of us can actually do."

Halden's eyes opened—tired, bloodshot, but watching.

Eli shifted forward, his voice firmer now. "We're not soldiers, fine. But our powers are real. And if we're going to stay alive, we need to know exactly how they work. What the limits are. What we can push. Because when it hits again—and it will—we won't have time to figure it out mid-fight."

He raised a hand and curled it into a loose fist, showing the slight ripple of compressed air forming around it. "I manipulate pressure—vacuum compression, burst shockwaves. Short-range, mostly. I've got precision, not power. I can't bulldoze through walls, but I can break bone, disorient targets, maybe even suffocate if I really focus."

Bria finally lifted her head.

Halden let his hands fall from his head and gave a weak nod. "Good," he murmured. "You're right."

He pushed himself upright against the wall and drew in a breath, slow and deliberate. "I've got wind pressure too—but mine's broader. Think artillery instead of scalpel. I can create barriers, knock down groups, redirect momentum. But I'm paying for it. The dome nearly blew a blood vessel. I can't cast like I used to—not without consequences."

Bria wiped her nose and finally spoke. Her voice was hoarse. "My power forms from my arms," she said quietly. "Forearms. I create condensation—mist. I can freeze it, shape it, control density. But I'm better at precision than force. I can cut, clog wounds, obscure sight. I'm not strong, but I can be fast."

Her gaze flicked to Eli, then Halden. "I… froze up. Back there. I'm sorry."

Eli shook his head. "You didn't die. You saved someone. That's more than half the others managed."

Finally, they looked to Mitchel.

He shifted under the attention, eyes darting, mouth twitching before he spoke. "My core's… kind of a mess," he said, voice cracking. "It's—probably tied to nerve endings. I channel current through my spine and discharge through my limbs. Electricity. I can blast if I've got contact, or arc short-range."

He hesitated. "But I shorted out. That's never happened before. I didn't know it could."

Halden didn't scold him. Just nodded grimly. "It can. If you're bit. If you panic. If you're interrupted mid-cast. We don't know what this infection does to mana flow. But we know it messes with it."

They all sat in silence again for a moment.

Then Eli glanced around the circle once more. "We don't need to be perfect. But we do need to stop hiding what we can do. None of us walk out of this alone. If something happens, if someone's injured, we need to be able to cover for them—know what they're capable of."

He let the words hang.

Temp gave a low whine and nudged Eli's hand with his nose.

Outside, something groaned again. Distant—but closer than before.

No one moved to get up.

Not yet.

They just sat in the dim light— in silence, the first real plan slowly forming like breath on glass.

The silence held a while longer. No one wanted to break it. Maybe none of them knew how.

Then Halden shifted, joints cracking faintly as he leaned back against the mats again. "We'll take shifts sleeping," he said, voice low. "Two up, two down. Four-hour rotations. No one alone. Not while we don't know how close they are."

Bria gave a tired nod, still hugging her knees. Mitchel wiped at his face with the edge of his sleeve but didn't protest.

Halden rubbed his neck absently, over where his core sat behind bone and blood. "Mana's not just a muscle—it's a system. If you run it dry and don't let it recover, it doesn't just stop casting. It breaks. The kind of break you don't come back from." His eyes flicked to each of them in turn. "Rest. Even if it's light. Even if it's not much."

Eli's hand dropped to Temp's back, fingers threading through the dog's thick fur, grounding himself in the warmth there.

Then he blinked.

His eyes went to the backpack shoved against the far wall—half-forgotten in the chaos. He stood and crossed the room, unzipping it and pulling out its contents like they were gold.

"Tuna. Beans. Couple of protein bars. Dog food." He held each item up in turn, half-smiling through the exhaustion. "Not gourmet, but enough for now."

Bria gave a quiet, dry laugh. Just one breath. But it was something.

Eli passed out a water bottle to each of them. "No reason to starve while we wait."

Mitchel clutched his like it might disappear if he blinked. Halden accepted his with a nod of gratitude, and Bria stared at hers for a moment before unscrewing the cap with a shaky hand.

Temp gave a small bark when Eli opened a can of food for him, tail wagging exactly once before settling back down at Eli's feet.

The first bite of food tasted like metal and salt, but Eli didn't care.

It tasted like staying alive.

Halden stretched out along one of the mats with a pained grunt, gesturing loosely to Bria. "You're with me on first rest," he said. "You've got the worst before."

Bria didn't argue. Just nodded.

Mitchel was staring at the door— the bonking continued.

Eli sat next to Temp, resting a hand on his side, the dog's breathing slow and steady under his palm.

The lights still buzzed. The barricade still groaned now and then. But it felt… momentarily distant.

They had to rest, and hope for rescue.

Survive.