The ascent from the Arcanum Depths was silent.
Not the comfortable sort—this one had edges. It scraped.
Rylan walked two steps behind Leximus, yet slightly to the left, positioning himself within reach of the nearest exit arch. He wasn't obvious about it—just a subtle adjustment every few seconds, like someone navigating around a candle flame they didn't trust not to flare.
Every time Leximus' shadow twitched from the lantern glow, Rylan's shoulders tightened. Not visibly—unless someone looked directly at him. His heel stalled for a half-beat, then continued. Small things. Quiet things. But real.
Eveline noticed. Her jaw set.
Calvin noticed. His eyes narrowed in calculation, not fear.
Sirius noticed—and unlike the others, he was not thinking of Leximus.
He was thinking of the fact that the higher-ups were not supposed to know.
Yet a messenger had come for them. A young man in an embroidered navy coat and gloves so white they looked ceremonial. The moment he found them in the corridor, his voice had carried a practiced calm:
"You three—Calvin Whitereeve, Rylan Dorn, Eveline Cross. You have all been summoned. The boy is to be taken to the Silver Room first. Lady Hespera's orders."
Not "Miss," not "Madam."
Lady. A rank spoken only for those who were deeply rooted into the Order.
Sirius' expression flickered—barely—but it flickered.He had not reported Leximus yet.
And now Hespera Brindle wanted him.
That meant the situation was already beyond containment.
Rylan kept glancing at Leximus as they walked the narrowing staircase. Leximus kept his head slightly down, as though listening inward rather than outward. His shadow trailed close to his feet, not stretching…but not entirely still either.
The messenger guided them through the upper halls—tiled floors, quiet gas sconces, the faint scent of old incense buried beneath antiseptic steam. Every footstep echoed.
Finally, he opened a reinforced silver-inlaid door.
"Only the boy enters. Lady Hespera forbids observers."
Rylan inhaled sharply through his nose.
Calvin's jaw twitched—an intellectual's version of bracing.
Eveline reached to straighten Leximus' collar but pulled her hand back at the last moment.
Leximus stepped forward. The messenger shut the doors behind him.
The sound of the lock sliding into place was soft.
It felt like a guillotine.
The Silver Room
Cold. Bright. Hard.
The chair at the center resembled something between a medical restraint and a throne stripped of dignity. Polished metal. Straps at wrists, elbows, ankles. The air smelled of silver-dust and old chalk.
Charms lined the walls—sigils burnt into mirrored glass, glowing faintly like frost under lamplight. Even the shadows here looked thinner. As if the room disliked them.
Leximus swallowed and let himself be strapped in by the quiet assistant who waited inside. The straps bit cold against his skin. His heartbeat felt louder than it should.
The assistant left without a word.
Then the door on the opposite side opened.
Hespera Brindle entered like a weight added to the world.
She was tall—taller than Calvin by a finger—and composed with a chilling stillness. Her hair was pale ash-gray, pulled into a strict knot that revealed the stone-like grain across her temples. Not makeup. Not age. A mineral texture baked into flesh.
Her gown was deep green, high-collared, the fabric heavy and unornamented. Functional elegance. Solid authority.
When she walked, her steps were slow—not hesitant, but deliberate, as if every motion required the body to remember how to mimic fluidity. Her fingers had faint fissures along the knuckles, like cooled marble beginning to crack.
Her eyes were the worst part.
Not cruel. Not angry.
Just assessing. Weighing.
Cold as a buried gem.
She stopped before him.
"Leximus," she said. Her voice was deep, each syllable shaped as though carved from stone. Slight echo. Controlled power. "You are here because you are an anomaly."
A pause. Not for emphasis—because she always paused.Rhythm of tectonic plates.
"I will ask questions. You will answer. If you attempt deceit, the room will know."
Leximus felt the straps tighten. Or perhaps he only imagined they did.
Hespera lowered herself into the chair opposite him. Her posture did not shift after she sat. She might as well have been placed there by a sculptor long ago.
Her first question fell like a hammer.
"What are you?"
Leximus blinked. "I—I don't know."
A pause.
She let the silence press him. Let him hear the room's hum. Let him hear how empty his own answer sounded.
"When did your element first manifest?"
"I…it wasn't something I did. It just—reacted. During the ritual."
Another pause.
The lights dimmed by a fraction. Or maybe his vision did.
Hespera's eyes narrowed the slightest degree.
"Do you feel it now?"
He hesitated.
His shadow shivered faintly at his feet.
"I…yes."
"What does it say?"
Leximus froze. "Say?"
"Yes." Her voice softened—not kindly, but like stone dust settling. "Elements speak. Even Fire whispers to its hosts. Air murmurs. Water remembers. Earth…listens. What does yours say?"
"I don't know." He spoke too fast.
Hespera watched him longer this time. Expression unreadable.
"Did someone give it to you?"
"No."
"Did you take it from someone?"
"No."
"Was there an incident in your childhood that binds it to you?"
His throat closed. Words refused to form.
Hespera waited.Waited.Let the silence press into him like a blade laid on the skin.
Leximus' pulse spiked.
Images flickered—His parents' silhouettes.A scream.Blood against a wooden floor.A shadow reaching for him—Not to harm him.To wrap around him.
His breath hitched.
"I…I don't know."
She leaned forward a fraction. "You do. You simply will not face it."
The room felt narrower. His breathing shorter.
Then the question that broke the last thread of his composure:
"What are you hiding from yourself?"
Leximus' mind blanked.
A trembling started in his chest.
His shadow twitched, lengthened an inch before drawing back like something startled.
Hespera noticed.
She didn't move. But her pupils contracted. The stone-grain on her cheek seemed to deepen.
"Again. What are you?"
"I—I don't know—"
His voice cracked.
The floor beneath her chair gave a soft rumble. Barely noticeable, but present. Dust trickled from the edge of a wall sigil.
Hespera's hand, resting on the armrest, tightened. Stone-like skin creaked with a whisper of friction.
"Your element responds to your instability," she said calmly. "You have no foundation. No anchor. And no discipline."
Her voice hardened.
"You are a fracture walking."
Leximus flinched—physically, emotionally.
And the shadow reacted.
It stretched under the chair.Thin, wavering.Like something reaching for him—or reaching because of him.
Hespera's jaw set. The crack along her temple glinted faintly.
She rose.
"Unstable," she pronounced. "Unknown. A threat."
She turned toward the door.
"The boy is to be executed."
The words hit him like a plunge into icy water.
Leximus' breath vanished.A ringing filled his ears.His chest tightened painfully, a pure animal shock.
Executed.
He tried to speak, but the straps dug into his wrists. His voice collapsed into a hoarse gasp.
Executed.
His thoughts dissolved into pure fear—sharp, overwhelming, childlike.
No. No no no—
The door opened.
Hespera stepped out.
And the sliver of the world Leximus could see through the doorway expanded—Calvin, Rylan, Sirius, Evelyn, the messenger, several other cloaked figures—all standing just beyond.
All hearing her verdict.
Their expressions shifted:
Sirius went pale.Eveline's hand flew to her mouth.Rylan stiffened as though struck.The others nodded grimly, accepting the order as procedure.
Calvin alone did not move.
Hespera spoke clearly into the hallway:
"The anomaly is too dangerous to keep alive."
Gasps. Murmurs. Agreement.
Calvin inhaled slowly—controlled, deliberate—and stepped forward.
"No," he said.
Not loudly.
But firmly.
Hespera's eyes turned, cold and cutting.
Calvin met her gaze—not challengingly, but with an intellectual steadiness that refused to yield.
He spoke with clinical precision:
"He demonstrated earlier synchronization far ahead of expectation."
He pointed one finger, not at Leximus, but at the faint flicker of shadow still trembling near the chair.
"He adapts quickly. He responds to feedback. He stabilizes when guided."
He turned slightly.
"Eliminating him would remove our only chance to study this phenomenon. We may never encounter it again."
His tone sharpened—not pleading, but reasoning through logic like a blade:
"Knowledge lost is infinitely more dangerous than knowledge contained."
The hall fell utterly silent.
Hespera stared at him.
Long.
Then she shifted her gaze back into the Silver Room.
Her eyes locked on Leximus—strapped, shaking, barely breathing.
She stepped forward again, slowly, her marble hair catching the light. She approached him until she stood directly before him.
"If you lose control again," she said softly—terrifyingly soft—"there will be no pardon."
Leximus swallowed a shudder.
But something else stirred beneath the fear—
Relief.
A breath he didn't realize he'd been holding escaped him, shaking.
Hespera turned sharply.
"Release him," she ordered.
The straps unbuckled. His wrists burned.
As the assistant freed him, Leximus stared down at his hands.
Why had he failed to answer?
Why had every question felt like needles in his mind?
Why had the darkness inside him tightened when those memories came?
Because he had been rejecting them.Rejecting the screams.Rejecting the blood.Rejecting the truth of who he was and what he saw that night.
His power wasn't wild.
He was fractured.
And every fracture created an opening for the Shadow to spill.
He wasn't supposed to "channel" it.
He was supposed to accept it.
Accept himself.
His past.
His pain.
His truth.
The realization was quiet.Heavy.And strangely…warming.
The shadow at his feet softened.Not shrinking—settling.Like something no longer trying to escape.
He wanted to know more.About what happened.About who he was.About why the darkness chose him—or why he chose it.
He stood shakily.