Morning did not come gently to Ashthorne.
It tore its way through the academy like a blade, slicing through sleepless nights and shallow dreams. A pale gray light bled across the dorm windows, followed by sharp bells echoing from the main tower.
Students stumbled into the hallways, bleary and unsettled.
The events of the previous day still haunted every face.
Whispers spread like wildfire the moment Caelum stepped out of Dorm Nine.
"Is that him?"
"He walked into a tear."
"No—he commanded it."
"I heard the Dominion Council backed down from him."
"They're terrified of him—everyone is."
Caelum ignored them.
Their fear was noise.
Static.
Predictable.
The only thing that mattered this morning was the faint tremor still pulsing through the academy's foundations—the aftershock of the entity's awakening.
And then there was Lira.
She walked behind him quietly, her steps small and hesitant. The thread-mark over her heart was hidden beneath her uniform, but its pulse was visible to Caelum through Thread-Sense.
A gentle, white heartbeat.
A connection that should not exist.
Yet now it did.
Marenne walked beside her, arms full of books, eyes periodically studying Caelum with increasing irritation.
Jalen trailed behind them like a small, overfed shadow who knew the safest place to stand was somewhere between "close to Caelum" and "not close enough to annoy him."
They had barely reached the courtyard before an instructor approached them at a brisk pace.
Her robes were pristine.
Her expression was composed.
Her eyes were hollow with political fear.
"Caelum Veylor," she said, bowing stiffly. "You have been summoned by the High Tower."
Caelum paused.
The High Tower.
Symbol of authority.
Seat of the Dominion Council.
Nerve center of the academy's political power.
And, more importantly—
A place where only noble scions or dangerous anomalies were summoned.
Lira stiffened behind him.
Marenne closed one book and hugged it to her chest.
Jalen nearly tripped over his own feet.
The instructor bowed once more.
"Your family has requested your presence."
Silence.
Then a ripple of whispers from students gathering nearby.
"His family?"
"The Veylors called him back?"
"The disgrace…?"
"Why now?"
"Because they're afraid of him, obviously—"
The instructor cleared her throat, trying to retain dignity.
"A carriage awaits you at the main gate."
Caelum's face remained unreadable.
But internally?
A faint note of amusement stirred.
They noticed.
Finally.
Predictable.
He inclined his head slightly.
"I understand."
As the instructor hurried away, Marenne stepped forward.
"You shouldn't go alone, Caelum."
It wasn't a question—it was a warning.
He looked at her.
"Why not?"
"Because," Marenne said, pushing her glasses up,
"House Veylor abandoned you. They dismissed you. They ridiculed you. If they're calling you now… it's not out of love."
Lira nodded quickly.
"They—they might want to test you. Or use you. Or—o-or take you away from the academy—"
Caelum blinked once.
"None of those outcomes would concern me."
Jalen swallowed hard.
"W-well, it concerns us, okay?! You're—you're our group! If they do anything to you—"
Caelum began to walk.
"I will return."
There was no doubt in his voice.
No hesitation.
No possibility of alternative outcomes.
Lira hurried after him.
"W-wait—are you sure? This is your family. They could be cruel."
"I expect them to be."
Lira bit her lip.
Her thread pulsed again.
Worry.
Fear.
Sadness.
Caelum felt it through the bond.
He didn't like that.
He didn't like anything that attempted to direct his emotional environment—
whether it came from an entity or from a girl who looked too fragile to survive the world she'd been born into.
He turned slightly toward her.
"I will return," he repeated.
"You do not need to worry."
Her eyes widened slightly, the reassurance hitting her with the force of something unfamiliar and overwhelming.
"O-okay…"
Marenne stared at Caelum, expression unreadable.
Jalen simply prayed silently to whatever gods existed.
Caelum stepped onto the path toward the main gate.
The Veylor carriage waited there—
obsidian black, with silver-threaded patterns along its sides.
A crest shaped like a spiraling black sun gleamed on the door.
Two elite sigil-knights stood by it—
Chrome-tier, judging by their visible threads.
Both bowed the moment Caelum approached.
"Lord Veylor," one said.
Caelum blinked.
A title they had never used for him before.
The knight opened the carriage door respectfully.
"Your father awaits you."
Caelum entered the carriage without comment.
The door clicked shut.
And the academy grew smaller through the window as the carriage began to move.
The Veylor Estate
The Veylor grounds were immaculate.
Perfect gardens.
Symmetrical fountains.
Wide stone pathways lined with violet-burning sigil lamps.
Everything screamed wealth, precision, and calculated presentation.
As the carriage rolled to a stop before the main entrance, servants bowed on both sides of the staircase. None dared look him in the eyes.
He stepped down.
And waiting at the top of the stairs, framed by the towering doors of the ancestral hall—
stood Lord Aurelian Veylor.
His father.
Tall, elegant, imposing.
A man whose presence radiated cold intelligence.
Whose mind once shaped empire-wide policies.
Whose decisions had altered the course of wars.
His silver-threaded robes flowed behind him.
Arcane sigils pulsed across his sleeves.
His eyes were sharp gray steel.
Aurelian Veylor stared at Caelum for a long, heavy moment.
Then—
A smile formed.
Not warm.
Not affectionate.
Pleased.
Almost hungry.
"Caelum," he said, voice smooth.
"At last—my son awakens."
Caelum walked up the steps.
"No," he said.
"I did not awaken. Someone else did."
Aurelian's smile widened slightly.
"Semantics."
They entered the hall.
The Veylor Great Hall
Massive stained-glass windows lined the walls, depicting ancient sigil wielders—mind mages, arcane scholars, strategists wielding thread-like spells.
The long central table was prepared with food, untouched.
Aurelian sat at the head of the table, gesturing for Caelum to take the seat beside him.
Caelum did not move.
"I'll stand."
Aurelian chuckled lightly.
"Still stubborn. Good. I prefer sons who can think for themselves."
Caelum stared at him, expression unchanged.
"What do you want?"
Aurelian folded his hands.
"I want to know how far your awakening has progressed."
"I didn't awaken," Caelum replied.
"The original sigil owner died."
Aurelian waved his hand dismissively.
"Yes, yes, the weakling who preceded you. Irrelevant. What matters is—your current state."
His eyes gleamed.
"When the East Wing reported collapse, when Dominion readings spiked, when an entire rift obeyed your command—every scrying spell we cast burned out."
Aurelian leaned forward.
"Tell me, Caelum… what exactly did you become?"
Caelum lifted his chin slightly.
"Something that does not answer to House Veylor."
The room went silent.
Cold.
Tense.
Humid with expectation.
Aurelian's fingers drummed once on the table.
"Disobedience."
"Independence," Caelum corrected.
Aurelian's eyes sharpened.
"And strength. That is why I summoned you."
He stood and paced slowly, hands behind his back.
"You must understand, Caelum… in our world, power dictates value. And for sixteen years, you had none."
Caelum said nothing.
"You were—let us be honest—a blemish on the family name."
Still, Caelum did not react.
"But now," Aurelian continued, voice sharpening,
"you are something entirely different."
He stepped closer.
"You closed a tear."
"You resisted the Council."
"You walked away from a dominion ritual untouched."
"And an ancient entity awakened for you."
Aurelian's breath changed subtly.
It wasn't awe.
It was greed.
"Caelum… you are finally useful."
Caelum tilted his head.
"I see."
Aurelian smiled again.
"You and I will rebuild the Veylor legacy."
"No."
Aurelian froze.
"…No?"
Caelum's tone was cold as the deepest seal chamber.
"I am not your tool.
Not your asset.
Not your pawn."
Aurelian stepped closer, voice dropping.
"Do you believe House Veylor will allow you to walk the world uncontrolled?"
"I don't believe you have the capacity to control me."
Aurelian's eyes narrowed.
"Child, you have no idea the power I command."
Caelum let Thread-Sense flare—
just slightly.
The silk banners trembled.
The sigil lamps flickered.
The air warped as threads vibrated around him.
Aurelian's breath hitched—
for the briefest second—
as the pressure brushed against his mind.
Caelum leaned in, voice soft.
"I know exactly how much power you command."
Aurelian steadied himself.
"…and?"
Caelum's eyes glowed faintly.
"It's not enough."
Silence.
The weight in the hall shifted.
Aurelian's expression changed—
slowly—
from condescension to calculation.
Then—
He laughed.
A low, dangerous, delighted laugh.
"Good," he said.
"Very good.
You will not be a pawn."
He stepped back, gesturing toward the hall.
"You will be a king."
Caelum blinked once.
Unimpressed.
Aurelian continued.
"Join me, Caelum. Return to the estate. Be trained by the greatest strategists and sigil scholars. Swear loyalty to the Veylor line, and I will elevate you."
"No."
Aurelian's smile thinned.
"No?"
"I do not need your training," Caelum said.
"I do not require your elevation."
"And I will never swear loyalty to a house built on fear of its own potential."
Aurelian's face lost warmth entirely.
"You refuse me."
"I define myself."
Aurelian's voice dropped to a cold whisper.
"Do you truly believe you can survive without your family's backing?"
Caelum turned to leave.
"I survived without it for sixteen years."
Aurelian's final words followed him like a hiss:
"You walk a dangerous path, Caelum. The world will not bow to you simply because you carry a rare sigil."
Caelum paused at the door.
He didn't look back.
"They won't need to bow."
Threadlight flickered in his eyes.
"They will break."
The doors closed behind him.
At Ashthorne
As Caelum crossed the bridge back toward the academy, the bond pulsed again.
This time—
Not fear.
Not panic.
Something else.
Lira's thread shimmered.
She was awake.
Waiting.
And afraid of why she was waiting.
Caelum looked toward the dorms, thought drifting.
I will have to address that bond soon.
Before it becomes something inconvenient.
He entered the academy grounds.
Ashthorne's bells tolled sharply.
A summons.
Not from House Veylor.
From the Dominion Council.
Again.
Caelum exhaled slowly.
Predictable.