Morning came too quickly.
Not in the peaceful, golden sense of sunrise—no warmth, no calm.
Ashthorne's mornings never brought comfort.
The sky bled pale violet and gray, the clouds twisted with faint traces of that same flickering anomaly-light, like the academy kept wearing a bruise that wouldn't fade.
Dorm Nine woke slowly, nervously, the way prey animals rise when the forest is too quiet.
Caelum had been awake long before dawn.
He didn't sleep.
His body rested, but his mind did not.
Could not.
The threads around the academy shifted all night.
The entity pressed once—a brush, testing the barrier—and withdrew.
Lira had jolted in her sleep at that exact moment, breath catching, heart stuttering in fear, though she never fully woke.
He'd felt it through the bond.
And he'd reinforced the connection again, a silent correction, ensuring nothing seeped through while she dreamed.
Now, as the sun dragged itself up over the jagged rooftops, Caelum sat at the edge of his bed, pulling on his academy uniform with slow, deliberate movements.
When he reached for his gloves, his fingers paused.
They trembled.
Only slightly.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
His evolution had accelerated again.
Small tremors—micro-shifts of thread density—changes in perception.
His humanity continued to peel back layer by layer.
He flexed his hand once.
The tremor vanished.
Stability maintained.
For now.
He stood, opened his door—
—and found Jalen standing right outside with his hand raised like he was about to knock.
They both froze.
Jalen screamed.
Caelum blinked.
Then Jalen slapped a hand over his own mouth, eyes wide.
"S-Sorry—! I wasn't expecting you to— I mean, I was expecting— but you— you opened— NEVERMIND—"
Caelum walked past him.
"Compose yourself," Caelum said mildly.
"I AM COMPOSED—"
"You are shaking."
"That's just my soul trying to escape my body," Jalen muttered.
Marenne opened her door next, hair tied back, eyes sharp behind her glasses.
She saw Caelum, then Jalen, then the faint shimmer of threads around Caelum's fingers.
"…Did something happen?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," Caelum said.
Jalen groaned and put his head against the wall. "Of course something happened. Why wouldn't something happen? The gods hate me."
"It's minor," Caelum added.
Marenne's brow arched. "Define minor."
"The entity tested the barrier again."
Jalen slid to the floor.
"Oh good," he whined. "Good, yes, fine, casual, normal, perfect—"
Marenne sighed and stepped over him.
"Where's Lira?" she asked.
Caelum turned his head slightly.
"In her room," he said.
He didn't need to check.
The bond told him everything.
Her heartbeat was steady. Her breathing slow. She was awake, but lying very still—as if she were afraid to move in case it made the world tilt again.
"Go get her," Marenne said.
Caelum didn't respond.
He simply walked to Lira's door and knocked once.
"…Come in," came the soft, shaky reply.
He opened the door.
Lira sat on the edge of her bed, fully dressed but pale, hands clasped tightly together.
Her eyes lifted when he entered.
They widened slightly.
"Good morning," she whispered.
He nodded. "Are you stable?"
Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"I… think so."
He stepped closer.
She tensed, just a little—but she didn't move away.
He placed two fingers along the air over her sternum again, not touching her skin, just brushing the thread-world.
White filaments pulsed faintly in response.
"Your threads held through the night," he said.
"That's… good. Right?"
"Yes."
She exhaled shakily.
He lowered his hand.
"You will stay close to me today."
It wasn't a request.
Her pulse jumped—but she nodded.
"Okay."
She stood, nearly losing balance for a moment before catching herself. Caelum automatically reached out, steadying her with a hand at her elbow.
The bond brightened.
She swallowed.
"I'm fine," she whispered.
"You will be."
The Walk to Morning Lessons
If yesterday had been chaos, today was… worse.
Students didn't whisper anymore.
They stared.
Unfiltered.
Terrified.
Fascinated.
When Caelum stepped into the eastern courtyard, a ripple of movement passed through the crowd like birds taking flight.
Some students backed away.
Others froze.
A few bowed their heads—subtle, uncertain, instinctively acknowledging something they didn't understand but feared to disrespect.
Noble heirs were the worst.
Arrogance and terror are a volatile mix.
House Kaldros students glared from the training platforms—
bodies coiled, fists clenched, muttering:
"That's him—"
"The Red anomaly—"
"He thinks he's untouchable—"
House Umbraxis heirs watched with unreadable expressions, shadows clinging just a little too closely to their feet.
House Veylor students—
His own bloodline—
Went silent when they saw him, several stepping behind others as though hiding from a ghost wearing their family name.
Lira kept close beside him, shoulders drawn tight.
Marenne walked with purpose, quill still scribbling mid-air.
Jalen followed, whispering frantic prayers again.
It would have been comical if the air didn't feel so sharp.
The academy was a wound.
And Caelum was the knife that made it.
Classroom Tension
Their first class of the day was Sigil Fundamentals—held in a large hall filled with rune-etched chalkboards, floating diagrams, and a hundred anxious first-year students.
The moment Caelum stepped in, the noise died.
Not gradually.
Immediately.
Instructors stiffened.
Students looked ready to bolt.
Even the chalk floating mid-air paused, as if trying to decide whether it wanted to fall to the floor or leave the room entirely.
Lira hesitated at the threshold.
Caelum glanced back.
She took a breath and stepped in after him.
Marenne and Jalen followed.
Everyone stared.
Mistress Halden, the instructor for Fundamentals, cleared her throat.
"Caelum Veylor," she said, voice shaking slightly, "you may… sit wherever you like."
Marenne snorted.
Jalen mouthed, "Sit wherever you like?? Is he royalty now??"
Caelum took an empty seat in the back corner where he could see the entire room.
Lira sat beside him.
Marenne next to her.
Jalen, after a moment of terrified indecision, sat on Caelum's other side like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.
The room tried to pretend it was normal.
It failed.
Students kept glancing back, expecting Caelum to erupt, or glitch, or float, or explode.
Lira felt their stares like daggers.
She shifted.
He tapped the table once, lightly.
The bond tightened.
She inhaled.
Stilled.
The instructor began lecturing on Sigil Resonance Theory.
Caelum listened.
He didn't need the content—everything she said was basic, almost childishly simple to him—but he listened anyway.
Because the room's threads reacted around him.
Fear threads.
Curiosity threads.
Suspicion threads.
All of them tangling into patterns.
Patterns he could manipulate.
Useful.
Very useful.
Lira leaned closer.
"Are you… okay?" she whispered.
"Yes," he murmured.
"You don't look tense, but you feel tense."
He turned his head slightly.
Her cheeks flushed at the closeness.
"I'm aware," he said. "The academy's attention is increasing. It's inefficient."
"In what way?"
"They're waiting for me to break."
Her breath hitched.
"Will you?"
"No."
He paused.
"…unless it becomes necessary."
She swallowed hard.
His eyes slid toward the front of the room.
Toward a group of Veylor nobles who kept stealing glances at him.
One of them—Aeris Veylor—leaned toward her friends and whispered just loud enough:
"That's the embarrassment that nearly disgraced our house. Look at him—paraded around like a weapon—using a girl as a leash—"
Lira flinched.
Caelum did not.
But the room's threads twitched.
Aeris kept speaking.
"I heard his Sigil is corrupted beyond repair. My father said—"
Caelum stood.
The chair didn't scrape.
The table didn't shake.
He simply stood.
The room froze.
Lira reached for his sleeve instinctively.
"Caelum—?"
He didn't look at Aeris.
Didn't even turn his head.
He spoke quietly.
"Lira."
"Y-yes?"
"If someone from House Veylor speaks about you again," he said, "tell me."
Her heart stopped.
"…Why?" she whispered.
"I don't tolerate weakness," he said.
"Especially in my own house."
Aeris's face drained of color entirely.
The threads around him went chaotic.
Lira blinked hard, throat tight.
"Caelum," she whispered, "you don't need to protect me from them—"
"Yes," he said simply.
She went silent.
He sat down again.
The rest of class was conducted in absolute, suffocating silence.
After Class — Instructor Confrontation
When the bell rang, students fled the room in a panicked rush.
The moment Caelum stood, most practically sprinted for the door.
Only one remained behind.
Mistress Halden.
She wrung her hands, trying to muster courage.
"Caelum," she said quietly. "A word?"
He paused.
Lira froze beside him.
Marenne raised a brow.
Jalen whispered, "We're doomed."
Halden swallowed and approached carefully, as if he were an animal that might lunge.
"I… wanted to speak about your classification."
"No need," Caelum said. "I'm aware."
"Yes, but—" She took a breath. "I want you to know… that I do not believe you are dangerous."
The room stilled.
Lira's breath caught.
Caelum blinked once.
Halden pressed on.
"Students are… afraid. Rumors are spreading. But I believe the Dominion Council is wrong. You're intelligent, responsible. You handled the East Wing with remarkable control. I don't think you're a threat."
Caelum studied her for a long moment.
Then spoke.
"Your belief is irrelevant."
She flinched.
"But," he added, "I appreciate your honesty."
Her eyes widened.
"You do?"
"I value accurate information," he said. "Your assessment is naive, but sincere."
Halden didn't know how to process that.
"J-Just… let me know if you need anything," she managed.
He nodded.
She left quickly.
Jalen exhaled.
"That woman is either saintly or suicidal," he whispered.
Marenne smirked.
"Both things can be true."
Caelum turned toward the doorway.
"Come," he said. "We're not done."
"Where are we going?" Lira asked.
He looked at her.
"Training."
Her stomach flipped.
"Why?"
He answered with a faint tilt of his head.
"Because the entity knows your threads now."
Her breath caught.
"And?"
"And you need to be stronger before it looks again."
Her pulse thundered.
"Will it?"
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"How soon?"
He started walking.
"Soon enough."
In the Training Yard
When they reached the Combat Division yard, the space was filled with first- and second-year students sparring under Instructor Kael Dravos's watch.
The moment Kael saw Caelum, his eyes narrowed.
"You," Kael barked. "Veylor."
Caelum stopped.
"Yes?"
Kael stalked toward him.
Muscles like sculpted stone. Eyes sharp as blades. Bloodstained gauntlets hanging at his sides.
"Why are you in my yard?"
Caelum pointed at Lira.
"She needs training."
Kael scoffed.
"She's Support Division."
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Caelum said.
Kael's jaw clenched.
"You walking anomaly," he growled. "You think being labeled Red puts you above rules?"
"No," Caelum said calmly. "I think it makes your rules irrelevant."
Gasps rippled through the students.
Kael's fist tightened around his gauntlet.
"You want to test that, boy?"
The threads around Caelum sharpened instantly.
Lira felt her breath leave her chest.
Marenne tensed.
Jalen screamed internally.
Caelum's voice was soft.
"If you touch me," he said,
"you'll break the remaining seal under the yard."
Kael froze.
A silence fell over the entire division.
Not a metaphorical silence.
A true, physical one.
Even the wind stilled.
"…What did you say?" Kael whispered.
"You heard me."
Kael's knuckles whitened.
"Leave my yard, Veylor."
Caelum didn't move.
"Lira trains here," he said. "Or you explain to the Dominion why you denied their stability-anchor access to defensive conditioning."
Kael's eye twitched.
"…FINE," he snapped. "But you don't touch anything. Or anyone."
"I don't intend to," Caelum said.
His gaze flicked toward the students gathering nearby.
"Unless they do."
The students backed away instantly.
Lira swallowed hard.
"Caelum… you didn't need to say it like that."
"I did," he said.
"Why?"
"Accuracy."
Her heart fluttered between fear and frustration.
"Caelum—people already think you're dangerous."
"I am."
"That's not helping!"
He didn't answer.
He was watching something else.
The threads.
Specifically:
One thread that glowed sharply near the edge of the yard.
He turned his head slightly.
"Lira."
Her breath caught. "Yes?"
"Do you see that?"
She followed his gaze.
Her stomach twisted.
The air near the yard's boundary shimmered.
Subtle.
Barely noticeable.
Unless you'd survived the white void.
A sickly distortion—
the veil thinning,
the threads bending,
reality creaking.
She took a terrified step back.
"That's— that's an anomaly forming—!"
"Yes," Caelum said.
"How long has it been there?"
"Since we arrived."
She grabbed his sleeve again.
"Caelum we NEED to tell someone—"
"We are someone."
Her pulse stopped.
"No— no, Caelum, not again—"
"You need practice."
"That's NOT PRACTICE— that's— that's a TEAR—!"
"It's small."
"That's WORSE!"
He stepped forward.
Lira grabbed his arm in panic. "Caelum—what are you doing!?"
His eyes glowed faintly.
"Teaching."
Her breath hitched.
"You don't mean me. You can't mean me— I'm not ready—"
"You won't be ready until you try."
"I'll DIE!"
"No," Caelum said.
And the bond pulsed—
warm, steady, absolute—
"Because I'm here."
Her knees nearly gave out.
Marenne whispered, "This is insane."
Jalen whispered, "This is suicidal."
Kael shouted, "Veylor, what are you doing!?"
Caelum ignored them all.
He held out his hand to Lira.
Not like a command.
Like an invitation.
A test.
A choice.
"Lira," he said quietly.
"Come with me."
Her breath trembled.
Her eyes burned.
Her heart split between terror and something deeper—a thread pulling tight inside her chest, begging her to move, to trust him, to step where she would die alone but maybe not die with him.
She lifted her hand—
so slowly—
fingers shaking—
and placed it in his.
The anomaly pulsed.
The sky flickered.
Kael shouted her name.
Jalen screamed her name.
Marenne whispered, "Don't die—"
Caelum squeezed her hand once.
"Good," he murmured.
"You're learning."
And together—
they stepped toward the tear.