Dawn did not so much arrive over Ashthorne as bleed into it.
The sky didn't brighten; it thinned, as if the darkness reluctantly allowed morning to peer through its cracks. Sigil-lamps guttered, dimmed, then flared again as the academy's defensive formations recalibrated after the previous day's instability.
Most students slept poorly.
Some not at all.
A few—very few—slept like the dead.
Caelum Veylor wasn't one of them.
He hadn't slept.
Not because of nightmares.
Not because of fear.
Not even because of the entity's lingering whispers beneath the academy stone.
He simply didn't require sleep in the traditional sense anymore.
Instead, he spent the hours between dusk and dawn:
observing
mapping
listening
calculating
disassembling and reassembling every thread of the previous day's anomaly in his mind
and tracing the bond until it hummed like a second pulse beneath his ribs.
He sat on the edge of his narrow Dorm Nine bed, back straight, head tilted slightly as his Thread-Sense traced every fluctuation in the academy walls.
He felt the shifting of restrictions aimed at him—
new surveillance layers
adjusted sigil pings
Dominion watchers shifting posts
the faint quiver of a newly installed suppression measure outside the training yards.
They were rearranging the board.
Correct.
Necessary.
Expected.
He wasn't offended.
He was interested.
Lira Wakes to a Mind Not Entirely Her Own
Lira woke with a gasp.
Not a scream.
Not panic.
Just a sharp, startled inhale—
as if she'd fallen from a dream into the waking world too quickly.
Her vision swam.
Something inside her—
something just beneath her sternum—
throbbed in a slow, steady rhythm.
The bond.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
Her fingers trembled.
She felt… stretched.
Not painfully.
Not dangerously.
But undeniably changed.
A whisper of white threads ghosted her peripheral vision as she blinked.
She immediately yanked her gaze away.
"Nope," she whispered hoarsely. "Not doing that again. Not first thing in the morning."
She pushed herself upright.
Her body felt like she'd run ten miles while simultaneously having her soul pulled through a keyhole.
She staggered to her tiny dorm sink, splashed water on her face, and studied her reflection.
Her eyes were the same color as always—
—but the pupils were a hair too sharp.
A hair too reactive.
A hair too bright.
She groaned.
"Caelum's going to say this is 'expected.' I know it."
A knock shook her door.
For a moment her heart jumped—
but the bond didn't flare in alarm.
It pulsed faintly, flatly.
Not Caelum, then.
She opened the door.
Marenne stood there, hair a mess, glasses crooked, notebook under one arm and a steaming mug in the other.
"You look awful," Marenne said bluntly.
"You always know how to make a girl feel better," Lira muttered.
Marenne pushed past her and handed her the mug.
"Drink. Stabilization tea. Edevra formula."
Lira blinked. "Is that safe?"
"No," Marenne said. "That's why it works."
Lira downed it.
Then nearly choked.
"Oh—oh gods—that's—what is—why—"
"Stabilization tea," Marenne repeated. "You'll thank me later."
Lira wheezed.
"…Will I?"
"No idea," Marenne said cheerfully. "Let's go. Caelum's waiting."
Lira froze.
"He's—what? Waiting? For me?"
"Of course. You think he'd just go to class without you after yesterday?" Marenne snorted. "Please. Half the academy expects you to explode."
"That doesn't make me feel better."
"It shouldn't."
Outside Dorm Nine — Caelum Waits
Caelum stood beneath the archway like he'd been carved there at dawn.
His uniform was immaculate.
His posture effortless.
His expression unreadable.
But the moment Lira stepped outside, Thread-Sense rippling faintly around her like warm static—
his gaze slid to her.
Not critically.
Not coldly.
Assessing.
She nearly tripped under the weight of it.
"Good," he said.
She blinked. "Good what?"
"Your threads are aligned," he said. "Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"Seventy percent."
"Is that… safe?"
"No."
Marenne sighed. "He means fine. That's his version of fine."
"It is not 'fine,'" Caelum clarified. "It is acceptable for now."
Lira groaned.
Jalen stumbled out behind them, yawning, hair sticking out in multiple directions.
"Are we all pretending yesterday didn't happen?" he asked weakly. "Because I'm fine with that. I'm more than fine. I'm—"
"You're wearing your shirt backward," Marenne interrupted.
Jalen looked down.
"…Maybe I should go home."
"Too late," Caelum said. "We have class."
"What class?" Lira asked.
Caelum began walking.
"Adjusted curriculum," he said.
"Meaning…?"
"A full academy assessment."
Lira paled.
"Full— as in—"
"As in they're going to test you," Caelum said.
She stopped dead.
"…Me?"
"Yes."
"No. No no no. Why? Yesterday I almost— I almost—"
"Yes," he said. "You did."
"That's not— you're supposed to say something comforting!"
"That was comforting," Caelum said.
"It really wasn't!" she squeaked.
Marenne patted her shoulder sympathetically.
"Look on the bright side," she said. "If you fail, you'll probably only be unconscious for a week."
"That's not the bright side!"
"You won't be dead," Marenne added.
"That is SUCH a terrible bright side!"
Caelum paused and turned back toward her.
"Lira," he said.
She shut her mouth.
His eyes held her for a long moment.
"A test cannot harm you more than a tear," he said. "A controlled assessment is preferable to blind instability."
She swallowed.
"What… what do I have to do?"
"Nothing," Caelum said.
"What?"
"You don't do anything," he repeated. "You stand beside me."
Her cheeks heated.
"That— that's the test?"
"No," he said. "It's the baseline."
She blinked.
"…So what's the actual test?"
He turned away.
"They won't tell us," he said.
She felt faint.
The Academy Watches the Red Anomaly Arrive
Walking through the academy was a nightmare.
Students stared.
Whispered.
Backed away.
Pointed.
Some looked awed.
Others terrified.
A few furious.
A group of Magic Division nobles stepped aside dramatically, whispering too loudly:
"That girl—
The anomaly anchor—
She looks normal—
Are they sure she won't explode—
I heard the bond eats your memories—
I heard she'll go insane—
I heard she's his puppet—
I heard—"
Lira's shoulders hunched.
Her pulse fluttered.
She wanted to disappear.
Caelum's steps slowed.
His gaze flicked once, almost lazily, toward the whispering nobles.
He didn't glare.
He didn't speak.
He didn't even frown.
But the moment his eyes passed over them—
every one of them fell silent.
A few flinched.
One swallowed and stepped back so fast he stumbled.
The bond thrummed faintly.
He hadn't done anything.
He didn't have to.
Lira swallowed.
"You didn't—" she whispered.
"No."
"But they— they backed away—"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Fear."
She wanted to argue.
But… she'd felt it too.
He didn't need to bare teeth to be dangerous.
He simply was.
Assessment Hall — Where Sigils Are Measured, Souls Are Seen
A massive crowd waited outside the Assessment Hall.
Combat Division.
Magic Division.
Support Division.
Strategy Division.
Even instructors.
And—
Dominion agents.
Two of them.
Standing by the door.
The moment Caelum approached, the agents straightened.
The way one might straighten before facing something they did not fully comprehend.
"Caelum Veylor," one announced. "Category Red Contained Anomaly."
Students murmured.
Lira wanted to sink into the floor.
The other agent looked at her.
"Lira Ainsworth," he said. "Bound stability-anchor."
Her stomach twisted.
She expected Caelum to ignore it.
He didn't.
His voice dropped with a subtle sharpness.
"Use her name," he said. "Not the classification."
The agent blinked.
"…The designation is required—"
"Use her name," Caelum repeated.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just absolute.
The agent nodded stiffly.
"…Lira Ainsworth."
The hall doors groaned open.
"Enter."
Caelum stepped inside first.
Lira followed.
Jalen whispered, "This is how I die," before entering behind them.
Marenne scribbled furiously.
Inside — Where Everything Can Be Seen
The Assessment Hall was a cathedral of sigils.
Golden runes floated in spirals up the stone pillars.
A massive formation circle dominated the floor.
Crystals glowed overhead like suspended stars.
Dominion Councilor Voss stood at the far end.
Lira froze.
Voss's presence was a cold blade.
Her chains were dim.
Her wings half-folded.
Her gaze fixed on Caelum and Lira with a sharp, clinical focus.
Beside Voss stood three other examiners:
Instructor Kael Dravos, looking irritated and exhausted.
Mistress Lysandra Vale, elegant and cold-eyed.
Artheon the Bound, forbidden instructor—
smiling faintly
as if delighted
that someone had set fire to his favorite laboratory.
"Begin," Voss said without preamble.
The formation circle flared.
"First assessment," she said. "Thread interference tolerance."
Lira tensed.
"That sounds bad," she whispered.
"It is," Caelum confirmed.
"That doesn't help."
"You asked."
She groaned.
Test One — Thread Pressure
The circle pulsed.
A wave of pressure crashed outward—
like gravity had doubled
then tripled
then condensed into needles.
Students staggered.
Jalen yelped.
Marenne grappled for her notebook.
Lira felt the bond snap taut inside her.
Coldness slid down her spine.
Her knees buckled—
Caelum's hand closed around her arm.
Calm poured through the bond.
Her panic smothered beneath it.
She gasped.
The pressure intensified.
"What are they doing?" she whispered.
"Measuring your tolerance," Caelum said. "To see if the bond destabilizes under strain."
"W-what if it does?"
"It won't."
"How can you—"
"It won't," he repeated.
She clung to his certainty like a lifeline.
The pressure continued building—
until Lira saw white edges creeping into her vision.
Her breath faltered.
Her fingers twitched.
Her soul felt like it was tearing.
"Caelum—"
"Yes."
"I can't—"
"You can."
"I'm going to fall—"
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm holding you."
Her knees buckled.
She pitched forward—
—and Caelum caught her fully, one hand braced against her spine, the other steadying her wrist.
The bond swelled between them.
Pressure crashed over them.
Then—
The circle dimmed.
Lira slumped against him, trembling.
She clutched his uniform, mortified.
"I— I'm sorry—"
"For what?" he asked.
"For being— this weak—"
"You are not weak," he said.
"Then what was that?"
"You are untrained," he said. "That is different."
Her breath hitched.
Voss's voice cut in.
"Assessment: The bond stabilized at seventy percent. Acceptable."
Lira's head snapped up.
"That was— acceptable?"
"Yes," Voss said. "For an anomaly-bound student, it is above projection."
Above projection.
Her heart thudded.
She wasn't failing.
She wasn't drowning.
She was… passing.
Barely.
But passing.
Test Two — Mental Resonance
"Next," Voss said. "Mental resonance stability."
Artheon stepped forward, chains rattling.
"This will hurt," he said cheerfully.
Lira whimpered.
Artheon placed his hand on the sigil crystal.
The world went silent.
Then—
A whisper slid across Lira's mind.
"weak… fragile… pliant…"
Her breath hitched.
The whisper deepened.
"breakable…
bendable…
useful…"
She tried to shove it away—
but it wasn't a voice she could fight.
It was a pressure.
A probing.
A test.
Her thoughts disjointed.
Her vision blurred.
Her heart hammered.
"Caelum," she whispered. "It's— it's in my head—"
"Yes," he said. "Let it."
"What— NO—"
"Let it," he repeated.
"Why?!"
"Because you cannot resist what you cannot understand."
She inhaled sharply.
"What does that mean?"
"It means stop fighting blindly."
Her pulse raced.
"So what should I do?"
His answer was quiet.
"Use me."
Her throat closed.
"I don't— I don't know how—"
"You already do," he said. "Yesterday. The tear. The stabilization. Use the bond."
Her breath trembled.
She reached inward.
Toward him.
The bond surged—
but not like a lifeline this time.
Like a shield.
Caelum's mind brushed hers—
cold
calm
razor-sharp
unmovable
The whisper tried to push through him.
It couldn't.
Not for lack of force.
But because Caelum did not yield.
Not to anything.
Not to anyone.
Her panic cooled.
She straightened instinctively.
The whisper recoiled.
Artheon blinked.
Then grinned.
"Well," the forbidden instructor murmured. "That's new."
Voss's eyes narrowed.
"Assessment: Stabilized. Bond strengthens under intrusion."
Lira sagged.
She wasn't just passing.
She was proving something.
Not just to herself.
To the academy.
To the Dominion.
To Caelum.
Test Three — Bond Projection
Voss raised a hand.
"Final assessment," she said.
Lira tensed.
"What's— final—"
"Projection," Caelum murmured.
She blinked. "Projection of what?"
At that moment—
the room dimmed.
The formation circle brightened.
And a massive construct formed in the center of the hall—
A creature.
A wolf-shaped shadow with six eyes and bones like jagged black steel.
A training projection.
A monster simulation.
But massive.
Powerful.
Intentionally terrifying.
Lira scrambled backward.
"NO— I am NOT fighting that— I can barely look at it— I can't—"
"You aren't fighting it," Caelum said.
She blinked rapidly.
"…I'm not?"
"No."
"Oh thank the gods—"
"You are approaching it."
She froze.
"…What?"
"You're approaching it," he repeated.
"Caelum," she whispered. "No."
"Yes."
"I can't even look at it—"
"You will."
"What if it lunges?"
"I'll stop it."
"What if you don't?"
"I will."
She shook her head.
"Caelum— I can't— I'm not— I'm not you—"
"I know."
Her breath hitched.
He stepped closer.
Close enough that she felt the bond thrum between them.
He lowered his voice.
"You do not need to be me," he said.
"You only need to be you.
With me beside you."
Her throat tightened.
The monster construct growled.
Lira flinched violently.
Caelum didn't move.
"Breathe," he said.
She tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
The bond pulsed in her chest.
Steady.
Warm.
Alive.
She couldn't do this.
Except—
she could.
Because he believed she would.
She inched forward.
One step.
Her legs shook violently.
Two steps.
Her breath stuttered.
Three steps.
The monster snarled, eyes flaring red.
She whimpered.
Caelum's voice brushed her ear.
"I'm here."
The bond steadied.
She kept walking—
until she reached the line of the projection.
The monster lunged.
Lira screamed—
—but Caelum's thread snapped across the air like a blade and sliced the projection's attack in half.
The construct froze mid-leap.
She fell backward—
Caelum caught her mid-fall, arm firm around her waist.
Her heart pounded wildly.
"I—I—I did it—" she stammered.
"Yes," he said.
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
He didn't let her fall.
She buried her face briefly against his shoulder, breath ragged.
"You approached a fear stimulus under controlled conditions," Voss said. "And your bond did not destabilize. It reinforced."
"I… approached a nightmare," Lira whispered.
"Yes," Caelum said. "Efficiently."
She let out a strangled laugh.
The Council Verdict
The training construct vanished.
The room stabilized.
Voss regarded them for a long, quiet moment.
She turned to the other examiners.
Kael.
Artheon.
Lysandra.
One by one, they nodded.
Voss faced Caelum and Lira again.
"Assessment complete," she said.
Lira's stomach twisted.
She braced herself.
"For now," Voss continued, "the academy will not intervene in the bond."
Lira sagged in relief.
Caelum merely nodded.
"But," Voss added, "you will both be monitored. Extensively."
Expected.
Caelum inclined his head once.
"Understood."
Voss's gaze softened a fraction—not warm, but less cold.
"Lira Ainsworth," she said. "Your performance exceeded projection."
Lira blinked.
"I— it did?"
"Yes."
"And Caelum Veylor," Voss said, "your stabilization of the bond, while reckless, remains… effective."
Caelum offered no reaction.
Voss turned away.
"Dismissed."
Outside the Hall — Silence, Then Chaos
The moment they stepped outside—
the academy erupted in whispers.
"Did they pass?"
"Is she alive?"
"Did the anomaly break?"
"Is it true she walked up to a projection?"
"Did Voss accept the bond?"
"What does that mean for the academy?"
"What does it mean for us?"
Lira felt dizzy.
Jalen clung to her shoulder.
"I'm so proud and also traumatized," he said.
Marenne scribbled so fast her quill started smoking.
Caelum walked beside Lira.
Close.
Deliberate.
Unshakable.
Not touching her.
He didn't need to.
The bond was already humming.
Lira leaned close and whispered:
"…Thank you."
"For what?" he asked.
"For not letting me fall."
He gave the smallest hum.
"Correction," he said. "You fell. I prevented impact."
She rolled her eyes.
"I hate you sometimes."
"No," he said calmly.
"No, you don't."
She sputtered.
Then blushed.
Hard.
Marenne choked on a laugh.
Jalen fainted.
Caelum kept walking.
Far Below — The Entity Laughs
In the lowest sealed chamber, the entity stirred.
Its chains quivered, threads glowing faintly.
"…projection…"
"…resistance…"
"…two threads… one path…"
It laughed softly—
not kind
not cruel
—amused.
"…grow, little bearer…
and little anchor…
this academy…
will break…
before you do…"
The Stitching trembled.
Far above, Caelum and Lira stepped into sunlight that didn't quite reach the ground—
and the academy watched them
with awe
with fear
with reverence
with dread
without realizing—
that Ashthorne's most dangerous shift
had already begun.