The infirmary ceiling was quiet, too quiet.
Aster lay on the bed, staring at the faint cracks that ran like tiny rivers of white across the stone. His breathing was steady, but his thoughts were anything but.
The vision still haunted him.
The hooded figure.
The collapsing threads.
The whisper that called him "the misplaced fragment."
Every detail burned in his memory like a brand.
His right hand—still faintly trembling—reached toward the edge of the bed. For a moment, he almost expected to see another hand beneath it, rising from the darkness.
But the shadow stayed still.
For now.
A soft knock echoed against the door.
Aster didn't call anyone in, yet the door opened anyway.
Lyra Eveden stepped inside, her silver hair tied in a loose tail that gleamed like a knife under the lantern light. She wasn't wearing her usual academy robe; instead, a simple training coat hugged her frame.
She stopped at the foot of his bed, eyes narrowing.
"You look terrible," she said bluntly.
Aster exhaled. "Good morning to you too, Lyra."
"I'm serious." She crossed her arms, gaze sharpened. "You were unconscious for six hours. Elias thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. Even Professor Kael…"
Her voice softened, almost imperceptibly.
"…looked concerned."
Kael? Concerned?
That alone was more supernatural than anything Aster had seen.
Aster sat up slightly. "I'm fine. Just… a vision."
"Another one?" Lyra's expression tightened. "Aster, these visions—something is wrong with you."
He let out a small, humorless laugh. "I'm aware."
"No. You don't understand."
Lyra walked closer, lowering her voice.
"When I pulled you out of that collapsed training hall, your mana signature wasn't normal. It felt like your body was… overlapping with a second version of you."
His heart skipped.
She sensed it.
The distortion.
The thing inside him that the Thread-Reaper hunted.
Aster forced his tone steady. "Maybe that was just the stress of the collapse."
Lyra didn't blink. "You're lying."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, she sat on the chair beside him, exhaling slowly.
"Aster… I don't know what's happening to you. But whatever it is, it's getting worse."
Aster looked away.
Worse was an understatement.
The visions were growing more coherent.
More detailed.
More aware.
And each time, the shadow beneath him grew a little darker.
A little more alive.
Before he could respond, the lantern above them flickered.
Aster felt the shift immediately—a faint shiver, thin as silk, brushing the edge of his senses.
It was the same sensation as before a timeline distortion.
Lyra felt it too. Her eyes darted to the window. "That wasn't the wind."
Aster gripped the sheets. "Stay close."
The room seemed to stretch subtly—walls bending in a way that defied physics, like the world itself was inhaling.
Then—
—the threads appeared.
Silver, gold, and black filaments shimmered faintly in the air around them, visible only for a second.
Lyra's breath hitched. "Aster… do you see that? Do you see—"
Before she could finish, they vanished.
The world snapped back into place.
Lyra looked shaken. "Those were… mana strands? No—something else."
Aster didn't answer. Because he knew.
Those weren't mana strands.
They were causality threads.
Threads that weren't supposed to appear unless the timeline was under pressure.
Unless something was watching.
And something was watching.
He could feel it.
A presence—cold, soundless—standing right behind him.
Aster didn't turn.
Instead, he lowered his voice to a whisper.
"…Why are you here?"
Lyra blinked. "What?"
But Aster wasn't talking to her.
He was talking to the shadow on the floor.
Slowly, impossibly, the shadow stretched upward like spilled ink reversing itself. A vaguely human outline rose—head bowed, shoulders narrow.
Aster's own silhouette.
But wrong.
Too sharp.
Too intentional.
Lyra's mana flared in panic. "Aster—move!"
"Don't attack," Aster said softly. "It won't help."
The shadow lifted its head.
Two faint, luminescent eyes opened within the darkness.
Eyes that looked like his own—
—but older.
Colder.
Broken.
The shadow spoke without sound, yet the words vibrated in Aster's bones.
"You are running out of time."
Aster felt his breath stop.
The shadow continued.
"The Reaper has marked you. The threads are tightening. And soon, you will have to decide."
Lyra couldn't hear what it said.
But she felt it—clutching her head, teeth gritted. "Aster! What is happening?!"
Aster tried to stand, but the shadow raised a hand, halting him with a force that felt like gravity itself.
"Choose soon, Aster."
The eyes dimmed.
"Because the next collapse… will not spare her."
Aster's blood ran cold.
"Her…?" he whispered.
But the shadow was already dissolving—melting back onto the floor, returning to its harmless shape.
Lyra gasped for breath, slumping onto the chair. Aster caught her before she fell.
Her hand trembled weakly against his chest.
"What… was that…?"
Aster swallowed hard.
He didn't have an answer.
But he knew one thing:
Something catastrophic was approaching.
Something tied to him.
And if he didn't act soon…
Lyra would be the first casualty.