Night fell differently in the inner wing.
There were no bells to mark the hour, no distant chatter drifting through corridors. The silence here was deliberate — engineered, even — thick enough to make every footstep feel like an intrusion.
Phaeros sat on the edge of his assigned bed, hands resting loosely on his knees.
The room was small, square, and bare. Stone walls. A narrow window sealed with faint runic etching. A single lamp embedded into the wall, glowing softly without flame.
Functional.
Containment-minded.
He had seen rooms like this before.
Not in this life — but close enough that his chest tightened with recognition.
Across from him, Rhaelis stood near the window, arms crossed, staring at the faint glow beyond the barrier. She hadn't spoken since they'd been brought in. Neither had he.
Silence wasn't awkward between them.
It was… observant.
Finally, she broke it.
"This place isn't for training," she said quietly.
Phaeros tilted his head. "What makes you say that?"
She glanced back at him. "There are too many seals. Too many redundancies. You don't build this for students."
He nodded slowly. "You build it for problems."
Her jaw tightened slightly.
Outside the window, faint symbols drifted like slow embers. The academy's deeper mechanisms hummed softly, almost like breathing.
"They're watching us," she continued. "Not just instructors. Something else."
Phaeros didn't answer immediately.
He could feel it too — not as a presence pressing down, but as awareness brushing against the edge of perception. Curious. Patient. Old.
"Yes," he said at last. "But they've been watching longer than you think."
She studied him, eyes narrowing. "You talk like you've been here before."
He met her gaze evenly.
"Does it matter?"
A beat passed.
Then, surprisingly, she shook her head. "No. What matters is whether you're dangerous."
"And am I?"
Her lips pressed together. "I don't know yet."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Fair."
Silence returned, heavier now.
After a moment, Rhaelis spoke again, more quietly. "When the array reacted to you… I felt it. My bindings tightened, like they were reacting to something they couldn't define."
She hesitated. "That's never happened before."
Phaeros lowered his gaze.
"That's… unfortunate."
"That's not an answer."
He sighed softly. "If I told you I don't fully understand it either, would you believe me?"
She studied him for a long moment.
"…Maybe."
A faint tension eased between them — not trust, but curiosity.
From the corridor outside, footsteps approached.
Measured. Unhurried.
Both of them straightened instinctively.
The door slid open without a sound.
Deyron stepped inside.
The lamplight caught faint silver at his temples. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his gaze immediately swept the room, assessing details most people would miss.
"Settle in," he said. "You'll be here for a while."
Rhaelis frowned. "How long?"
"As long as necessary."
That answer did not satisfy her, but she didn't argue.
Deyron's eyes shifted to Phaeros.
"You," he said. "Walk with me."
Rhaelis tensed.
"Now," Deyron added calmly.
Phaeros rose without hesitation.
They left the room together, the door sliding shut behind them.
The corridor beyond was dimmer, quieter. Their footsteps echoed faintly.
Deyron didn't speak at first.
When he did, his voice was low.
"You understand restraint better than most," he said. "That isn't an accident."
Phaeros said nothing.
"You didn't fight the array. You didn't push. You didn't try to force a result."
He paused.
"Why?"
Phaeros considered his answer carefully.
"Because forcing things breaks them."
Deyron stopped walking.
He turned slowly, studying Phaeros with open scrutiny now.
"That answer comes from experience," he said.
"Yes."
"How much?"
Phaeros met his gaze.
"Enough to know better."
Silence stretched between them.
Deyron exhaled softly through his nose, almost amused.
"You're either very perceptive… or very dangerous."
He stepped closer.
"I've trained prodigies. I've buried disasters. And I've seen what happens when power matures without restraint."
His eyes sharpened.
"Tell me something, Phaeros. When you felt the array hesitate — did you feel fear?"
Phaeros thought of the vast, quiet presence beneath his awareness.
Of the way it had noticed him.
"No," he said.
"What did you feel?"
"…Recognition."
For the first time, Deyron's expression shifted — not to alarm, but to something like wary interest.
"That," he said quietly, "is not a word I hear often."
He turned away, resuming his walk.
"You will train here. Closely. Privately. Under my supervision."
Phaeros nodded once.
Deyron paused at the end of the corridor and glanced back over his shoulder.
"And for your sake," he added, "learn to look ordinary. The world forgives weakness. It does not forgive anomalies."
With that, he left.
The silence lingered.
Phaeros stood alone for a moment before returning to the room.
Rhaelis looked up immediately. "What did he say?"
"That I'll be staying."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
"And?"
"He thinks I'm dangerous."
She gave a small, humorless smile. "He's not wrong."
Phaeros sat back on the bed, exhaling slowly.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, quietly, Rhaelis asked, "Do you regret coming here?"
He thought of the end of the world.
Of the things he failed to save.
Of the weight he carried even now.
"No," he said. "I regret not coming sooner."
She studied him, then looked away, thoughtful.
Outside, something shifted in the unseen layers of the academy — a slow, deliberate stirring, like a presence adjusting its gaze.
Deep within Phaeros, something answered faintly.
Not awakening.
Not yet.
But aware.
Waiting.