Early Morning – Westward Tower Archives
Kaelen didn't sleep.
He'd returned from the Mirror Hall with a mind full of shards. Visions of impossible wars. A glyph glowing on a dead man's wrist. The feel of that boy's silver-thread eyes staring straight through him.
He couldn't explain it.
Worse—he didn't want to explain it. Not yet.
Instead, he wandered to the place where his thoughts felt least tangled: the Archives.
At this hour, only a few early scholars wandered the rows. The scent of old paper, arcane ink, and candle wax grounded him more than food or rest ever could.
He traced the spines of books without seeing them.
His fingers stopped on a volume he hadn't noticed before.
Bound in dark leather, etched with a sigil he'd seen in the vision—two intersecting rings burning across each other like eclipses.
No title. Just a whisper of presence.
Kaelen slid it out and opened it.
The first page was blank. Then:
"Those marked by Veritas are neither born nor made.They are remembered into existence."
Kaelen's breath caught.
He flipped the next page, but the words were already fading, bleeding back into the parchment as if the book had second thoughts.
"Interesting choice of reading."
He turned sharply.
Seraphine stood beside the pillar, arms crossed loosely over her robe, her hair tied back into a loose braid that made her look years younger—and somehow even more unreadable.
"You always appear when something strange happens," Kaelen muttered.
She stepped forward, voice softer than usual. "That's because you're a storm dressed as a student."
He blinked at her. "You think I'm dangerous?"
"I think you haven't decided what you are yet. Which is worse."
Kaelen didn't answer.
Seraphine stepped closer, eyes scanning the book's vanishing script.
"You saw something, didn't you? In the Hall."
He hesitated.
Then said quietly, "It wasn't just something. It was me. Or someone like me."
"And now you don't know if you're a lie."
Kaelen looked at her, surprised.
Seraphine didn't smile, but something flickered across her face—empathy, maybe.
"I used to wonder if I was just a reflection," she said. "Living in the wake of someone else's decision. A sigil I didn't ask for. A prophecy I never wanted."
Kaelen closed the book gently.
"And now?"
"Now I know I'm the knife that cuts the thread. The one that changes the story."
Their eyes met—and held.
There was no heat, no passion. But there was weight. Like something unspoken had curled between them and dared them both to name it.
"You don't have to carry it alone," she said.
"I'm not sure I know how to carry it with someone," Kaelen replied.
"You learn."
Seraphine turned to leave, then paused.
"For what it's worth," she added, not looking back, "you make a terrible liar. But a decent flame."
And then she was gone.
Midday – Training Hall, Sector 7
Selene was not in the mood for restraint.
Her practice sword clanged against steel, footwork blurring with aggressive precision. A poor Archive student trying to spar with her was already breathless.
"Again," she barked.
Kaelen stepped in through the arch just as her opponent collapsed to the mat.
"Your definition of light training is terrifying," he said.
She tossed the sword aside and grabbed a cloth to wipe her brow. "Keeps people honest."
Kaelen hesitated. "I saw Seraphine earlier."
Selene's eyes narrowed.
"She told me I don't have to carry this alone."
Selene folded her arms. "And?"
"I think she meant it."
"She does."
Kaelen tilted his head. "You don't seem surprised."
"I'm not." She met his gaze. "That's what makes her dangerous."
Kaelen frowned. "Why does everyone assume one of you has to be right, and the other wrong?"
Selene looked away.
"I don't want to be right. I just don't want you to drown."
Kaelen stepped closer.
"I need both of you," he said, softly. "Even if I don't say it out loud."
Selene looked up at him, lips parting like she wanted to speak—but didn't.
Instead, she turned, walking to the far rack of weapons.
Kaelen didn't follow.
Evening – Observatory Tower
He returned to the dorm alone.
But a note awaited him on his bed, written in careful, looping script.
Not Selene's.
Not Seraphine's.
Kaelen. We know what stirs in you now. The Tower may claim your fire, but the Forge still remembers its child.– The Sigilbound
A glyph pulsed beneath the ink. Dormant. Waiting.
Kaelen stared at it long after the light had faded.
Final Scene – Elsewhere, Underground Chamber
In a place below the academy, unseen by light, a cloaked figure knelt before a mirror of black water.
His hands burned with the same glyph Kaelen had seen in the vision.
And in a dozen other mirrors around him… shadows moved.
"The boy remembers," the figure said.
A dozen voices replied, as one:
"Then the game begins."