The midday sun slanted through the cathedral windows of the Grand Library, catching on floating motes of dust. Kaelen stood at one of the elevated scriptoriums, hunched over a cracked obsidian tablet etched with fragmented glyphs. His pulse thudded in his throat.
This wasn't just any artifact. The lines were too familiar, too right in a way that made his skin crawl. They shimmered faintly when his fingers hovered near, like they recognized him.
Or worse—remembered him.
"I've seen this shape before," he murmured to himself, eyes narrowing. "Not in any scroll, but… in the vision."
He traced a sharp curve. The glyph pulsed once. It didn't bloom with magic like before—it simply acknowledged him. Not like a key unlocking a door, but as if the door had always been open and he was just now stepping through.
"Stop poking things you don't understand," came Seraphine's dry voice behind him.
Kaelen didn't flinch. He'd grown used to her sudden arrivals—like shadows curling around candlelight.
She stepped into view, dressed not in her usual uniform, but an ink-blue scholar's robe that hugged her waist too well to be entirely regulation. Her eyes skimmed the tablet, then landed on him. "You're burning too fast. You know that, right?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"I don't have time to crawl," he said. "Not with what's coming."
Seraphine's brows twitched. She didn't press for more—she rarely did when he used that tone—but the silence stretched too long to be comfortable.
Finally, she asked, "You ever wonder why you can move this fast?"
Kaelen looked up. "What do you mean?"
"You're not just talented, Kaelen. Glyph resonance takes years to refine—decades, even. You're adapting like you were made for it."
"Maybe I was." He meant it as a joke. It didn't sound like one.
Her expression darkened. "Don't say that."
He blinked. "Why not?"
"Because the last mage who said that out loud—meant it—cracked a continent." Seraphine folded her arms. "And you're already being watched."
He stiffened.
"Who?"
She hesitated. "Someone in the East Wing dorms. New arrival. Pretends to be a scribe, but he carries himself like a soldier."
Kaelen absorbed the information slowly. "You told me the Tower doesn't act without confirmation."
"They don't. But watching isn't acting." She leaned in slightly. "I don't think they know what you are yet."
A beat passed. He looked down at the glyph again.
"What if I don't know either?"
The silence between them shifted—softer this time. She sat on the edge of the scriptorium table, close enough that their knees nearly brushed.
"Then figure it out before they do."
His heart beat faster—not from her words, but the way she said them. Like she wasn't warning him, but… choosing him.
Seraphine's gaze lingered on his face a moment too long before she dropped it.
"I shouldn't be helping you. If anyone finds out…"
"I won't tell," he said. "I know how much you have to lose."
That struck something in her. Her next words came quiet. "You don't know the half of it."
They sat like that for a while. Not as allies. Not as enemies. Something in between.
Finally, Seraphine rose, adjusting her robe as she glanced toward the outer doors.
"There's a masquerade tonight. Academy tradition." Her voice was deliberately neutral. "You should go."
He arched a brow. "Trying to see me in a mask?"
She smirked. "Trying to see if you'll wear one that fits."
And then she was gone—just the sound of her boots echoing in the high-arched hall.
Kaelen exhaled. A slow breath, thick with the weight of glyphs, shadows, and the too-familiar way her presence lingered long after she left.
In the East Wing dormitory, a man who called himself Elias sat by the window of his room, a slim codex open on his lap. He wasn't reading it.
His eyes were fixed on Kaelen's scriptorium window across the courtyard.
A slow, knowing smile touched his lips.
"So it begins."