Kaelen's breath curled into the cold air of the sparring hall, drifting like ghostlight as the glyph on his arm pulsed faintly beneath the surface.
The runes carved into the stone floor had always glowed when in use, but lately, they flickered—like they were reacting to him instead of the training stimuli. No matter how still he stood, the sigil etched along his forearm whispered its own rhythm, one that didn't belong to the sanctioned channels of the Academy.
It felt… aware. And that scared him.
He turned his palm over, watching the faint shimmer beneath his skin fade just as quickly as it had come.
Is it growing stronger again… or just hungrier?
The door creaked.
Seraphine stepped inside, wrapped in her black scholar's robes, violet hair still damp from the misty rain outside. For once, she didn't glide in like a noble playing a part. She looked tired. Unshielded.
"You missed evening lecture again," she said.
"I didn't realize attendance was mandatory."
She didn't smile. Just walked toward him, her hands folded behind her back.
Kaelen's heart tightened.
Seraphine's presence always stirred something complicated in him—tension, attraction, guilt. He still remembered the look in her eyes two nights ago after their argument outside Mira's study. The way she turned from him before he could explain. The softness that had slipped through her mask before she locked it away again.
Today, though, there was no fire in her words. No challenge. Just something brittle.
"You're avoiding me," she said simply.
He opened his mouth, but no excuse felt right. "I didn't mean to."
"You're lying. And you're getting worse at it."
That stung. But not because it was cruel—because it was true.
He sighed and leaned back against the column. "I don't know what's happening to me, Seraphine. Every time I think I'm starting to understand this… this thing inside me, it shifts. The glyph hums when I'm not casting. My dreams have stopped being just memories—they're turning into places. Places I've never seen but feel like I've lived in."
She was quiet. Then: "The Tower sent someone. A Listener."
Kaelen stiffened.
"They don't move unless they suspect lineage resonance," she continued. "And he didn't come alone."
His pulse spiked. "You're saying they know?"
"They don't know," she said. "But they feel it. And if they confirm you bear Veritas—"
"I'll be executed," he finished.
Seraphine stepped closer. For the first time in days, she didn't stop a full arm's length away.
"You're not alone in this," she whispered.
Her eyes searched his, and something vulnerable cracked behind her usual coldness. He didn't realize how close they were until her sleeve brushed his. Until her breath warmed the air between them.
He reached out slowly—not for her hand, not for comfort. Just to feel something real.
But before his fingers could find hers, the hall's wardline shimmered.
They both turned.
Mira stood in the archway, crystal scribe in one hand, her gaze shadowed.
"I assume I'm interrupting."
Seraphine pulled back first. Her posture straightened like a drawbridge lifting.
Kaelen swallowed. "We were just talking."
"I'm sure," Mira said lightly. "But you'll want to hear this."
She stepped forward and unrolled a faintly glowing scroll. On its surface, Kaelen could make out the arcane symbols of the scrying lenses embedded in the upper observatory.
"It's not just a Listener," Mira said. "The Tower sent a Seeker. They're scanning the leyline lattice around the Academy for resonance echoes."
Kaelen frowned. "That takes days to yield anything."
"Unless someone's glyph is active," she said, glancing at his arm.
Kaelen exhaled sharply. "You think they'll find me?"
"I think they already have a name," Mira said. "And they're waiting for a mistake."
He stared at the scroll. "So what do I do?"
Mira rolled the parchment closed and looked at Seraphine before answering. "You start lying better. Or you stop lying entirely and run."
"No," Seraphine said.
Kaelen looked at her, surprised.
She lifted her chin. "If he runs, they'll brand him guilty. They'll hunt him from every city, every sky port. No glyphmaster will shelter him. He stays. And we protect him."
Mira raised a brow. "We?" Her voice was amused, but not mocking. "You two finally stopped circling and picked a side?"
Seraphine didn't answer, but her silence was as loud as any confession.
Mira smirked. "About time."
Kaelen's voice was low. "What do you mean by protect?"
Mira tilted her head, considering. Then she reached into her satchel and pulled out a crystal fragment—translucent, rune-carved, thrumming with a resonance he didn't recognize.
"This isn't sanctioned," she said. "It's old. Illegally kept. My family once worked under the Sigil Order before the Tower was rebuilt. This—" she held the crystal up, "—is a silence anchor. It hides glyph resonance in a limited radius."
"Why haven't you used it before?" Seraphine asked.
"Because it only works once," Mira said. "And if I use it for you…" she looked at Kaelen, "then I can't use it for myself."
The air stilled.
Kaelen's throat dried. "Why would you—"
"Don't make this about me," she snapped, though there was no bite in it. "You're more important than you understand yet."
"I didn't ask to be."
"No one ever does."
Silence fell.
Kaelen looked between the two girls—the distant fire in Seraphine's eyes, the shielded pain in Mira's. He felt like he was standing at the edge of something vast. Not just danger. Not just discovery.
A choice.
"Then I'll stay," he said. "But we'll need more than an anchor to fool a Listener."
Mira gave a small nod. "Then come with me. There's someone in the archives who still remembers the old paths."
Seraphine stepped beside him. "I'm going with you."
Kaelen hesitated. But the moment their shoulders touched again, the decision felt easier.
Not safer. But real.
And in the far northern tower, the Listener opened his eyes mid-meditation.
The candle in front of him flickered once—then vanished.
And for the first time in years, the black glyph on his palm began to pulse.