Chapter Four: Parallel Pulse
Part Three
Date: Maelis 26, Year 204 PCR
Location: Harmonic Lyceum – Skyglass Balcony (Upper Terrace)
Time: Mid-afternoon, veillight fractured by clouds
The glass beneath the king's boots didn't creak. It never had.
Even as the stormline crept across the southern ridge, sending arcs of pulse lightning into the distance, Vaelen Tiramis stood unshaken, one hand behind his back, the other resting loosely on the pulse rail.
Below him, the Staccato Unit moved through formation drills—sharply cut, clean transitions across fractured terrain plates.
Mino Seravelle barked no orders. He didn't need to.
Each squad member moved in response to tone, not words.
Kellian mirrored Vessa's step before her heel even set.
Rhea had already turned her blade before Torr rotated the glyph core forward.
The field hummed—not as performance, but as pattern.
"Structure," Thaelen Voss said quietly, stepping beside the king. "Seravelle has it."
His cloak stirred in the breeze. His hand rested near the Veilbrand sigil clasped to his chest.
"He trains them like they're meant to survive. Not win. Not impress. Just survive."
Vaelen didn't speak right away. His gaze didn't move. But his pulse narrowed—the balcony trembled under it.
"They'll need to," the king murmured. "Legato is already engaged."
Thaelen's brow creased. His stance shifted subtly.
"Engaged… or compromised?"
"Their Veilmark surge echoed across three towers," Vaelen replied. "Whatever they're facing, it isn't a training assignment anymore."
Thaelen looked to the west. A flicker of silver. Brief. Too distant to track by eye—but he felt it.
"That boy again?"
"Zephryn," Vaelen said simply. "The Choir says he remembers more each time he breathes."
"And you believe them?"
"No. But I believe the wind."
Below, Staccato Unit pivoted.
Mino lifted two fingers. Vessa changed elevation. Kellian slid into low rhythm lock.
Torr—hesitated.
Just once.
His pulse dragged. Rhea glanced back, catching the shift.
"He's lagging," Thaelen noted. "Third drill this week."
Vaelen didn't answer right away. But he turned slightly—just enough for his reflection to appear across the Skyglass in front of him.
"What do you see when you look at them?"
Thaelen followed his gaze.
"Not recon scouts," he said. "Not anymore."
The king nodded once.
"Staccato has passed beyond pulse-tracking. They are no longer listening."
"Then what are they doing?"
Vaelen's voice dropped.
"They're learning to remember before the world tells them what it meant."
The balcony pulsed once.
Low. Soft. But somewhere deep in the stone, the Lyceum acknowledged it.
Another Veilmark—distant. Shifting. Humming wrong.
Thaelen turned.
"Should I prepare recall glyphs for Legato?"
"No," Vaelen said. "Not yet. Let them fracture. Let the shape form."
Thaelen studied him. The king's eyes didn't blink.
"You're going to let them walk into it alone."
"Not alone. Just… unsilenced."
Below, Mino called an end to formation with a single pulse tap.
The squad came to rest—breathing heavy, but balanced.
And Torr…
Still staring at the pulse map scroll in his hand.
One finger hovered over a symbol he hadn't drawn.