Chapter One: The Silver Flame Returns
Part Three: The One They Were Warned About
Date: Junilis 3rd, Year 204 PCR
Location: The Lyceum Courtyard, Celestis Veil
By midlight, the courtyard buzzed like a pulse net just out of sync. Not chaotic. Just charged—like something had moved that wasn't supposed to, and now the entire structure was humming to recalibrate.
Zephryn stepped away from the main platform with the mark still raw across his skin. Silver. Fractured. Lightning-laced.
Silver Crest.
Kaelen walked beside him. Yolti kept scanning for Doctrine agents. Selka hadn't said a word since the Pulse Eye called his element aloud.
Somewhere behind them, Medic and Recon were already debriefing. Their formations were clean. Self-made. No Doctrine oversight. No Lyceum-placed captains. These squads had formed without him—while he was gone. While the world kept spinning.
And now it had stopped, just a little, because of him.
They didn't make it ten steps before the voice cut through.
"Didn't think they let ghosts enroll."
Zephryn paused.
Riko stood in the path, arms crossed, a half-eaten piece of charfruit in one hand. His uniform wasn't buttoned properly—intentional—and the red pulse band across his bicep was brighter than standard.
The mark of a high-tier caster.
He didn't step aside.
Kaelen tensed. "Keep moving."
But Riko didn't speak to Kaelen.
His eyes locked onto Zephryn.
"You're the one who vanished. Whole squad wiped. And now you stroll in like the Pulse Eye knows your name?"
Zephryn's silver hair caught the breeze as he looked up.
Riko took a step closer.
"Where were you? Six years. No call. No cast. No memory trace. And now the Eye just… sings for you?"
Yolti's voice was sharp. "Back off."
"Funny thing," Riko went on, still chewing, "Doctrine says some Crestborn broke containment near the Riftlands. Right around the time you reappeared."
That stopped everyone.
Riko smiled.
"You don't smell like us anymore."
Selka stepped forward.
And spoke.
"You're right. He doesn't."
She passed Riko without hesitation, brushing his shoulder. Her voice was ice.
"He smells like someone who survived."
Riko didn't move.
But his smile broke.
The squad passed, leaving tension behind them like static.
Zephryn said nothing. Not a glance back. Not even when Kaelen whispered, "That's the guy you're gonna fold one day."
They reached the stone path that split toward the dorm halls. Light rain began to fall—just enough to blur the horizon.
"Who is he?" Zephryn asked.
"Top-tier pulse," Kaelen replied. "Fire-heavy. Echo candidate once, but he got passed over."
Selka added quietly, "He wants a Doctrine post. Probably thinks he's earned it."
"Why does he hate me?"
Yolti looked at him.
"Because you're a reminder. Some of us went through hell to get strong. You vanished, and the Lyceum still made space for you."
Zephryn looked at his wrist.
The glyph still glowed faintly under the rain.
That night, thunder echoed across the hills.
In the dorm tower, Echo Unit shared a high chamber—vaulted, crystal-beamed, old. The ceiling bore faint carvings of a Pulse Map from the first Lyceum era, long before the modern divisions.
Zephryn sat on his cot, legs drawn up, cloak draped over one shoulder. His pack was still closed. He hadn't unpacked a thing.
The wind made the lanterns flicker.
Kaelen tossed a blanket toward him. "Sleep. Instructor Liraen starts cast training tomorrow."
Yolti was already half asleep, blade leaning against the wall.
Selka hadn't spoken since the Riko moment.
She stood by the far window, watching the silver lightning strike across the distant ridge.
Zephryn spoke quietly.
"Why did the Eye choose now?"
No one answered.
Because none of them knew.
Outside, rain pooled in the broken veins of the courtyard stone.
And in the fog behind the Lyceum wall…
…a shape stood.
Not tall. Not cloaked. Just still.
Watching.
Its hands gloved in old Doctrine silk.
A hum—quiet, discordant—pressed against the air.
Then, nothing.
Only silence.
And the memory of something impossible.