Chapter Two: Where the Pulse Still Waits
Part Three: Riko's Watch
Date: Junilis 4th, Year 204 PCR
Location: Lyceum North Tower Dorms – Observation Ledge
There was always one who watched from above.
Not a spy. Not a scholar. Not a chosen one.
Just someone the world passed over.
Riko sat on the old wooden beam above the dormitory walkways, tucked between two broken arch windows that hadn't been repaired since the last glyph storm. No one told her to be there. No one told her to leave. She didn't belong to a squad. She didn't raise her hand when they called for Veilmarked. But her mark hummed anyway. Quietly. Constant. A note too soft for the pulse field to name.
She'd been watching since the scroll called Zephryn's mark Silver Crest.
Lightning and flame. That wasn't common. That wasn't safe.
And she knew that silence didn't mean safety.
She gripped the edge of the beam with dirt-cracked fingers, knees hugged to her chest, chin resting on her sleeve. The dorms below buzzed with returning squads, footfalls, laughter, muttered complaints about pulse convergence drills. But her eyes stayed locked on the courtyard—and the figure still lingering at the statue beneath the Lyceum bell.
Zephryn.
He hadn't gone inside with the others. Even Kaelen had disappeared an hour ago. Selka was likely still in the backpool again, cooling her pulse and temper in equal measure. But Zephryn stood alone.
Not broken.
Not proud.
Just… still.
She pulled the edge of her cloak tighter around her shoulder and leaned against the beam, letting her pulse steady. Her Veilmark hadn't fully formed yet. It appeared in flashes—just beneath her right eye. Pale green. Mistlight, the instructors called it. If they noticed.
But they never did.
Because Riko never cast in front of them.
Because when she did, the light bent around her fingers and refused to let go.
Once, a Hollow Choir scout passed the Lyceum gates. The other students didn't notice. But she had. The scout hadn't looked at the King's banners. Hadn't glanced at the doctrine towers.
He had looked straight up.
Right at her.
And smiled.
Since then, she hadn't joined a squad. She didn't trust what that smile meant. And now—with Zephryn back from nowhere, claiming no memory, marked by a Veil signature older than the Lyceum records—her breath came shallower each night.
Because she recognized that hum.
She'd felt it before. In a ruined field. When the sky cracked open and a glyph burst across the clouds like a second sun.
He had been there.
Even if no one else believed it.
"Don't follow him," she whispered to herself, fingers pressing tighter into the beam. "You don't follow lightning. You listen to where it struck."
The sky began to dim.
A low tone hummed beneath the wind—a resonance only those with open Veilmarks could feel.
The bell hadn't rung, but Riko heard something louder.
A memory that hadn't happened yet.
A warning.
Her eyes narrowed toward the horizon.
Far off, past the Lyceum's boundary towers, a shimmer moved across the treeline.
Something watching. Something not trying to hide.
But not walking forward either.
Paused. Like it was waiting for a signal.
She blinked hard, trying to catch its shape. A coat? A hand? A glint of a mask?
Then it vanished.
Her breath caught.
"Not again," she whispered.
This wasn't just about Zephryn anymore.
Something old was moving again. And the way her pulse reacted told her what the instructors wouldn't.
The Hollow Choir was near.
And this time… they weren't here to observe.
They were here to remember.
—
Below her, Zephryn finally turned from the statue and began walking toward the dorms.
The silver threads of his hair caught the last glint of light before nightfall.
And as he passed beneath her perch, Riko whispered the words only the wind could carry:
"If you crack again… I'll see it first. I won't look away."
Then she vanished from her ledge—mist trailing behind her footsteps like memory.