Chapter Three – The Hollow Between the Notes
Part Five – The Veil That Flinched First
The Lyceum bell rang late.
It pulsed through crystal branches and mirrored halls like a heartbeat, not a sound. All throughout the compound, students rose to attention—Reflex Drill, Third Sequence. A conditioning circuit through the outer grove, followed by synchronized cast alignment with assigned squadmates.
But this morning, Zephryn didn't move.
He sat at the edge of the pulsebath, staring into the water as if it would say something first.
Selka stood behind him in uniform, arms folded, braid knotted tight. "You're going to miss cast sync."
Zephryn didn't answer.
She stepped forward. "Vosk's watching us now. I'm on edge. Yolti's spooked. Even Kaelen's worried—though he'll never admit it."
Still no answer.
Selka sighed. "What did you see when your mark flared?"
"…A hand."
She blinked. "What kind of hand?"
"Gloved. Old. Like it wasn't reaching for me, but reaching out of me."
Selka went still. "You saw the Watcher."
Zephryn's jaw flexed. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. I've seen it too."
—
They didn't speak again until drills started.
Echo Unit moved together through the third grove, an elevated walkway of resonance stone and vinewood. The trees hummed softly—chambers of still-growing crystal meant to store minor pulses. Instructors often used them to monitor cast evolution.
Today, though, they remained blank.
Zephryn's Silver Crest hadn't cast since the spar with Kaelen. Not by will, anyway.
Kaelen moved beside him, arms crossed behind his back in marching sync.
"You good?" he asked quietly.
Zephryn nodded.
"Vosk wasn't wrong, you know. You're a walking echo field. But you're not unstable."
"What am I?"
Kaelen grinned. "Unwritten."
—
In the Veilmark Alignment Chamber, the world dimmed.
This was the heart of the Lyceum's inner structure—a circular platform with stone pillars spaced like tuning forks. At its center floated a pulse crucible, humming with barely visible glyph strings.
Liraen Vosk stood in the center.
She spoke calmly now, with a different tone—like she knew something they didn't.
"This chamber records more than resonance," she began. "It listens to the lie beneath your pulse. Each of you will step forward. Not to cast, not to prove. But to listen."
Yolti went first—her Veilmark glowed pale blue, flickering with quiet rhythm. The crucible responded softly, projecting her pulse signature across the air like a distant wave. Calm. Measured.
Kaelen followed—his Echo Flame coiled along his shoulder with practiced control. The flame mirrored his breath.
Selka stepped in—her mark rang silent, but the crucible shivered. It didn't reflect an element. It reflected a warning. Vosk narrowed her eyes.
Then Zephryn stepped forward.
At first—nothing.
Then a crackle. Not cast. Not pulse.
Memory.
The crucible dimmed.
Then lit with something unnatural. A mirrored line of glyphs appeared in the air, spiraling—broken, ancient, jagged at the edges. The Silver Crest on Zephryn's arm pulsed once… then again… until—
FLASH.
The entire chamber flickered white.
Everyone stumbled back.
Vosk's voice broke the silence. "Out. Everyone. Echo Unit—out."
They obeyed without protest.
Only Selka lingered.
Vosk looked at Zephryn. "Your glyph is mimicking older resonance. I don't know how or why, but it's not responding to Lyceum code. Do you understand what that means?"
Zephryn shook his head.
"It means the Choir will notice."
—
That night, across the Lyceum sky, the Choir did notice.
In the veilspace above the clouds, a sliver of black moved. A sigil hummed in reversed cadence, too far to hear but close enough to ripple Zephryn's dreams.
And in one quiet corner of the dormitory, Bubbalor shifted in his sleep—beneath a hidden wooden floorboard—breathing softly.
A single breath of smoke left his nostrils.
In it: a flicker of Solara's glyph.
It pulsed once…
Then vanished.