Rain.
It came sudden and sideways, hammering the glass domes of Solvyr like drums of omen. Most students had taken shelter, but Kaien stood alone on the stone terrace, drenched, gaze locked on the spot where the masked figure had disappeared.
No tracks.
No signature.
No trace in the Protocolic Field.
Just words.
"Hello, Unwritten."
A title. Not a greeting.
Not a threat.
A reveal.
"Are you trying to catch your death, Virell?"
Ayari's voice cut through the storm like silver. She held a student-issued stormcloak, hood up, yet somehow untouched by the downpour. Eyes sharp. Controlled. Studying.
"I've seen you fight," she added. "But never break curfew for theatrics."
Kaien didn't answer. Not at first.
Finally: "Ayari… have you ever heard of a Protocol choosing its wielder?"
She blinked once. "Protocols don't choose. We manifest them. With ritual, resolve, ancestry, alignment. That's how the Flame responds. Why?"
"…What if it whispers first?"
She studied him. "Then it isn't a Protocol. It's something else."
Later that night, in the Archive Vaults, Kaien broke into forbidden texts.
With help.
Because of course, Nox was waiting.
Slouched in a chair he probably wasn't allowed to sit in, chewing on some dried emberfruit like the fate of the world was a joke.
"So," Nox drawled, feet up, "you finally got tired of playing Flamefetch with the prodigy and decided to visit the haunted library with the school delinquent."
Kaien didn't rise to it. "I need to know what 'Unwritten' means."
Nox smirked. "You sure you're ready for that? People who chase old names tend to end up part of the next tragedy."
"…Then tell me why you're watching me."
"Because someone has to."
In hushed candlelight, the two of them scoured through Lost Protocol Records — fragmented scrolls sealed away after the Collapse Century. Charred diagrams. Glyphs that pulsed faintly even now.
And one name that appeared again and again:
Ignis Nullum. The First Spark.
"It will not be named. It will not be contained. The Unwritten burns before the written is born."
Kaien's breath hitched.
Nox looked at him sideways.
"You're not supposed to exist, are you?"
The vault lights flickered.
Suddenly, cold swept through the chamber — unnatural cold, without source or temperature.
Kaien turned.
A shadow passed through the archive door.
It wasn't just darkness — it bent the world around it, like the edges of a dream remembered wrong.
Then a voice:
"Do not search for what was buried. The Protocol of Null Flame is not your inheritance."
A figure stepped from the dark — cloaked, masked, but taller than the one Kaien had seen before. This one wore a brooch — a spiral of teeth around an empty flame.
The Severance Order.
Nox grabbed Kaien's arm. "Move—!"
They barely ducked as a blast of black flame cracked through the stone wall behind them.
They ran.
Through corridors warped with silence. Through wards that no longer responded.
Behind them, the masked figure walked — never ran — like it knew time bowed before it.
Nox and Kaien reached the bell tower, slamming the doors behind them.
Kaien turned, chest heaving, heart pounding.
The Protocol rose again — hot in his blood.
And then, without warning…
"Phase Two initializing…"
His left eye ignited.
Not with color — with code.
Spinning glyphs. A circle of voidlight. It burned no brighter than memory.
And as Kaien stared through the veil, he saw it:
The masked figure was not walking.
It was glitching.
Frame to frame. Like it did not exist correctly.
"What are they?" Kaien gasped.
Nox pulled him back. "Not a who. A what. Some call them Protocol Wraiths. Others — 'Unrecorded.'"
Kaien touched his eye.
The symbols vanished.
The shadow… was gone.
Kaien stands at the top of the bell tower, lightning crashing around him, left eye flickering faintly in the storm. Far below, beyond the courtyard, dozens of other shadows begin to stir.
And in the distance — unseen by either boy — Professor Velle drops a feather onto a glowing map.
"Protocol Zero has entered Phase Two. The prophecy has fractured."