I needed to cause an incident. A failure that looked accidental, but was planned in every detail. The academy would be the stage. The students and faculty would play their roles without knowing it. I would be the victim, and the one pulling the strings.
The plan needed three elements: a trigger, a catalyst, and an unstable setting. For a week, I gathered what I needed.
The trigger had to be someone confident and reckless, someone who enjoyed displaying power without care for the consequences. The catalyst had to be someone who lacked control, someone whose Essence would collapse under stress. The setting had to be a place where a single mistake could trigger a reaction no one could contain.
The academy gave me all three easily.
The trigger was Lian Valerius. Roshtov's sister. Unlike her quiet brother, she craved attention, her fire Essence crackling with barely restrained violence each time she cast. She was a general's daughter, and her talent was undeniable. When she cast spells, there was something unmistakably superior about her technique compared to everyone else, though perhaps it was more accurate to say she was overconfident
The catalyst was Finnian O'Connell. A merchant's son from a forgotten village, his hands trembling whenever called upon, managing only pathetic wisps of wind that died before they could take shape. His confidence shattered more each day he remained here.
The setting was the Advanced Essence Symbology class. Master Borin taught it, a man who treated magic like arithmetic and panicked at the first sign of chaos. The class involved constructing energy matrices that could tear apart reality if mishandled. One unstable connection, one moment of weakness, and everything would collapse. Perfect.
I spent the next seven days weaving my trap. I "accidentally" knocked over Lian's ink bottle during library study, watching her face flush red as the black stain spread across her assignment. I sat beside Finnian during meals, offering gentle help with his calculations, letting him see me as his only ally in this hostile place. I asked Master Borin pointed questions about resonance interference, watching him lecture the class about the catastrophic dangers of colliding matrices. His words hung in the air after he finished speaking, creating an underlying tension that would surface later when the moment was right.
As I prepared my strategy, I encountered an unexpected obstacle that disrupted the plan I had carefully constructed.
Not the distant, mechanical observation of the Fravikveidimadr. This was personal, methodical, relentless. I felt those eyes during breakfast, tracking my movements through the library stacks, following me across the courtyard. It took me two days to identify the predator: William Salwors, a senior student who carried himself like an inquisitor. He never approached, never spoke, but that leather notebook never left his side. Every gesture I made, every word I spoke, everything went into that book.
An unknown variable. I had to assume everything I did was being documented, analyzed, dissected.
...…
William closed his black leather notebook, the pen scratching one final observation across the page.
Day 34 of Observation – Subject W-01.
Subject has intensified peer manipulation. Two targets confirmed: Lian Valerius (hostility cultivated) and Finnian O'Connell (dependency established). Both enrolled in Symbology with subject. Pattern recognition suggests imminent action.
Working hypothesis: Subject orchestrating controlled catastrophe. Purpose unknown. Potential objectives include academic sabotage or manufactured incident to support existing incompetence facade. Surveillance to continue.
William slipped the notebook into his satchel, though his fingers were already itching to pull it back out. His investigation had nothing to do with academy assignments or faculty requests. This was his obsession. From the moment he first saw Welt Rothes, a ten-year-old boy walking through these gates like he'd witnessed the end of world, William knew something fundamental was wrong. The boy's history contained gaps wide enough to hide armies. His knowledge exceeded anything a child should possess. His failures were too precise, too perfectly timed. Nothing about him was genuine.
William collected abnormal cases the way other students collected coins. Rothes was his masterpiece.
He entered the Symbology classroom and took his usual position in the back corner, where shadows gathered thick enough to hide his gaze. Welt sat beside Finnian, playing the helpful friend. Lian commanded the front row with obvious arrogance.
Master Borin cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the morning silence. "Today we construct Third-Order Harmonic Resonance Matrices. Precision matters more than speed, one miscalculation could kill us all."
Lian finished first, as always. Her fire matrix blazed like a small sun, but William caught the faint secondary light flickering at its edges. She had rushed through the final sequence, leaving microscopic fractures in her construction's foundation. That arrogance would be her downfall.
Master Borin's attention shifted to Finnian. The boy's hands trembled as he tried to coax wild wind magic into stable patterns, sweat beading his forehead despite the cool morning air.
William's focus never left Welt. The boy sat motionless, expression blank, but William had been watching him for thirty-four days. He recognized the subtle tension in those shoulders, details only someone obsessed would bother tracking.
Then William felt it through his trained Essence sensitivity, a deliberate fluctuation from Welt's direction, designed to sabotage Finnian's nearly completed demonstration.
Finnian startled, his concentration shattered. The wind matrix collapsed into nothing.
"Stop!" Master Borin shouted, but his words came too late.
The energies collided like opposing storms.
William pressed himself against the wall, but his eyes stayed locked on Welt.
Welt made no move to protect himself. Instead, he sat perfectly still as the chaotic wave struck him, then released a scream of pain so genuine it froze William's blood.
Shadows exploded from the boy's body. They moved like living ink, leaving frost wherever they touched. The temperature plummeted and students nearest to Welt staggered backward, their breath turning to ice crystals in the impossible cold.
Then, as quickly as they'd appeared, the shadows snapped back into Welt's body. He toppled from his chair, unconscious before he hit the floor.
Master Borin's voice cracked with fear. "Medical team! Now! Severe Resonance Backlash! Get him to emergency care!"
William opened his notebook, his hand steady despite the chaos around him.
Event confirmed. Hypothesis validated, that subject triggered cascade failure through targeted pulse manipulation. Backlash appears intentional. Purpose: forced medical transfer.
Unknown: Why does he need access to medical facilities? What's hidden in the treatment center worth covering with such an elaborate deception?
William closed the book. His hunt was far from over. Welt might prove to be a valuable asset.
...…
Consciousness returned like a tide, slow and inevitable. Antiseptic stung my nostrils. Machines beeped their electronic heartbeats. Above me, a white ceiling stretched toward infinity.
I opened my eyes carefully, letting confusion cloud my features. A blanket covered me to the chin. The infirmary. Phase one complete.
A nurse materialized beside my bed. "Don't try to move. You suffered severe Backlash. You're lucky to be alive."
I let weakness color my voice. "Where... what happened to me?"
The door burst open before she could answer. Grisa Rash entered like an avenging spirit, her usual composure barely containing something dangerous. Her footsteps struck the floor like hammer blows.
"What did you do, Welt?" The question emerged barely above a whisper.
"I don't understand," I whispered back, adding a tremor to my words. "There were voices in my head... then everything went dark."
She studied my face like a hunter examining tracks. I maintained my facade of frightened confusion, letting genuine exhaustion show through. Over the following days, I played my role flawlessly. I answered every question with fearful honesty, submitted to every test with resigned cooperation, displayed perfect obedience. They scanned my body with devices that hummed like angry wasps, drew my blood for analysis, measured my Essence field with instruments I pretended not to recognize.
They found nothing. I had already buried every trace of Void Essence so deep within my aperture that it might as well have never existed. To their instruments, I was exactly what I appeared: a broken child walking a dangerous Oneiric Path, nearly destroyed by chaotic energies beyond his comprehension.
Their diagnosis arrived with predictable swiftness: "Severe innate incompatibility with standard academy environment. Requires specialized monitoring and treatment."
On the third day, Dales Verneth visited my room. He regarded me without warmth or sympathy, his expression carved from granite.
"You're more unstable than our initial assessments indicated," he stated, each word precise as a blade thrust. "Transfer is mandatory. This academy poses unacceptable risks to your continued survival."
"Where will I go?" I asked, injecting appropriate fear into the question.
"The West Wing Medical and Research Facility. They possess the resources necessary to stabilize your condition. You will remain there until deemed safe for general population."
The West Wing. Exactly where I needed to be.
"I don't want to leave," I said, letting desperation creep into my voice. "Please, I want to stay here with my friends."
Verneth shook his head with mechanical finality. "The decision has been made. This serves your safety and protects other students from potential contamination."
He departed without ceremony. My transfer was secured.
That night, they moved me in an armored medical transport that looked more like a prison wagon than an ambulance. Two technicians accompanied Grisa through the academy grounds, but we remained within the walls. The vehicle carried me to the western edge of the complex, where a building squatted like a concrete tumor against the night sky. No windows. No decorative elements. A bunker masquerading as a hospital.
Inside, the temperature dropped noticeably. Bare corridors stretched in every direction, their walls lined with sensors that hummed with barely contained power. As we walked deeper into the facility, I felt it again, that pulse I'd been tracking for months. Stronger now. Much stronger. I was close to it…
They assigned me a private room that resembled a cell more than medical quarters. Padded walls. A single bed. A glass orb embedded in the ceiling that served dual purposes as camera and Essence monitor. They sealed me inside without explanation.
I lay still on the narrow bed, breathing slowly, projecting weakness and confusion. Inside my mind, clarity burned like cold fire. I had exchanged a large cage for a smaller one, but this cage sat directly above the information I required. The Chimera Project. The truth about Silas. The fragment buried in the depths beneath my feet.
For now, I would wait. They expected instability, so I would provide it. I would play the frightened patient until their vigilance relaxed, until they began to see me as just another broken child in their care.
But one complication remained. William Salwors had witnessed everything. He wouldn't accept the official narrative. Even now, he was probably filling that notebook with theories and observations. I couldn't reach him from here, couldn't silence his investigation.
It didn't matter. Not yet. My focus belonged here, in this sterile tomb where secrets lay buried like corpses. The Chimera Project held answers I'd been seeking for lifetimes. Silas's true fate waited in these depths. The fragment called to me through layers of stone and steel.
I would claim them all. But only when the moment was perfect.
Phase Two had begun.