The room was quiet, bathed in the soft violet hue of the moonlight pouring through the arched window. The candles had long since burned out, and the only sound was the rhythmic breath of the wind whispering through the ivy along the stone walls.
I lay atop the linen sheets of my bed, arms folded beneath my head, my eyes fixed on the ceiling above me. The scrolls from the archive still danced behind my eyes—the strange resonance glyph, the broken syntax, the hidden implications of what it might allow.
"You're still awake," came Solviel's voice—clearer this time, no longer a distant whisper but something present. Not in the air, but deep inside me.
"Of course I am. How could I sleep after that?"
"You've made progress. The cycle rune is rare—very few have ever been able to decipher it."
"You said it was called the Voth Cycle," I whispered. "But what was it really used for?"
There was a pause. A long one.
"It was… a method to let an awakener understand the will of their spirit without needing full possession. An ancient safeguard for when spirits grew too powerful and awakeners grew too dependent."
"So the opposite of our situation."
"You've never been dependent."
"You've never been present," I replied—more softly than I expected. It wasn't bitter, just… tired.
"...Yes."
The silence between us stretched again. I closed my eyes. The ceiling vanished, and in the darkness of my mind, I saw her again—not in her form of golden radiance or fractured light, but standing quietly by a broken mirror in a realm of soft gold.
She looked almost human now. Not divine. Just tired.
"You're fixing the fragment," I said to her within the space of thought. "The one tainted by Gren Leviyatan."
"I'm trying," she said gently. "But even now, the echo of that chaos lingers. It distorts my clarity."
"Is that why you sleep?"
"Yes. My energy has limits… even for one like me."
"Then… what happens when it's fixed?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Solviel stepped closer. Her form shimmered with faint pulse-light, like breath and thought made tangible.
"Then I'll be whole again. But… it won't erase what I've done. The shame will remain."
I looked at her, then past her—to the floating mirrors, each reflecting a different moment: a battlefield of scorched land… the seal cast by the Great Sage… a gleaming body chained beneath a crimson sea.
"You once begged," I murmured.
"Yes."
"Would you do it again?"
She didn't answer.
I didn't need her to.
The morning bell rang through the corridors of Aetherfall Academy like a soft chorus of wind chimes, beckoning us toward the first class of the day. The scent of parchment, ink, and freshly trimmed wisteria filled the halls as I walked alongside Elowynn, our copied scroll held between us with care.
Neither of us spoke much on the way to the lecture chamber. Last night's thoughts—mine of Solviel, hers likely of her duties—left a quiet rhythm between our footsteps. But the scroll we carried felt heavier than just ink and vellum.
When we entered the high-vaulted room of Professor Nerald's lecture hall, the others were already filing in. Oak shelves wrapped around the circular room like the coils of an ancient serpent, filled with volumes etched in silver and gold. The light from the glass dome above bathed the room in a warm amber.
"Good morning, young scholars," Professor Nerald greeted, his robe fluttering behind him as he approached the front desk. "Please submit your transcriptions. I'm eager to see which of you managed to wrestle some sense from the King's cryptic language."
One by one, scrolls and pages were handed in. Elowynn and I stepped forward, laying our jointly transcribed interpretation on the central lectern.
Professor Nerald took it with gentle fingers, his sharp eyes scanning the script with speed.
He paused.
Then read it again—slower this time.
"Voth Cycle… layered binding intent… resonance glyphs and anchor paths…" he murmured, his brow rising slightly.
He looked up at us, something between curiosity and approval in his eyes.
"This is not merely competent," he said, loud enough that a few students glanced our way. "This is advanced. Where did you two learn to deconstruct syntax at this level?"
"We… cross-referenced from the Spirit-Runic Comparatives and compared glyph alignments from the Lance Imbuement Records," Elowynn answered calmly.
"And the resonance theory came from a dream," I added before I could stop myself.
Professor Nerald blinked, then gave a small chuckle. "Ah, the classic scholar's muse—divine intuition or sheer luck. Either way, you both have potential."
He carefully rolled the scroll and tucked it into a red-gilded case. "I'll be showing this to the Head Runesmith. Perhaps we might consider sponsoring your work for publication in the academy's archives."
I heard a few murmurs ripple around us.
"Publication?" Elowynn whispered as we stepped aside. "That's… rare for first-years."
"Maybe we did more than we thought," I replied, clutching my satchel tighter.
As we returned to our seats, I glanced down at my hand. Just faintly—like warmth after a touch—I could feel Solviel stirring with calm approval.
"Well done, my vessel," she murmured.
I allowed myself the smallest smile.
The ringing of the next bell was sharper—like steel striking against steel. That alone told us the setting would change.
We were led outside the stone halls of the academy toward the open-air Training Grounds of Dawn. The air was crisp, the sky a tapestry of soft blue brushed with streaks of sun, and the vast field was already filled with the clamor of weapons, the distant echo of spells, and the barked orders of instructors.
I held my satchel close as we were sorted into groups. Dozens of students from the other classes had also been summoned—this wasn't just our cohort. A test, perhaps, or a casual assessment to gauge capability.
"Why does it feel like we're being evaluated again?" I muttered.
"We are," Elowynn said, glancing across the field. "That woman with the gold whistle—she's from the Bureau of Potential."
It didn't take long for the purpose to become clear.
"Paired combat sparring, spellless, with wooden weapons," an instructor called out. "Servants will assist in retrievals and post-sparring treatment."
Just then, I noticed the flurry of white and black uniforms around the field. Servants. Dozens of them. They weren't just helping—they were coordinating. Carrying wooden weapons, organizing match pairings, even tending to students who had minor scrapes.
And then I saw him again—Ezekiel.
He was off to the side, pushing a cart of padded gear, tossing a sheathed training weapon to another student who had raised their hand. He looked… relaxed. Not the beaten-down sort one might expect from a servant. But attentive. Efficient.
"They make them work this much?" I asked aloud.
"Of course," Elowynn replied without a hint of surprise. "Some of them do more than the academy staff. It's why nobles bring them. Why train your own hands when you can have someone else polish your sword and memorize your itinerary?"
I glanced back at Ezekiel. He met my eyes for a second. Just a second. Then gave me the faintest smile and continued working. It wasn't rude. Just… casual. As if we'd spoken dozens of times before.
"He's really not from Cindral," I said again.
"No, he isn't," Elowynn replied.
"And yet he doesn't look like someone who was forced into this."
"Because he wasn't. I told you—I bought him." Elowynn's tone didn't shift, but I could tell there was something hidden there. Not cruelty. Not pride. But something else.
Before I could speak again, I heard my name called.
"Lady Luna Gadriel, prepare for your bout!"
I stepped forward, grasping the wooden lance offered to me by a passing servant.
My gaze flicked toward Perephone, who stood watching from the instructors' gallery, arms crossed, a smirk on her face like always.
"No spirits. No magic. Just technique." she had told me before.
Perfect.
As I entered the ring, I could still feel the faint warmth of Solviel at my core.
"I won't interfere," she whispered.
"I know."
As I approached the center of the training grounds, wooden lance in hand and the weight of expectation pressing faintly on my shoulders, a voice—unmistakably familiar and unmistakably smug—cut through the rising noise behind me.
"Hey there, my Luna."
I turned, already suppressing the sigh forming in my chest. Calian.
He stood with that same tilted posture, hands tucked lazily behind his back as if the entire world moved at his leisure. His dark uniform was unwrinkled despite the heat, his silver brooch catching sunlight like a wink of arrogance.
"Hello," I said evenly. "And I'm not yours, so my doesn't belong in your greeting."
"Ah, a wound straight to the heart," he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, Lady Luna."
"Yet you still seem perfectly fine," I said flatly, shifting my lance.
"I just couldn't resist the urge to see how the princess of the Celestial Tribunal fights today," Calian grinned. "Your light amuses me."
"Shouldn't you be preparing for your own match?" came another voice—cooler, sharper.
Elowynn.
She approached from the right, arms crossed over her uniform, her silver-blond hair catching the breeze like a banner of judgment.
"Ah, my apologies, Lady Elowynn," Calian said, offering a small exaggerated bow. "But as you can see, I only came to extend a word of encouragement to the lady of light here."
"Strange," Elowynn said, tilting her head. "Your words always seem to contain more noise than value."
I suppressed a laugh, barely, while Calian placed a hand dramatically over his heart again.
"I shall retreat then," he said with a twirl of his wrist. "But I'll be watching your bout closely, Luna. Perhaps I'll even request the next round with you, hmm?"
"Perhaps," I replied coldly, "if I'm feeling charitable."
"And that," he said, walking backward with a grin, "is what makes this all so exciting."
With that, Calian turned and joined his group, a few noble girls whispering as he passed.
Elowynn watched him go before glancing at me.
"He's insufferable."
"He's persistent," I replied. "Which makes him worse."
"Just don't let him get into your head. He loves people who hesitate."
I nodded, grateful for Elowynn's grounding presence. Then, I took a deep breath, walked toward the center of the ring, and waited for my name to be called once again.
This wasn't just a spar.
It was another page in the book I was writing here at Aetherfall.
And this time, I was going to carve it in motion.