They left the grounds at Lysera's pace—unhurried, knowing. She led them beneath a ribbed arch carved with old sigils, past a line of braziers burning with cold fire that gave no smoke. The snow beneath them did not melt. The light curled at the edges of the flames and drifted upward in thin sheets, like breath made visible.
"University grounds aren't just sand and steel," Lysera said. "Most of what matters hides off the main paths."
Ryne kept close, her eyes hungry, catching on everything. Nameless followed a step behind, his gaze slower, deeper.
Lysera brought them to a low hall with a door of black wood. The lintel was inlaid with pale metal that glimmered like frost. She pressed her palm to the panel; it clicked open, neat and precise.
Inside, the air shifted—warmer, drier. Silence gathered so thick it swallowed their footfalls.
"This is the Hall of Sigils."
The chamber stretched long, its walls smooth as poured water. Down the center ran a raised walkway, and on either side stood slabs of translucent crystal, waist-high to a giant. Each slab held a sigil etched within—lines nested in curves, angles woven like knots. They looked alive without moving.
Ryne slowed, eyes wide. "These are…?"
"Archetypes," Lysera answered. "The first language of power. A sigil is a sentence. The body is the page. The core is the ink." She brushed a hand over the nearest slab. The rune inside it stirred—not with sound, but with the sense of sound, like the hush before thunder.
Ryne's hand hovered near another, then she pulled back. "Can anyone just… copy them?"
"If you want to die badly, yes." Lysera smiled faintly. "Sigils aren't drawings. They're rules. Break them wrong, and they break you instead."
She moved to a slab shaped like a sharp triangle split by a jagged line. It glowed faintly red within the crystal."Fire," she said. "Rage and rebirth."
Ryne frowned. "Rage and rebirth? That sounds… contradictory."
Lysera tapped the glass. The air warmed around them. "Fire destroys. That's rage. But after it's done, what's left is clean—room for something new. That's rebirth. A forest burns, then grows back. A wound sears, then heals."
"Oh," Ryne said softly. "So it kills and cures."
"If you survive it," Lysera added.
She turned to another slab. A downward triangle curled with a flowing line shimmered like water caught in moonlight."Water. Healing, memory, and patience. Bend with it, and it will carry you. Resist it, and it will crush you."
Ryne grinned. "So it's gentle—until it isn't."
Lysera's lips quirked. "Exactly."
They stopped before a block etched with three strokes, plain at first glance—but beneath them, finer lines spread like buried roots. The stone under their feet seemed to sink, heavier with every breath.
"Earth," Lysera said. "Patience. Endurance. The weight that bends others whether they want it or not."
Ryne frowned. "Weight? Like crushing someone?"
"Not crushing," Lysera corrected. "Imposing. To carry Earth's pact is to decide what should rise and what should sink. A sword, a body, even a thought—if Earth says 'stay down,' the world obeys."
Ryne gave a low whistle. "So… stubborn with benefits."
Lysera's lips curved. "Unshakable. That's the word."
A triangle with a horizontal line hummed faintly as Ryne drew near. The air stirred, like a sigh through an unseen door.
"Air," Lysera explained. "Quickness, thought, freedom. Easy to call, easier to lose. Try holding the wind in your fist."
Ryne laughed. "That's impossible."
"Exactly, So controlling it needs a lot of dedication."
She moved on, to a slab jagged with a lightning-bolt mark. The silver lines pulsed, hair rising on their arms."Lightning. Fire and air together. Speed and fury bound in one. Most who carry it don't last long—storms hollow them out."
Ryne's grin widened. "That one sounds fun."
"Yea it does," Lysera said.
Another slab bloomed sharp with frost, spiked like a snowflake. The air around it turned thin and bitter."Ice. Water sharpened by air. Cold that freezes hearts before blood can move."
Ryne shivered. "I'll pass."
"Good choice," Lysera said dryly. "That one rarely lets go once it takes hold."
Nameless had not moved. He stood before the earth sigil, watching it as if it were a mirror. His silence thickened, weighty.
Lysera noticed. "Most think it plain," she said gently. "But earth is the spine of the world. Nothing stands without it."
Nameless said nothing. Yet the air around him seemed to agree.
They stepped into the wing of swordsmen lined with four sealed chambers. Above each door was a carving of a blade, each one different.
Lysera slowed. "The University teaches sigils. But the sword has its own path—four stages. Few climb all of them."
She stopped at the first door, marked with a plain iron blade.
"Swordbearer," she said. "The start. Strength and training. Learning to strike, block, survive. At this stage, a sword is only a weapon—no more, no less."
Ryne smirked. "So… beginners."
"Exactly."
At the second door, a finer, curved blade was carved into the stone.
"Swordmaster. Technique. Precision. The blade becomes part of the body. Every movement is efficient, sharp. They can read their opponent, control the fight. A master wastes nothing."
Ryne tilted her head. "Wait—so can everyone fuse their weapons with energy? Like that swordsman we saw outside?"
Lysera gave a short nod. "Yes. But it isn't easy. For a Swordbearer, it's almost impossible—their bond with the weapon is too shallow. The man you saw earlier was already at the Swordmaster's stage. That's why his weapon could carry his core's resonance."
Ryne's eyes widened. "So that was only the second stage?"
Lysera smiled faintly. "Exactly. Impressive, isn't it?"
They reached the third door, carved with a heavy knight's blade. The air here pressed on their skin.
"Knightblade," Lysera explained. "Skill isn't enough here. Their strikes carry willpower. Conviction gives their sword weight. Every swing is stronger because it's backed by purpose—an oath, a cause. The stronger the will, the stronger the blade."
Ryne nodded slowly. "So the heart matters as much as the hand."
"Exactly."
Finally, they stopped at the fourth chamber. No carving this time—just a faint glow in the shape of a blade. The door hummed like it was alive.
"Aura Blade," Lysera said. Her voice lowered with respect. "The highest stage. The sword and the soul become one. Their intent flows into the strike. With enough resonance, they can cut more than flesh—they can wound aura, silence, even memory. That's why Aura Blades are legends."
Ryne's mouth parted. "Has anyone here reached it?"
Lysera glanced at Nameless, still and silent. "Few. Very few."
Ryne leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "So… if I grabbed one of those Aura Blades, I could, what… slice through steel? Mountains? Maybe even the moon?"
Nameless blinked once. "Or yourself."
Ryne waved him off dramatically. "Minor details! I like my entrances epic. Moon-slicing has a nice ring to it."
Lysera's lips twitched. "Your… enthusiasm is noted. And slightly terrifying."
Nameless muttered, "I prefer quiet. Less chance of breaking the world—or me."
Ryne leaned back, smirking. "Pfft. You? Scary? Please. You just stand there like a talking shadow."
Nameless tilted his head. "Shadow's sharper than a sword, and far quieter."
Ryne laughed. "I'll keep that in mind… probably as a warning."
Then they left the wing of swordsmen and sigils behind, corridors narrowing, the air growing sharper with every step. Lysera paused before a dark door, etched with restless, twisting sigils.
"This one… can we—" Ryne started, curiosity blazing.
"No," Lysera said, cutting her off. Calm, firm. "Not yet. Isolation training. Dangerous even for those who think they're ready."
Ryne's eyebrows shot up. "So… they just sit in there? And survive?"
"Masters sit in the corners," Lysera said, voice flat but amused. "They intervene only if the student looks like they are dying."
Ryne swallowed. "That sounds… cheerful."
"Survival isn't meant to be cheerful," Lysera said, then glanced at Nameless. "And you… say nothing. Not a word. Why? Planning something?"
Nameless lifted his gaze to hers, expression deadpan. "I'm not talkative like Ryne, after all."
Ryne snorted. "Hey! I talk just enough."
Lysera's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Noted. I prefer quiet, though. Less chance of breaking something."
They climbed the narrow, twisting stairwell that hugged the outer wall of the spire. The wind tore through iron grilles, sharp against Ryne's skin. Every window framed the city below, a patchwork of streets and veins of white light that pulsed faintly like living things.
At last, a slit of a door opened to the spire's ledge. The city stretched below, layered and immense. The sun hung low, bleeding gold across jagged mountain ridges. Shadows pooled in streets, spreading into alleys, winding like smoke.
Ryne pressed her palms against the stone parapet, breath white in the cold air. "It's… unreal. Bigger than I imagined."
Lysera leaned against the stone beside her. "It's beautiful, yes. But beauty can blind you. Dangerous things hide in the edges."
Nameless stood a pace back, calm, eyes sweeping the streets. "And the edges keep an eye on you," Ryne whispered, noting his silence.
"I prefer watching than talking," he said dryly. "Less chance of saying something stupid."
Ryne laughed softly. "Fair enough. It's you afterall."
Lysera looked at him, then at Ryne. "Both of you need lessons the city itself will give. I have work to finish before night fully falls. But you—explore. See it. Smell it. Let it teach."
Ryne turned to her, eyes wide. "You're leaving us up here?"
"Yes," Lysera said smoothly. "I have work. And you're both capable enough to survive the night without me… I think."
"'Think'?" Ryne asked suspiciously.
Lysera smirked faintly. "I'll leave the doubt to make it interesting." She pushed off the parapet and disappeared down the narrow stair, footsteps soundless against stone.
Nameless let out a quiet, amused hum. "She has a flair for drama."
Ryne grinned, following his gaze to the city lights. "Then let's make our own drama. Night city, here we come."
Lysera's voice drifted up faintly as she descended. "Go get something warm to eat first. The night is long, and it teaches faster on a full stomach."
The spire was theirs now. The city waited, alive with light, sound, and secrets. Ryne pressed her hands to the cold parapet one last time. Nameless followed, silent as ever, though the corner of his mouth hinted at a smirk. Together, they stepped down into the night of Araveth.