CHAPTER 60 – CHANGING POSITION
Seryn didn't stay in his room for long. He rose from the edge of the bed, glanced once more at the crystal, and this time deliberately pulled his gaze away. Even looking at it caused a faint stir in the grey flow. Not touching it was the right choice. For now.
He opened the door.
The corridor carried the silence left behind by students coming out of the exam. There were footsteps, but no conversation. People walked side by side, yet no one looked at anyone else.
Seryn walked. Steady. Unhurried.
He went down the stairs. He didn't head to the main courtyard. It wasn't a conscious decision; his feet naturally turned toward a side passage. Fewer people there. Fewer eyes.
As he walked, he checked the crack in his chest. Silent.
This silence no longer comforted him, but it didn't cause panic either. It felt more like something changing position. Before, there had been a constant weight pressing forward. Now that weight had pulled back.
Not backward, he thought. Inward.
He stopped.
At the end of the passage stood Valeria.
She was leaning against the wall. Her notebook was closed. She didn't look like she was waiting for him, but when Seryn approached, she lifted her head. Her gaze was sharp. Measuring.
"Seryn," she said.
Just his name.
"Valeria."
Neither of them spoke. A few seconds passed. In that silence, there was mutual evaluation. Valeria broke it first.
"At the Fourth Knot," she said, "no instructor filed an intervention note on your behalf."
Seryn nodded. "There was no need."
"Yes," Valeria said. "That's the problem."
Seryn didn't respond. He knew what Valeria saw as the problem, but he didn't want it spoken aloud.
Valeria continued.
"Some students suppressed. Some surrendered. Some fell apart. You… changed position."
There was no judgment in her words. Only observation.
"Is that good?" Seryn asked.
Valeria lifted her shoulders slightly. "It can't be recorded."
"So?"
"So," Valeria said, "we can't place you anywhere."
Seryn had felt this before. But hearing it stated so plainly by an instructor was different.
"Is that my problem?" he asked.
Valeria's lips moved just barely. It wasn't a smile.
"Not yet."
That word.
A faint vibration stirred in Seryn's chest. Very faint. Valeria didn't notice. She wasn't supposed to.
"The Academy," Valeria went on, "likes uncertainty. But uncertainty has to be controllable."
Seryn didn't look away. "Am I uncontrollable?"
"You aren't being controlled," Valeria said. "But you aren't attacking either."
She paused.
"That unsettles some people."
"Who?"
Valeria didn't answer. There was no need to.
She didn't open her notebook. That, too, was deliberate.
"In the coming days," she said, "you won't be given a direct assignment. But you'll remain under observation."
"I already was."
"No," Valeria said. "This time, consciously."
Seryn inclined his head. Neither acceptance nor objection.
Valeria walked past him. Her steps were quiet. Before leaving, she stopped.
"One more thing," she said. "At the Fourth Knot, you didn't talk to yourself."
Seryn lifted his brows slightly.
"Some shout," Valeria said. "Some beg. Some lie to themselves. You… stayed silent."
"Is that good?" Seryn asked again.
This time, Valeria didn't answer. She walked on and disappeared around the corner.
Seryn stayed where he was, thinking why everyone in this cursed academy spoke in riddles.
After a while, he started walking again. But this time, he changed direction. Not toward the training grounds, not toward the library. He headed for the stairs leading to the Academy's lesser-used archive corridors.
No one went there.
As he climbed the steps, the crack in his chest reacted for the first time—very faintly. Not discomfort. Not a warning.
Attention.
"There's nothing here," he said quietly. "I'm just walking."
There was no response.
When he reached the upper floor, the archive door was closed. Normal. He didn't try to open it. Just standing in front of it was enough. The scent of old stone, old paper, old knowledge reached even here.
He stood there for a while.
You changed position, he thought. But to where?
No answer came.
That wasn't a problem.
Seryn turned back and went down the same way. This time, his steps were a little heavier. Not fatigue. Weight.
When he returned to his room, he closed the door and leaned his back against it. He took a deep breath.
The crack was still there.
But now it wasn't like a fissure—it was like a passage with a closed door.
It wasn't opening. It wasn't closing.
Seryn sat down on the bed.
"I'll wait," he said.
It wasn't a challenge. It wasn't an oath.
It was simply acceptance of the current state.