Caelan woke earlier than usual.
The room was still dim, the academy's bells far from ringing, when he sat at his desk with a book open in his hands. Pages already bore faint pencil marks in the margins—questions, observations, symbols half-formed.
"Caelan... you're studying?"
Thoryn's voice came from the bed behind him as he stirred awake, propping himself up on one elbow.
"Yeah," Caelan replied without looking up. "Scholar Nerith gave me some books to read."
He turned a page, eyes never leaving the text.
"He said he'll test me on what I've read."
Thoryn blinked, fully awake now.
"Test you?" he repeated. "Since when does that man test anyone?"
Caelan shrugged lightly. "Since now, I guess."
Thoryn studied him for a moment longer, then swung his legs out of bed.
"Alright," he said slowly. "I'll wake the others."
"Thanks," Caelan replied. "I already sorted things out."
That finally made Thoryn pause.
He glanced toward the chairs by the desk.
Neatly folded uniforms.
Training gear set aside.
Even Veynar's usually crumpled notes were stacked properly.
"...As efficient as ever," Thoryn muttered, half amused, half unsettled.
Veynar groaned awake a moment later.
"What's with the light—" he stopped mid-complaint, squinting at Caelan. "Why do you look like you've been awake for hours?"
"I have," Caelan answered calmly.
Veynar stared.
"That's illegal," he said. "Academy rules. Students aren't allowed to be productive before sunrise."
Draven, already sitting up, let out a quiet huff of laughter.
Nerith—still half-asleep—cracked one eye open.
"...You've been spending a lot of time with the other Nerith," he murmured. "It's contagious."
Caelan finally glanced back at them, smiling faintly.
"Get up," he said. "We'll be late."
Thoryn shook his head as he grabbed his things.
"First you stop cultivating," he said, "now you're studying like your life depends on it."
"Something like that," Caelan replied.
No one pressed him.
But as they finished preparing and stepped out into the corridor together, all of them glanced at him at least once—curious, uncertain, and just a little wary.
Whatever had shifted hadn't made noise.
That, somehow, made it worse.
The academy halls were already filling as they headed toward class.
And for the first time, Caelan walked them without once glancing toward the cultivation wing.
When they arrived at class, Professor Lythera was already there, sleeves rolled up and several ritual frames laid out across the floor.
"Oh—Caelan, come here quickly," Lythera called, gesturing him over. "Help me out. Today's class will involve more demanding ritual circles."
A few heads turned immediately.
"Alright, Professor," Caelan replied, stepping forward. He turned slightly and handed his bag back.
"Nerith, could you take my things to the desk? Thanks."
"Yeah, no problem," Nerith said easily, grinning. "Lythera only ever asks you anyway."
A couple of students snorted. Others frowned.
Caelan only smiled faintly before moving to Lythera's side.
"Now then, everyone, take your seats," Lythera said, clapping his hands once. "Previously, the ritual circles you practised were limited to simple functions—sensing axiom, minor convergence, stabilisation."
He tapped one of the etched diagrams with his foot.
"Those were instructional circles. Most of them are used on parchments or external medium."
He paused, letting the room be quiet.
"Today will be different."
Several students straightened instinctively.
"This time, we'll be working with full physical enhancement rituals," Lythera continued. "Temporary reinforcement of muscle, circulation, and axiom flow."
A murmur rippled through the class.
"Because of the risk," he added calmly, "Young Caelan and I will be assisting. You will only do what we instruct. Do not activate anything early. Do not alter the patterns."
His gaze sharpened.
"And if you don't understand something—ask."
Lythera stepped aside slightly, placing Caelan clearly in view.
"This enhancement is a simplified version of what I demonstrated during the first lesson," he said. "The difference is that this one interacts directly with your body."
Caelan knelt beside one of the circles, already adjusting spacing, his movements practised—almost instinctive.
A few students watched him closely now.
Not with admiration.
With curiosity.
And something else.
Whatever Caelan had been doing lately it was no longer something that stayed quiet.
Next, weapons training.
The training grounds rang with the steady clash of steel.
Practice blades met again and again across the training floor, the sound sharp but controlled. Instructors moved between students, correcting stances, adjusting grips, and calling out reminders.
Caelan stood opposite Master Rynar.
"Again," Rynar said, rolling his shoulders loose. "Same opening."
Caelan nodded.
They moved.
Rynar pressed forward immediately—no hesitation, no flourish. His strikes were direct, meant to test fundamentals rather than overwhelm. Caelan met him head-on, feet sliding, posture low, blade angling just enough to deflect rather than block.
Clang.
Rynar shifted his weight, feinted left, then cut across.
Caelan retreated half a step, let the strike pass, and countered with a short, tight swing that stopped an inch from Rynar's shoulder.
Rynar raised a brow.
"Clean," he said. "Again."
They exchanged another series—controlled, efficient, almost quiet compared to the chaos around them. No wasted motion. No showmanship.
A few students nearby slowed their own drills, watching without meaning to.
After the fifth exchange, Rynar stepped back and lifted a hand.
"That's enough."
Caelan lowered his blade immediately.
"You're done for today," Rynar said. "Your balance is stable. No need to push."
"Yes, Master," Caelan replied, bowing slightly.
Normally, that would have been the point where Caelan rejoined his friends—helping correct grips, sparring lightly, or staying behind once the class ended to assist with clean-up.
But this time, he didn't.
He wiped down his practice blade, returned it to the rack, and gathered his things with quiet efficiency.
Thoryn noticed first.
"...He's already packing?" he muttered.
Veynar glanced over. "That's early."
Draven frowned. "He didn't even break a sweat."
Caelan finished tying his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and gave them a brief look.
"I'll catch up later," he said simply.
Then he turned and headed back indoors
No lingering. No waiting for the others.
For a moment, the grounds felt... off.
The rest of the class continued as normal. Instructors barked corrections. Steel rang. Footsteps echoed.
But when the final dismissal came, and students began filtering out, Caelan wasn't there.
As usual, his group stayed behind.
Only this time, one presence was missing.
They moved automatically—returning weapons, stacking practice mats, wiping down the floor where axiom residue faintly lingered.
"This is weird," Veynar said finally. "He never leaves early."
"He's been doing it a lot lately," Draven replied, quieter. "After classes. Before meals."
Thoryn paused mid-motion. "You think it's just studying?"
Veynar shrugged. "Studying doesn't usually mean disappearing with Scholar Nerith."
That caught attention.
One of the nearby instructors slowed as he passed, pretending not to listen.
"Every time I see him lately," Veynar continued, lowering his voice, "he's either with Scholar Nerith or coming back from the library."
Draven straightened. "Ancient History doesn't take that much time."
"He barely comes to cultivation classes anymore," Thoryn said. "And when he does, the professors keep pulling him aside."
Another instructor exchanged a glance with Rynar.
Rynar said nothing, but his gaze lingered briefly on the path Caelan had taken.
"...He's changed," Veynar said at last. "Hasn't he?"
No one answered immediately.
The grounds emptied around them.
By the time they finished tidying, the space felt larger than usual.
And for the first time since Tartarus Academy had become routine—
Caelan was already somewhere else.
The change did not happen all at once.
On the first day, it was barely noticeable.
In ritual class, Caelan worked beside Professor Lythera as usual. The circles were more complex now—layered inscriptions, deeper axiom channels—but Caelan moved through them without hesitation, correcting lines before they were finished, adjusting flow before it faltered.
When the bell rang, Lythera didn't dismiss him with the others.
"That will be all," he said to the class. Then, quieter, to Caelan alone: "You're done here today."
Caelan nodded, gathered his things, and left.
His friends stayed behind, exchanging brief glances, unsure if they had misheard.
—
On the training grounds, Master Rynar pushed him harder than normal.
The spar lasted longer than any before it. No spectacle. No crowd. Just clean strikes, controlled pressure, and corrections given between breaths. When it ended, Rynar studied Caelan for a long moment.
"That's enough," he said at last. "You've taken what you needed."
Caelan bowed, wiped his blade, and—unlike every other day—did not stay to help pack away the weapons.
He left while the others were still lining up for drills.
—
By the second day, the pattern repeated.
Advanced ritual practice ended early for him.
Weapons training, Valen stopped him mid-sequence, eyes sharp but unreadable.
"You don't need to stay," Valen said. "Go."
No explanation followed.
Later, during supplemental conditioning, Lyris noticed him stretching to leave.
"Still pacing yourself?" she asked lightly.
"Yes, Instructor."
She watched him for a second longer than necessary before nodding.
"Just don't forget to return intact."
Caelan smiled faintly and departed.
—
By the third day, Caelan didn't attend cultivation theory at all.
He trained earlier than everyone else, finished sooner, and left quietly—often before the others had even begun clean-up.
His friends noticed.
They always did.
—
"He used to stay after," Veynar muttered one afternoon, tightening the straps on a rack of practice weapons. "Every time."
"He still helps," Thoryn replied, though his gaze lingered on the empty gate. "Just... not with us."
Draven said nothing, but his eyes followed the path Caelan had taken.
Even Nerith frowned.
—
The instructors noticed too.
Keath watched Caelan bow and leave without comment. Only when the boy was gone did he speak.
"He's being allowed," Keath said quietly.
"Allowed to do what?" someone asked.
Keath didn't answer.
—
By the end of the week, it was no longer a coincidence.
Caelan trained.
Caelan left.
And no one stopped him.
Not because he asked.
But because, somehow, there was nothing left for him there.
________
The room was quiet in the way only instructors' quarters ever were—warded silence, thick and deliberate.
Captain Valen stood near the window, arms folded behind his back, eyes fixed on the training grounds below. Professor Irene sat at the table, fingers interlaced so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Trainer Keath leaned against the wall, unmoving. Professor Lythera had not yet taken a seat.
Scholar Nerith arrived last.
He closed the door behind him without a word.
Instructor Lyris turned on him immediately.
"This is your fault."
The words cracked sharper than expected, echoing once before dying against the wards.
Nerith didn't flinch. He simply looked at her.
"If you hadn't filled his head with ancient nonsense—if you hadn't let him wander your archives—"
"Lyris." Valen's voice was calm, but ironed flat. "Enough."
She exhaled sharply, hands clenched at her sides.
"You didn't see him," she said, quieter now, and that was worse. "In the infirmary. His axiom wasn't surging—it was misaligned. Like something had bitten into him and refused to let go."
Lythera finally spoke. "I've never seen ritual backlash present like that. No collapse. No rejection. Just... strain. As if the system didn't know what to do with him."
All eyes turned to Irene.
She didn't look away.
"I sent him to Nerith," she said. "Not because I was curious. Because I was afraid."
The room stilled.
"He was going to break himself trying to fit into a structure that doesn't recognise him," she continued. "Modern cultivation pressures students to force alignment. Caelan doesn't force. He persists. That's worse."
Keath frowned. "You're saying cultivation classes would have pushed him back into it."
"Yes," Irene replied. "And next time we might not get him back."
Silence followed.
Nerith finally moved, stepping forward, resting his hand on the back of a chair without sitting.
"The method he accessed," he said slowly, "was not recorded in any modern axiom framework. It did not circulate energy. It reoriented the self."
Lyris' breath caught.
"That's not possible," Lythera said.
"It shouldn't be," Nerith agreed. "And yet."
Valen turned. "Is it dangerous?"
Nerith hesitated.
"That is the wrong question."
The air thickened.
"Is it stable?" Valen pressed.
"I don't know," Nerith said plainly. "Which is why he is not cultivating."
Lyris's shoulders sagged, anger draining into something raw.
"So we're just... letting him drift?"
"No," Irene said softly. "We're anchoring him."
She stood.
"Ancient history has no axiom pressure. No advancement metrics. No competition. He can think without being pushed to act."
"And if thinking leads him back to it?" Lythera asked.
Nerith's gaze sharpened.
"Then at least he will do so under observation."
That unsettled them more than if he'd promised control.
Valen sighed. "His friends are noticing."
"They will," Irene said. "He's leaving early. Skipping cultivation. Spending time with Nerith."
Lyris wiped at her eyes, then straightened. "I don't care what they notice. I just want him safe."
No one contradicted her.
Keath finally spoke. "And if this ancient method is viable?"
Nerith was quiet for a long moment.
"Then Caelan does not fit into modern cultivation," he said. "Modern cultivation will have to answer to him."
That sentence lingered—uncomfortable, heavy.
Valen nodded once. "Until we know more, we keep him away from axiom pressure."
"And if he resists?" Lythera asked.
Irene smiled faintly, sadly. "He won't. He promised."
That somehow made it worse.
Lyris turned toward the door. "I'll keep an eye on him in weapons training."
"I already am," Keath said.
Valen glanced back out the window. "So are the others."
Nerith finally took a seat.
"Good," he said. "Let him feel watched. Let him feel held."
No one missed the careful wording.
Not controlled.
Not guided.
Held.
The meeting dissolved soon after, but none of them felt lighter when they left.
Far below, on the stone paths between halls, Caelan walked alone—books tucked under one arm—utterly unaware of how carefully the world around him was being rearranged.
________
Back in their room.
"Ughhh—!" Veynar groaned, flopping back against his pillow. "What is going on with Caelan lately? He disappears after class, leaves early, and every time we ask he just smiles like nothing's wrong."
He sat up, frustration sharp in his eyes.
"Didn't we just tell him not to pull that kind of thing again after what happened last time? I don't care what anyone says—this is how it starts." His voice dropped. "And it's making me worried."
Nerith, leaning against the bedpost with a book upside down in his hands, glanced up.
"Relax," he said lightly. "He promised he wouldn't do anything reckless. You heard him. I'm sure there's some other reason."
A pillow flew.
It struck Nerith square in the face.
"Shut up," Veynar snapped. "I don't care. I'm allowed to be worried."
Nerith peeled the pillow off his face, stared at it for a second, then hurled it back.
"Then let's stop guessing," he said. "We follow him."
Veynar blinked.
Then his eyes lit up. "Oh. Yeah. You're right. Let's go."
Thoryn, who had been sitting quietly at the edge of the bed, frowned.
"Wait," he said. "We shouldn't. If Caelan wanted us to know, he would've told us."
Draven crossed his arms, gaze steady. "Or he didn't want to worry us."
Thoryn hesitated.
"That doesn't mean spying on him is right."
Nerith shrugged, already on his feet. "Maybe not. But standing around pretending we're not curious isn't right either."
He glanced back at Thoryn. "You've noticed it too."
Thoryn didn't answer. That was answer enough.
Draven nodded once. "For once," he said, "we agree on something."
Nerith smirked. "For once, the muscle head is right."
"Hey," Draven muttered, but he was already moving.
Veynar grabbed his jacket, excitement and unease tangled together.
"Alright," he said. "Just following. No interrupting. No confronting."
They paused at the door.
"...Right?" Thoryn asked.
Veynar grinned. "Probably."
And with that, they slipped out—unaware that they were stepping into something far deeper than simple curiosity.
They spotted Caelan just as he turned down a narrow corridor, one rarely used at this hour.
Without a word, the four of them slowed, then followed.
Caelan stopped in front of a plain door set deep into the stone wall and knocked once before entering.
A drift of old paper and dust slipped out as the door cracked open.
The friends pressed themselves to the side of the corridor, peering through the gap before it shut completely.
The room beyond was chaotic. Books toppled over tables and the floor alike. Shelves bowed under the weight, loose parchment pinned to walls in no order.
"How does anyone work like this?" Veynar whispered.
Nerith squinted. "Either Scholar Nerith is exactly as mad as the rumours say... or he's forgotten how to clean."
"Look—they're talking," Draven murmured.
"Shh," Veynar hissed. "Listen."
Inside, Caelan stood near a cluttered desk, posture straight, eyes focused.
"Teacher," Caelan said, respectful but eager, "are there any more texts on ancient ruins and cursed lands? I've finished everything you gave me."
Scholar Nerith didn't look up at first, flipping a page and humming softly.
"My boy," he said, amused, "what I gave you is more than enough. Most scholars spend a lifetime circling these texts and still understand nothing. What you know already exceeds what most are allowed to know."
The friends stiffened.
"But," Scholar Nerith continued, lips quirking, "if your curiosity has wandered toward... less public knowledge—"
He reached behind him and pulled a thin, leather-bound volume from beneath a stack.
"—forbidden rituals, sealed cult practices, marginal annotations left out of official records..."
He smiled faintly.
"I do have a few."
"Yes, please," Caelan said without hesitation.
Veynar's blood ran cold.
"What the hell," he whispered harshly. "He is doing dangerous things again."
"That Scholar shouldn't be giving him that kind of stuff," Thoryn muttered. "After everything that happened..."
Scholar Nerith handed the book over, tone shifting, losing its lightness.
"Read," he said, "but do not practice. Knowledge is not permission."
Caelan nodded immediately. "I understand."
The friends didn't hear that part. All they saw was Caelan accepting a book that clearly did not belong in a safe, well-lit classroom.
Veynar clenched his fists. "This is bad."
Nerith frowned. "Or... we're missing something."
Draven didn't take his eyes off Caelan. "Whatever it is," he said quietly, "it's not nothing."
The door closed. And with it, whatever reassurance they might have had.
After a stretch of silence, they heard footsteps.
"Quick," Nerith whispered. "Hide—someone's coming."
They pressed themselves back into the shadows just as the door opened.
"I'll be off to the library," Caelan said, dipping his head slightly. "Thank you for the book. I'll abide by what you said."
Scholar Nerith waved him away without looking up from a page.
"Take care, boy. And don't lose yourself in the margins."
Caelan smiled faintly, tucked the thin book beneath his arm, and stepped out.
The door closed. A heartbeat passed.
"Let's go," Thoryn whispered. "He's headed to the library."
They moved quickly but quietly, keeping a distance. Caelan's pace was measured, unhurried, like someone who had nowhere else to be.
He passed through an archway, sunlight briefly catching the edge of the book before disappearing beneath its worn cover.
Veynar clicked his tongue under his breath. "He's acting like this is normal."
"Maybe it is to him," Nerith muttered.
They followed through corridors that grew older the deeper they went—walls etched with faded runes, lamps dimmer, footsteps swallowed by stone. The hum of students faded, replaced by the low, almost reverent quiet that clung to the library halls.
Caelan paused at the entrance. He didn't look back.
The doors parted with a soft groan, and he slipped inside.
Veynar pressed himself against the wall. "Alright," he whispered. "From here on, no noise."
Draven nodded. "No assumptions."
Nerith snorted softly. "You already made them."
Thoryn didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on the slowly closing doors.
They waited. Then, one by one, they followed him in—unaware of how this scene would shift the shape of their group.
—
Inside the library, the hush settled like a second skin.
Caelan spotted Mira immediately—seated at her usual table, books stacked neatly, notes in precise handwriting. She looked up, brightening, and lifted a hand in a small wave.
"Hey, Caelan," Mira said. "What are we tackling this time?"
"That depends," Caelan said. "Do you still feel like you need help with ritual structuring, or are you more confused about certain Lexaen inscriptions?"
Mira tapped her chin. "Hmm... both, honestly."
She laughed softly, embarrassed.
Caelan smiled. "Then we'll start with Lexaen inscriptions. Rituals get messy if the foundation isn't clear."
"Figures," Mira replied, nodding.
Time passed quietly. Questions, notes, explanations. Then—
"Sorry I'm late," Alira said, sliding into the seat to his left. Faint sweat clung to her collar.
"I got absorbed in weapons practice," she admitted.
"That's hardly something to apologize for. That's important too," Caelan said, chuckling.
Alira smiled. "Thanks, Caelan. So—what were you two working on?"
"Lexaen inscription meanings," Mira answered immediately.
"You couldn't have waited a little?" Alira said, turning to Mira with an exaggerated pout. "I needed help too."
Mira tilted her head, lips curling. "Whose fault is that? I told you to be on time. Don't blame us just because you'd rather swing weapons."
"Enough," Caelan cut in gently, amused. "No one's being left out."
The girls laughed.
Alira's gaze drifted to the thin, worn book resting beside Caelan's arm.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Oh—yeah," Mira added. "I was wondering the same thing."
Caelan hesitated for a heartbeat. "My teacher gave it to me."
Alira blinked. "Scholar Nerith?"
Caelan nodded.
"What's it about?" Mira asked.
"Forbidden rituals and sealed cult practices," Caelan replied evenly.
Silence.
Alira stared. "How does he always have things like that lying around?"
Mira leaned forward. "Actually... that makes me more interested. Could we look at it together?"
Caelan nodded.
"Seriously?" Alira exclaimed. "You guys—fine. Move over. Let me see too."
"I knew it," Mira giggled.
"Shut up," Alira flustered, and Caelan laughed.
From the shadows, the friends watched—tense, uneasy, aware of the weight of knowledge, and the calm certainty of the boy holding it.
The walk back to their dorm was quiet. Mira and Alira flanked him, sharing observations. Once separated, Caelan headed to his room alone.
—
"Hey Caelan," Veynar called, "Where've you been? What did we say?"
"Oh, sorry, I should've told you."
"You're not doing anything dangerous, right?" Thoryn asked. "Especially with Scholar Nerith."
"First, I've just been absorbed in Ancient History. Second, unlike the rumors, Scholar Nerith isn't reckless. Knowledge without guidance is dangerous. There's no forbidden knowledge, only knowledge at the wrong time."
Thoryn relaxed slightly.
"Anything else?" Nerith raised an eyebrow.
"No, nothing more," Caelan said, opening a book. "I'm going to read a bit before bed. Very interesting."
The friends exchanged glances, suspicion flickering—but they let it go... for now.
—
Morning came
The same thing repeated
Each new day passed, their thoughts outgrowing, each more weird and ridiculous than the last. That's when they decide to confront them.
"Alright, let's go," Nerith said, motioning the group toward Scholar Nerith's room.
"He's in there with his books, reading," Veynar whispered.
"Ok, then we'll head to the library while he's occupied," Nerith decided.
"Library now?" Thoryn asked.
"Yes. We need to talk to the girls—figure out who they are and check on Caelan," Nerith explained.
"Again... why don't we just ask Caelan?" Thoryn pressed.
"No," Nerith replied firmly. "Trust me, this is the better way."
The four of them moved quickly through the corridors and entered the library. There, Mira and Alira sat at the familiar table, books spread out before them.
"There they are," Draven muttered, pointing.
"Let's go," Veynar said.
They approached cautiously.
"Uh... hello," Alira said, startled.
"Don't worry, we didn't mean to startle you," Nerith said gently.
"We just want to talk," Thoryn added. "I'm Thoryn Durvryn Korveth, this is Nerith Corath, Veynar Lyrion, and Draven Drask Thorrien."
"Hello," Alira replied. "I'm Alira Valen Solmire, and this is Mira Calverin."
The girls were cautious at first, but something in the group's presence felt different—trustworthy enough that they allowed them to sit.
"First," Nerith began, "what do you know about Caelan?"
"Huh?" Alira blinked.
"I'm sure you know him as a friend—we all do," Nerith continued. "But because of recent events, we need to be certain he's safe."
"He means the world to us," Thoryn added.
"I see," Alira said quietly.
"Caelan isn't like the others," Mira said. "I first met him here in the library. He was reading the most curious books. Every day, different texts, always searching for something."
"Then I asked him what he was doing the next day," Mira continued. "He told me he was researching ancient ruins. That caught my attention. That's when I asked his name—and realised he was the famous Caelan everyone was talking about in class, the one Professor Lythera always asks for."
"You didn't realise that immediately?" Veynar asked.
"I'm usually too absorbed in my own reading to notice," Mira replied.
Alira nodded. "When Mira started going to the library frequently, coming back late, I got curious. I found out she'd been meeting with Caelan, and she explained he was helping her study. So I joined in. That's when we started getting close, realising he was... different."
"He wasn't like the noble boys who belittled me as a commoner," Mira said, voice firm. "Caelan was noble, but he didn't care who I was. He treated me as an equal, encouraged me, and helped without asking for anything—even when I interrupted his work. He never got angry."
"For me," Alira continued, "he didn't treat me like the other nobles did. I saw how he was with Mira, and I began to trust him. He helped me with weapons training, gave me advice, and never judged me for getting dirty or learning hands-on skills. He treated everyone fairly, no matter their status."
"I see," Nerith said softly. "Caelan became friends with Veynar and me since the Awakening Ceremony. Others scorned him, but he treated everyone equally."
"I had to stop him before he started punching some of them," Veynar added with a small laugh. "Back then, he wasn't that close to us, but the way he treated us showed his true character. We admired that."
"Then Draven and Thoryn came to the dorms after the Awakening," Nerith said.
"We met him there," Thoryn continued. "The way Nerith and Veynar treated him, and how he treated them, was special. Later, when there was commotion in the cafeteria, we stood up for him."
"He asked us why we helped," Draven said. "We could see he didn't have good relations with the nobles."
"Yeah," Veynar added. "He told us he didn't fit in with nobles, and the commoners didn't want him either. Something had happened in his past."
"That's when we knew we wanted Caelan with us," Nerith said. "He could have resented everyone, but he didn't."
"We told him he deserved to be stood up for," Thoryn said. "The more time we spent together, the stronger our bond became. Without Caelan, we'd be somewhere completely different."
"Now you understand why we need to know about you two," Nerith said, looking at Mira and Alira.
"Yeah," Mira replied.
"Now, our second question," Nerith continued, "what do you know about Caelan—what he's doing?"
"Scholar Nerith is careful," Thoryn said. "We can see he's someone who guides him, even with those... unusual books. We want you to know, because you're in the same class, you must have noticed his absences."
"Yeah," Alira agreed.
"That day he did something he shouldn't have," Thoryn said. "He ended up in the infirmary."
"He became obsessed with cultivation because he couldn't do it," Nerith explained. "We were scared watching him. Then... something happened. A huge pressure, beyond anything we've felt, and we called the instructors who were close to him to help. They pulled him out of that state."
"Honestly," Draven said quietly, "while he was unconscious, we were terrified. We didn't want to lose him—he means too much to us."
Mira blinked, absorbing everything Thoryn, Draven, Veynar, and Nerith had just shared. "Wait... all of that really happened?" she asked softly, almost to herself.
Alira's hands tightened around the edge of her chair. "He... he went through that?" Her voice was quiet, a mix of awe and worry. "And none of us even knew."
"Exactly," Nerith said. "Which is why we need to know who he spends his time with, what he reads, what he experiments on... We have to be sure he's safe."
Mira's eyes flicked to Alira, then back at the four boys. "So all that time in the library... him showing me those texts, explaining rituals and inscriptions... it wasn't reckless?"
"Not reckless," Thoryn said firmly. "He knows what he's doing. But even someone careful can attract danger if no one else notices. That's why we're cautious."
Alira exhaled slowly, letting the tension in her shoulders ease. "I always thought he was... special," she admitted. "But hearing all this, the way you all describe him... It's more than I realised. He's stronger than I imagined."
Draven leaned back slightly, expression softening. "He's not just strong in cultivation or knowledge. He's... reliable. He treats everyone fairly, even when it's inconvenient, even when it's risky. That's rare."
Mira smiled, a little shyly. "I felt that the first day I spoke with him. But now I understand why. Everything he does—every book, every ritual, every time he stops to help someone—he's aware. He's careful. Thoughtful. Not reckless."
Alira nodded, glancing at Mira. "He didn't just help me with weapons or rituals. He made me feel... capable. Like I mattered beyond my status as a noble."
"That's how he is," Veynar said softly. "And that's why we want to make sure he's surrounded by people who understand him, not just admire him from a distance."
Mira's expression brightened. "Then... we'll help. We'll watch, we'll learn, we'll... be there. Together."
Alira smiled faintly, her earlier apprehension fading. "Yes. We can do that."
Nerith's lips quirked into a small, approving smile. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear. You two understand what it means to be with him. Not blindly, not idolising him—but aware, supportive, and careful."
There was a moment of quiet as the six of them sat, letting the weight of their conversation settle.
Draven leaned against a nearby shelf, eyes scanning the library's dim light. "Honestly... I'm glad we know. There's a lot about him that's... unusual. Dangerous, maybe. But he's not alone anymore. We can be part of that."
Veynar shifted, crossing his arms with a grin. "It's a strange feeling... to think we're learning from him, protecting him, and somehow... becoming part of the same story."
Mira and Alira exchanged glances, both laughing softly. "Part of the story," Mira echoed. "I like that."
"Yes," Alira said, smiling at the group. "We're together in this—he might be the centre, but we're a team. We'll help, watch, and—" She paused, glancing at Caelan in her mind's eye—"learn from him. And each other."
Nerith finally leaned back, letting out a quiet chuckle. "Well, then. That settles it. You two are officially... part of this circle. No secrets, no pretences. Just understanding and trust. And if you all stick together, there's very little the Academy can throw at him—or you—that will shake you."
Mira looked down at her open book, then up at the group. "I feel... like we're really part of something now. Something important."
Alira nodded. "Yes. Something bigger than just a few books or classes. Something that matters."
Thoryn exhaled slowly, letting the tension leave him. "Then let's make sure we stay close. Not just for him—but for ourselves. If we're going to face what's coming... we need to trust each other."
A shared understanding passed between them, unspoken but deep. They might be young, they might still have much to learn—but in that library, surrounded by the weight of forgotten knowledge and quiet determination, they felt the first stirrings of a true bond.
Veynar finally whispered, almost to himself, "Whatever happens... We'll face it together."
And in that small, cluttered library, the six of them—the curious, the careful, the cautious, and the brave—formed the nucleus of something enduring.
It was no longer just about curiosity or survival. It was about trust, friendship, and a shared path, one that would inevitably lead them into the mysteries hidden beneath the Academy—and beyond.
Caelan walked into the library, heading toward the back where he had found those unusual books. He moved quietly, trying not to draw attention.
"That's... odd," Alira murmured, noticing him veering away from their usual table.
But Nerith's eyes sharpened instantly. "Ah, that scheming idiot," he muttered under his breath, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Look at that face... the way he's walking... he's plotting something again."
"What? Don't tell me he's already doing it," Veynar said, standing up, followed by Draven and Thoryn.
"What? What?" Mira asked, alarmed.
"You two are lucky," Nerith said, suddenly serious. "You get to see the side of him we've been talking about—the side where he gets completely absorbed in his schemes."
The girls stood, watching him intently. "What's he looking for?" Alira asked.
"Don't know," Nerith said.
"Let's follow him," Draven said. "Then we'll find out what he's plotting."
They trailed him past the older shelves, some marked with scratches and faded notches.
"Do you think he'll notice we followed him?" Mira asked, a playful lilt in her voice.
"Probably," Thoryn replied with a faint smile. "But it won't matter. He trusts those close to him—and now we've proved we understand him better."
They reached a dead end—until Caelan slipped into a narrow gap between two shelves. Before he could disappear completely, Nerith called out, "Caelan!"
Startled, Caelan emerged, surprised to see everyone—including Mira and Alira—standing there.
"What are you all doing here?" he asked.
"That's my line," Nerith said with a teasing edge. "What are you doing here?"
"Um..." Caelan hesitated.
"Spit it out," Veynar urged.
With a sigh, Caelan finally admitted, "Okay... first of all, listen. You have to trust me, alright? I'm not doing anything stupid."
The group saw the seriousness in his eyes and relaxed slightly.
"Okay... then what are you doing?" Draven asked.
"Just come with me," Caelan said. "But don't touch anything unless I say."
Tension returned as everyone prepared to follow him.
"And what are you two doing?" Caelan asked Mira and Alira as they followed him through the gap, one by one.
"They're new additions to Caelan's... safety watch," Veynar said with a grin.
Caelan laughed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, and you four followed me some days back," Caelan said, raising an eyebrow.
"We were found out," Nerith replied. "We saw you with these two, and that weird book Scholar Nerith gave you, so we had to talk to them today."
"Sorry, I didn't introduce you properly," Caelan said, "I was too busy with my research."
"We know," Veynar said. "But the way you were acting, anyone else could've mistaken you three for some love triangle."
Caelan flushed. "No, it's not like that!"
"You double-timing behind my back," Nerith teased, earning a playful punch to the head from Caelan.
"What did I say?" Caelan muttered, exasperated.
Mira and Alira laughed, the tension in their shoulders easing.
"Mira, Alira, it's good you're laughing. Relax—you're part of this group now, just like the rest of us. You deserve to be here, so settle in," Nerith said, rubbing his head affectionately.
Caelan smiled at the sight. Mira and Alira finally relaxed; the invisible weight of uncertainty lifted. They were part of the group now, truly at ease.
"Okay... now tell us," Thoryn said, his voice low, "what is this creepy place? Books locked up, barred shelves, metals instead of wood..."
Caelan's gaze lingered on the room, then back at the group. "When I first started learning under Scholar Nerith... that day when Professor Irene asked me to come with her," he began slowly, "I read a book Nerith had given me called Ancient Ruins."
"And?" Thoryn prompted as they stepped further down the narrow corridor.
"I came to the library, searching for more... and that's when I found this place. What I saw... what I read..." He paused, his hand hovering over a book resting unchained on a shelf, its leather cover worn and faintly glowing in the dim light.
"This book," Caelan continued, his voice quieter now, "I read only a small portion... but it unsettled me."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, each swallowing hard.
"Then what?" Mira's voice trembled slightly as she leaned closer to Alira, hiding a bit behind her.
"You know there are ancient ruins that are acknowledged," Caelan said, eyes distant, "but that word... it led me here. And this book confirmed what I suspected."
"And what was that?" Draven asked, his tone sharp, tense.
Caelan's gaze swept across them, steady and serious. "That there are other ruins out there—hidden, lost... and one of them lies beneath a place people already built on."
The group stiffened, a collective gulp breaking the silence.
"Then..." Thoryn's voice was barely audible.
"That being Tartarus Academy," Caelan said, the words dropping like stones in the still air.
A shiver ran through everyone at the thought of what lay beneath them.
"I told myself I wouldn't think about it," Caelan admitted, voice almost a whisper, "but I can't... I can't get it out of my mind."
The group stood frozen for a long moment, each of them processing the weight of Caelan's words. The air was thick, heavy with dust and a sense of... wrongness, as though the library itself was holding its breath.
Veynar was the first to break the silence, attempting a shaky laugh. "Well... this is great. So, apparently, we're all standing on top of something ancient, hidden, and probably dangerous. What could go wrong, right?" His voice was light, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
Draven's eyes narrowed. "Don't joke, Veynar. You know how these things go. Curiosity in places like this usually ends with someone bleeding—or worse."
"Exactly," Thoryn muttered, arms crossed, gaze fixed on Caelan. "We need to be careful. If he's right... Whatever is down there, it's not a library project."
Mira, meanwhile, had hugged her arms to herself, eyes wide as she stared at the unchained books and the bars and metals scattered across the room. "I—I don't like this. I mean... look at this place. It's... it feels... wrong," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Alira stepped closer, placing a hand gently on Mira's shoulder. "Hey, Mira. Look at me. We're together. Nothing's going to happen to us here. Okay?" She gave a reassuring squeeze. Mira exhaled shakily, nodding but still clinging slightly to Alira's arm.
Caelan crouched slowly in front of the book, brushing off a layer of dust before lifting it from the shelf. The leather cover creaked faintly under his fingers, and the musty, almost electric scent of old knowledge rose into the air.
The group leaned in, some closer than others, watching as he opened the book.
As the pages fell open, a brittle piece of parchment fluttered free, landing softly on the stone floor. Caelan's hand darted down to catch it before it could drift into the shadows. He held it up, eyes scanning the delicate script, the symbols etched in a strange, angular hand that made even the Lexaen inscriptions in the book seem tame by comparison.
Veynar couldn't resist a nervous smirk. "Of course. Because just opening an ancient book wasn't enough—you had to find a loose, possibly cursed, randomly dropped parchment too. Nice. Really reassuring, Caelan."
"Shut up," Caelan muttered, though his lips quirked in a small smile. He carefully tucked the parchment into his coat, keeping it safe. "It's nothing dangerous... for now."
"Nothing dangerous," Veynar echoed, eyes darting around the shadowed room. "Sure. That's what you always say before half the academy ends up in the infirmary."
"Veynar!" Mira whispered sharply, though her eyes betrayed her nervous fascination with the parchment.
Alira stepped closer, her hand brushing Mira's again. "It's okay," she said softly. "We'll stick together. It's not the book or the parchment that scares me—it's being alone here. And we're not alone."
Mira nodded, her breathing evening out slightly. "Right. Together."
Caelan carefully turned the page of the book, letting the group see a few of the symbols—but only a few. The others craned their necks to follow along, some in awe, some in worry.
"This... this is insane," Draven murmured. "Where does he even get these things?"
"From the maniac we're lucky is keeping him alive," Thoryn said dryly, gesturing toward Scholar Nerith's warning from before. "I still don't understand why Caelan is allowed to touch this stuff."
"He's... careful," Mira said quietly. "I've seen him. He reads... he doesn't just jump in. He thinks before he acts."
Veynar snorted, still trying to keep the mood light. "Careful. Sure. That's what everyone says right before they trigger a ten-thousand-year-old curse."
Alira leaned closer to Mira, whispering softly, "Ignore him. Focus on staying calm. Look at how he's handling it—he's in control."
Mira's eyes flicked back to Caelan. "He... really is. But I can't shake this feeling... like we shouldn't be here."
Caelan noticed her unease and gave a reassuring smile, one that carried no condescension—only calm. "It's okay to be cautious," he said softly, "but fear won't help. Only attention and understanding will. This parchment, these pages—they're clues. That's all."
"Clues to what?" Veynar asked, though his tone lacked its usual mockery.
"Something we might not be ready to fully understand yet," Caelan admitted, closing the book gently. "But we'll take it one step at a time. Nothing is dangerous if we're careful. Together."
The group exhaled as if a physical weight had lifted slightly. Mira straightened, letting go of Alira's arm, but kept close. Alira gave her a small smile, squeezing her hand lightly in silent reassurance.
Veynar muttered under his breath, still smirking, "Yeah... careful. I'm sure the next step involves certain death. Can't wait."
Caelan just shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. "One step at a time," he repeated. "One step at a time."
As the group moved together, deeper into the stacks of the library, a shared feeling settled over them—nervous, tense, but also undeniably united. The bond between them had shifted slightly, grown stronger under the weight of curiosity and danger, and for the first time, even the shadows of the library felt like something they could face... as a team.