Morning arrived without mercy.
Sunlight spilled through the dormitory windows in pale bands, illuminating the dust in the air and the untouched book on Caelan's desk. He lay awake long before the bells rang, staring at the ceiling while the words from the cover echoed behind his eyes.
One more has awakened.
He didn't need to ask what it meant.
Somewhere in this world—perhaps not far, perhaps closer than he dared hope—the other presence he'd felt was no longer sleeping.
Caelan sat up slowly. His body felt…different. Not stronger, exactly, but less fragile. As if the strain he'd carried for years had shifted, redistributing itself into something quieter and more controlled.
When he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he noticed the change in the mirror again.
The white at his temples hadn't vanished overnight.
It had spread.
Not fully—most of his hair remained black—but thin streaks of silver-white threaded upward like frost creeping across glass. His eyes, too, reflected something unfamiliar: the blue was still there, but beneath it lay a faint metallic sheen, as if light were waiting just under the surface.
He exhaled slowly. "So this is how it starts."
The book remained still, its silver emblem dormant. For once, it did not intrude. That almost unsettled him more.
The academy buzzed louder than usual.
Whispers followed him from the moment he stepped into the courtyard. Some students stared openly now, no longer bothering to hide their curiosity.
"Did his hair always look like that?"
"Veyra's youngest—something's off about him."
"I heard he held a blade-light for ten seconds."
Caelan kept his head down, hood drawn just enough to shadow his face. Attention had never been his ally. He could feel the pressure of it pressing against his newly stirred circuits, testing them.
In Mana Physiology, his instructor paused mid-lecture when Caelan entered.
"You," she said, eyes narrowing. "Veyra. Front row."
A few students snickered.
Caelan obeyed without comment, taking the indicated seat. As he settled in, the familiar hum beneath his skin grew louder—responding not to danger, but to proximity. To people. To mana moving freely around him.
The lesson was simple. Circuit mapping. Flow visualization. Exercises he had failed more times than he could count.
"Begin," the instructor commanded.
Caelan closed his eyes.
Normally, this was where everything went wrong. Mana would gather, hesitate, then collapse inward—like breath trapped behind sealed lips.
This time, it didn't.
Something shifted.
Instead of pushing outward, his mana folded inward, condensing smoothly, settling into channels that no longer burned or froze. The sensation was strange—quiet, precise. Controlled.
A faint shimmer appeared above his palm.
Not blue.
Clear.
Transparent light, dense enough to cast a shadow.
Gasps rippled through the room.
Caelan's eyes snapped open. The light hovered obediently, stable and unwavering.
The instructor froze. "That… that isn't standard output."
Caelan lowered his hand immediately, the light dissolving without backlash. His heart raced, but his body didn't falter.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean—"
"Enough," she interrupted, voice tight. "You'll remain after class."
The whispers returned, louder now. No laughter this time—only disbelief.
He didn't stay.
The moment the bell rang, Caelan slipped out through a side corridor, pulse pounding. He could still feel the light lingering beneath his skin, like a held breath that refused to fully release.
The garden behind the western wing was empty at this hour. Mana-rich soil and low fountains muffled sound, isolating him from the rest of the academy.
He leaned against a stone pillar, forcing himself to breathe.
"That wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered.
His body answered with silence.
Then—warmth.
Not from within this time, but from somewhere far away. A faint resonance brushed against his senses, delicate and unmistakable.
Gold.
Caelan straightened.
The sensation faded almost as soon as he noticed it, but the afterimage lingered—like sunlight seen through closed eyes.
"So it's true," he whispered. "You're awake too."
The realization sent a tremor through him that had nothing to do with fear.
By afternoon, the faculty noticed.
Instructor Vale summoned him before the last lecture, dismissing the other students with a curt wave.
"You surged again," Vale said without preamble. "And you stabilized it."
Caelan didn't answer.
Vale studied him closely. "The Dormant Physique doesn't awaken gradually. It fractures or it explodes. What you're showing is neither."
"I don't know why it's happening," Caelan said truthfully.
Vale exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Then for your own sake, learn restraint. The academy does not tolerate anomalies well—especially noble ones."
Anomalies.
The word lingered long after Caelan left.
That evening, he returned to the library.
Master Renar was already there, tea steaming gently beside him as though he'd expected this visit.
"It cracked today," Caelan said quietly, placing a hand over his chest. "Not the seal. Me."
Renar nodded once. "That is always the first fracture."
"What happens next?"
Renar's gaze drifted toward the high shelves, where shadows pooled thickly. "Memory seeks balance. Power seeks shape. And bonds—" He paused. "Bonds seek reunion."
Caelan's jaw tightened. "I felt her."
Renar's eyes sharpened. "Then she has begun to remember."
Silence stretched between them.
"Will this stop?" Caelan asked at last.
Renar considered him for a long moment. "Only if you choose to bury it again."
Caelan looked down at his hands—steady now, unafraid of themselves.
"No," he said softly. "I don't think I will."
Night fell.
In his dorm room, the book stirred for the first time that day. Its pages turned slowly, deliberately, stopping halfway through.
New words formed, faint but clear.
The first crack has formed.Stability will follow—or collapse.
Caelan read the lines without touching the page.
Outside, wind stirred the academy towers. Somewhere beyond stone and distance, a matching presence pulsed in quiet response—gold answering sapphire, emotion brushing structure.
Caelan lay back on his bed, eyes open, listening to the hum beneath his skin.
For the first time, the weakness everyone had mocked no longer felt like a verdict.
It felt like a beginning.