That night, Ardin locked his door for the first time in years.
Gelepttin climbed out of the coat, stretched, and inspected the room like a landlord.
"Smaller than I remember."
"You've been here before?"
"I've been everywhere before."
The creature hopped onto the desk and pushed aside a stack of books. Then it dipped one finger into the inkwell and began to draw on the wood.
A circle. Then lines inside it. Symbols Ardin had never seen.
Halfway through, it stopped.
"Finish it."
"I don't know how."
"I didn't ask what you know."
Ardin stared at the unfinished circle. It meant nothing to him. Nothing at all.
And yet his hand moved.
Three strokes. A curve. One small mark in the center.
The ink glowed a faint, pale blue, then faded.
Ardin pulled his hand back as if it had been burned.
"What was that?"
"The first thing I ever taught you." Gelepttin's voice was quiet. "You were nine. You got it wrong forty-one times."
"...You were my teacher?"
"I was everyone's teacher."
The golden eyes turned toward the window, where the crack still hung above the east tower.
"There were eight chairs in my classroom," it said. "Seven of them learned everything I knew. Every spell. Every secret."
A pause.
"And then they decided the world no longer needed me in it."
Ardin's throat felt dry.
"They killed you?"
"Worse. They made me this." It lifted one stitched arm. "And then they reached into every mind in the kingdom and took my name out. One night. That was all it took. By morning, the Grandmaster had never existed."
Silence filled the room.
"And the eighth chair?" Ardin asked.
Gelepttin looked at him for a long time.
"Is sitting in front of me, asking stupid questions."
Something cracked inside Ardin's chest. Not a memory. Only the shape of one, like a word resting on the tip of his tongue.
"Why didn't I..."
"Betray me?" The creature shrugged, but its voice was not steady. "I've had a long time in a cage to wonder. I was hoping you could tell me."
Ardin had no answer.
He opened his mouth to say so.
Gelepttin's hand shot up.
Quiet.
Footsteps in the corridor. Slow. Unhurried.
They stopped outside his door.
No knock. No voice.
Only a shadow beneath the door, perfectly still.
Ardin held his breath.
Ten seconds. Twenty.
A faint sound against the wood. Not a knock. Softer. Like a hand resting there for a moment, and then letting go.
The footsteps continued down the hall, as calm as they had come.
Gelepttin did not relax.
"That walk," it whispered. "I know who taught him that."
"Him?"
The creature turned toward Ardin, and for once, there was no insult ready on its tongue.
"How much do you trust your brother?"