The ancient lullaby still echoed faintly in Kaelen's mind.
He lay back against the floor, one arm under his head, the other tracing invisible lines into the stone beside him. The warmth of Seraphine's hand still lingered, though she had since moved to lean against the wall, book resting in her lap, gaze half-lost in thought.
Neither of them had spoken in a while.
Not because there was nothing to say.
But because everything left unspoken somehow felt more fragile. Like saying it would crack open a truth neither of them were quite ready to hold.
Seraphine finally broke the silence.
"That line—'Only the child of the lost name may pass the door without flame'—I've read it before. Inscribed on a sealed gate beneath the old Tower."
Kaelen turned his head toward her. "You think I'm the key."
"No," she said softly. "I think you're what's on the other side."
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because something in her voice struck a chord—like she wasn't just talking about prophecy or glyphs or ancient ruin doors.
She was talking about him.
About the way he didn't flinch from danger. About how his magic bent rules, how his presence was rewriting things long thought buried. Even his name—Kaelen—had no root in any noble registry. No trace before the Tower's rise. Like he'd stepped out of a vision and simply was.
She closed the book with a quiet thud and stood.
"I should go," she said, brushing her skirt off. "Before Selene tries to break down your door."
He smiled. "She'd knock first. Then break it."
But something flickered in Seraphine's expression.
Kaelen noticed it just before she turned.
"She's been watching you," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "Closely. Like she already knows where this ends."
"I don't even know where this ends," he muttered.
Seraphine paused in the doorway.
"Then maybe you should start choosing."
And then she was gone.
Selene stood under starlight, breathing in the thin chill of night air.
The Observatory spire loomed behind her, its crystal dome refracting the moonlight into a thousand sharp beams across the marble floor. Her hands rested on the railing, white knuckled. Her glyphs pulsed quietly under her skin—not active, but restless.
Something had shifted.
She'd felt it earlier. A subtle pull, like a current changing direction.
Not in Kaelen's aura. In Seraphine's.
They'd grown closer. She'd seen it. Not just proximity, but resonance. Mutual understanding. The way Seraphine now stood at Kaelen's side, no longer as a wary observer, but as… something else.
It shouldn't have bothered her.
But it did.
Damn it.
Selene took a breath, grounding herself. Emotion clouded judgment. She couldn't afford that now—not when the threads were tightening.
The message she'd intercepted that morning still burned in her coat pocket:
"Subject identified in proximity to eastern resonance clusters. Name unrecovered. Cross-reference pending Pattern Master review."
They were closing in.
She stepped back inside, where Mira sat in silence at the brass instrument table, carefully adjusting the alignment lenses.
Selene asked, "Anything on the readings?"
Mira looked up. "Yes. And you're not going to like it."
She handed Selene a chart—spiked resonance lines, peaking dangerously close to the threshold.
"This isn't just Kaelen," Mira said. "There's a second source. Maybe even a glyph sync. When two marks attune—"
"I know what it means."
Mira hesitated. "Then I hope you're ready to lose him."
Selene's expression didn't change, but her hands curled slightly at her sides.
"Not yet."
Back in the lower library wing, Kaelen wandered between shelves half-asleep, searching for anything that could explain the phrase from the lullaby. Child of the lost name.
He paused in front of a row of sealed texts, ones that only upper-tier scholars could access. But tonight, there was no professor. No librarian. Just faint torchlight and the scent of old paper and time.
A small voice spoke behind him.
"You shouldn't be down here."
He turned.
A girl stood barefoot in the aisle. No older than fifteen. Pale hair braided tightly, and eyes too old for her face. She wore no crest, no uniform, just a grey tunic that shimmered faintly like moonlight over snow.
Kaelen blinked. "You're not a student."
"No," she said. "But I remember you."
He took a step back. "Have we met?"
The girl smiled. "Not in this life."
He froze.
Her gaze sharpened. "You're touching memories not meant to be touched. Every glyph you awaken, every name you breathe into resonance… it stirs something older."
He opened his mouth—but she was already gone.
Vanished.
No footsteps. No ripple of glyphs. Just silence and cold and the thrum of his heart pounding in his ears.
Seraphine couldn't sleep.
Not because of Kaelen. Not entirely. But because of the feeling that something had tilted. That for the first time since arriving at the Academy, she wasn't sure if she was chasing the right path… or being led by it.
She unrolled her mother's letter again—the one hidden beneath a false seal.
If the Veritas line stirs, remember: they are not just truthseers. They are anchors. They bring with them the weight of what the world tried to forget.
She pressed her palm against the words, wishing she could burn them. But truth was heavier than flame.
And Kaelen?
He was no longer just a mystery.
He was becoming the answer she feared most.