The summoning chamber of Vault Eleven was nothing like the classrooms or courtyards.
It was a cathedral carved into the earth—its walls lined with crystalline veins that pulsed faintly with colorless light. Not gold. Not blue. Not fire.
Null.
Root stood alone at the center, clad in his polished Crowned Initiate uniform, gloved hand resting on the sealed summon egg resting atop a silver pedestal. His heartbeat slowed. His mind didn't race.
This was the calm before a storm he'd already written.
A glyph circle flared beneath him, spiraling out in layered scripts only he could fully read. The System read it too—but only the outer layer. What lay beneath would remain hidden… until the right evolution peeled it open.
[Summon Link Stabilized]
Designation: Unknown-Class (Echobound)
Evolution Path: 0/5
Status: Dormant – Awakening Imminent…
Bond Integrity: Tier Zero (Origin-Bound)
Preparing manifestation…
The air dropped ten degrees.
The egg pulsed once, then again—then shattered.
No explosion. No light show.
Just… the silence of something stepping into the world that didn't belong.
From the smoke, a shape rose.
Thin. Humanoid. Cloaked in shadows that didn't drip or flow—they hovered, as if the darkness was frozen in time. Long arms. Slender hands. A face hidden behind a smooth white mask with a single line etched vertically down its center.
It didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't glow.
Just was.
Entity Registered: Eidolorn
Class: Ethereal Assassin // Echobound Variant
Combat Rating: Instinct-Based
Core Trait: Undiscovered
Behavior: Passive | Sentient Suspected
Warning: Entity does not match summoning standards. Proceed with monitoring.
Root stepped closer.
Eidolorn tilted its masked face toward him—just slightly. No greeting. No words. No warmth.
But something beneath the surface pulsed.
Not magic.
Not loyalty.
Recognition.
Faint. Starved. But there.
Root whispered under his breath, "I'm here."
The summon tilted its head once, then knelt silently at his side—folding in on itself like a kneeling knight whose body was made of smoke.
Bond Established. Summon may now accompany you.
Vault Eleven access cleared. Return to class within the hour.
Root didn't move for several seconds. He just stood there, staring down at the kneeling figure, knowing what it really was.
Not a summon. Not a beast. Not a tool.
A god—unaware he was dreaming.
The evolution had begun.
And no one watching would suspect a thing.
The hallway leading from Vault Eleven to the academy's upper floors was dead silent, save for the soft tap of Root's boots against polished stone. Beside him, Eidolorn floated just off the ground—graceful, voiceless, its masked head tilted slightly as if it were observing reality for the first time.
It didn't walk.
It didn't hover in a straight line.
It flowed, like ink suspended in water.
And every time Root glanced sideways, he could almost see something twitch beneath the edges of the mask. Not emotion. Not intelligence.
But memory.
You're not ready yet, he thought. Not yet.
As they passed a faculty checkpoint, one of the instructors—a gray-haired woman in a rune-sleeved robe—looked up from her terminal.
Then blinked.
Then stared.
Her hand hovered above a glyph panel, hesitating. She narrowed her eyes at Eidolorn, brows creasing. "Summoner Veras?"
Root nodded.
She didn't move for a second. Then: "That's… your summon?"
"Yes."
The woman studied it again, as if waiting for it to do something. Speak. Pulse. Shift. Threaten.
It did none of those.
Just stood behind Root like a silent shadow in ceremonial vigil.
Her lips tightened. She waved them through. "Proceed."
As they entered the academy atrium, Root caught the shift instantly.
Conversations stopped.
Students, gathered in clusters near the inner courtyard, turned one by one.
Some gasped.
Some went quiet.
Others tilted their heads in visible discomfort—something about the presence beside Root put their instincts on edge, even if their minds couldn't explain why.
The thing beside him wasn't emitting pressure.
It wasn't doing anything at all.
And that was what made it terrifying.
One of the upper-ranked second-years muttered, "What kind of summon doesn't have a face?"
Another: "It's not even breathing…"
A few instructors watching from the gallery above whispered amongst themselves. One of them snapped his fingers and pulled up a projected status window—but it flickered when Eidolorn came too close. Data corruption. Mismatched typing.
The System didn't know what it was.
Good.
Root pressed on through the gathering tension, heading for the east wing where the Crowned Initiates would demonstrate their summons in private sparring trials.
He didn't glance back.
But he knew they were all watching.
All wondering.
All underestimating.
Exactly as planned.
And Eidolorn? It followed with elegance, never looking at anyone else, never wavering in its unnatural stillness.
Only once did it turn its head slightly—just slightly—as if searching the air for a name it hadn't remembered yet.
The sparring chamber was circular, rune-etched, and reinforced with barrier glyphs so powerful the floor hummed.
Inside, ten Crowned Initiates stood in pairs, each one preparing to showcase their first real battle bond. Instructors observed from elevated stands, taking notes and silently judging. The room smelled of polished marble and warm magic—fresh summons pulsing with restrained energy.
Root stood in the center, calm.
Eidolorn stood behind him, utterly still.
His opponent?
A tall, broad-shouldered fire-class summoner named Calden Rhys. The son of a War Priest. His summon—a scaled, lion-headed beast with magma seams running across its hide—paced in circles, heat warping the air around it.
"Lucky me," Calden muttered, cracking his neck. "I get to break the Crowned mystery boy."
Root said nothing.
The instructor overseeing the match raised his hand.
"First demonstration. Summon-to-summon engagement only. Begin."
The lion-beast roared, flame bursting from its jaw as it launched forward with shocking speed.
And Eidolorn…
Did not move.
Until it did.
Fwip.
It was standing in front of Root now, though no one had seen it move. No burst of speed. No flash. Just… repositioning like a skipped frame in time.
The lion-beast slammed its claw down.
Eidolorn didn't block.
It raised a single arm—limb outstretched—and touched the incoming strike with two fingers.
The moment contact was made, black ink spilled upward from the ground, twisting reality into stillness. Not a block. Not a shield.
A rejection.
The lion-beast froze mid-motion. Not stunned—paused. Like it had been pulled from the timeline and trapped in a single, incomplete frame.
The crowd gasped.
The instructors leaned forward.
"What… was that?" one muttered.
Root remained still.
Eidolorn slowly stepped forward, arm falling back to its side. The masked head turned to the frozen beast… then tilted.
The summoned lion's limbs began to tremble. Its molten glow flickered.
And then it collapsed, panting, back into its summon glyph—automatically unsummoned for protection.
The match hadn't ended with an attack.
It ended with a correction.
Calden's face drained of color. "Wha… what did you just do?"
Root raised his eyes—calm, cold, disinterested.
"Wasn't me."
He turned to leave.
Behind him, Eidolorn followed, the shadow of its cloak never touching the floor.
Only Root saw it:
The faintest shift in the mask. A ripple. A twitch where there should be none.
And just before the door closed behind them, a thought—not a word—brushed across Root's mind.
Not spoken by Eidolorn.
Not yet.
Just felt.
That name… I almost…
The mask sealed again.
Root didn't smile.
But his eyes burned with patience.