The academy's nights were alive.
Not with insects or wind, but with hum.
Aether thrummed in the marrow of the towers, soft vibrations weaving through marble, glass, and air. Every corridor breathed, every wall remembered. The academy never slept; it simply shifted to another rhythm.
Iblis walked these corridors after hours.
His boots whispered against the reflective floor, his reflection chasing him in fragments — flickering, stuttering, multiplying when he passed ley conduits that glowed like veins beneath the surface. His presence disturbed the hum. The air around him bent minutely, as though the structure itself recognized his frequency.
He wasn't supposed to be awake.
No one was, except the Custodians, beings of faint light and bound law, shaped like cloaked silhouettes. They drifted through the halls with slow, liquid motion, silent but aware.
When one passed, its eyes, two faint circles of white, flicked toward him. It hesitated, then drifted away.
Even they preferred not to interfere.
He reached the Aether Observatory, a vast circular chamber at the academy's apex. From here, one could see the entire city: the towers like needles piercing the void, the distant lines of floating carriages crossing between spires. Above them all shimmered the Void Sea, a dome of pale energy that both shielded and confined Aetherion.
He pressed his palm to the railing, feeling the vibration of the ley grid beneath his skin.
The hum deepened.
And then, faintly, a voice, more sensation than sound, brushed his mind.
You are close, little echo.
His pulse slowed instead of rising.
He closed his eyes. The world dissolved into patterns, streams of energy, lattices of light, the pulsing heart of a thousand dormant resonances.
The voice coiled through the frequencies like smoke. You shape without origin. You mimic creation but remember nothing of it. What are you, fracture-child?
He could not answer, for he didn't know.
He simply was.
A ripple crossed the void, faint but distinct.
Then, the door hissed open.
"I thought I'd find you here," Lyra's voice cut softly through the charged air. "Do you ever sleep?"
He turned. She stood barefoot, hair loose, a faint luminescent ribbon woven through it — the uniform of a novice student hastily thrown over a nightdress. Her expression was equal parts exasperation and curiosity.
"I require less sleep than most," he said.
She approached the railing beside him, looking out over the expanse. "You say that like it's an advantage."
"It is."
"Or a symptom." She glanced at him. "You ever think you're wound too tight, Iblis?"
He didn't look away from the city. "If I am wound, then it means I have a purpose."
Lyra exhaled softly, resting her elbows on the railing. "You make everything sound like a theorem."
"It is safer that way."
"Safer from what?"
He paused. "From caring."
The admission surprised even him — quiet, unplanned, and raw.
Lyra didn't respond immediately. When she did, her voice was softer than the hum around them. "That's not safety. That's surrender."
He turned toward her, his silver eyes catching the reflected light of the ley sea. For the briefest instant, they seemed almost transparent, as if something ancient and unspoken moved behind them.
"I do not surrender," he said. "I observe."
"Then observe this," she murmured.
Before he could react, she flicked her hand, and a spark of blue aether darted toward his chest. He caught it mid-air, the energy solidifying between his fingers.
It fluttered like a captured firefly.
His brow furrowed. "Provocation?"
"Experiment," she replied with a faint grin. "You spend so much time studying resonance, I wanted to see if you could catch it unannounced."
He regarded the shimmering light trapped in his palm. "Predictability is the weakness of surprise."
"Which means you predicted me?"
"Always."
She smiled, shaking her head. "You're insufferable."
He released the spark. It drifted upward, dissolving into the charged air like mist. "You interrupted something."
"Oh? Whispering voices again?"
He glanced at her sharply. "You heard it too?"
Her amusement faded. "No. I just… guessed."
He turned back to the city, his expression unreadable. "Be careful what you guess."
The silence stretched between them again — but this time, it wasn't sharp. It lingered. There was something almost human in it.
After a long while, Lyra whispered, "You know, for someone who talks about logic and detachment, you spend an awful lot of time standing in beautiful places."
He considered that. "Observation requires vantage."
"Right." She smirked. "And beauty's just a side effect?"
He didn't answer. But his eyes lingered a little longer on the glimmering sprawl below.
---
By morning, the academy had shifted again, corridors reformed, classes reassigned. Aetherion never stayed the same shape for long.
Students hurried through floating walkways and scent-lit halls, laughter mingling with the whirring hum of ley engines.
In the central courtyard, instructors gathered the new initiates for combat assessment. Rings of containment shimmered on the marble floor. Above them, floating glyphs tracked each duel, mapping resonance output, strain tolerance, and precision.
Iblis stood in the far ring, his coat unbuttoned, expression serene. Across from him, his opponent — Varyn Sol, heir to the House of Crimson, adjusted the grip on his crimson blade. Sparks licked the edge like eager tongues.
Varyn grinned. "They say you broke a stabilizer crystal with a glance."
"I didn't glance," Iblis said simply.
"Then let's see what happens when you look directly."
The instructor's voice echoed through the hall. "Begin!"
The ground flared.
Varyn lunged — a blur of motion wrapped in heat. His blade struck, trailing ribbons of flame. Iblis sidestepped, the strike carving a molten scar across the floor.
Before the second blow could fall, Iblis lifted his hand. A pulse of invisible force rippled outward — not fire, not light, but absence. The flames died mid-air, devoured by silence.
Varyn staggered, his energy collapsing inward as though the space around him had forgotten its purpose.
"What, what is that?" he gasped.
Iblis's voice was calm. "Correction."
Then he stepped forward and tapped the air — a gesture so subtle it was almost nothing.
The containment ring fractured. The air bent around his opponent like liquid, pinning Varyn in place. The silence that followed was deafening.
When the instructor finally intervened, the entire hall was frozen — half in awe, half in fear.
Varyn dropped to his knees, his blade extinguished, sweat tracing his jaw.
Iblis turned away before the applause began.
---
Later, as he walked the glass bridge that led toward the northern dormitories, Lyra appeared again — leaning against a column, arms folded.
"You terrify them," she said.
"They terrify easily."
"You could've held back."
"I did."
She studied his face, the calm, the restraint that wasn't quite human. Then, quietly, she asked: "Does anything move you at all?"
He stopped walking.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "Everything does. That's why I can't afford to show it."
Then he was gone, the echo of his steps fading into the hum of the living academy.
---