The Weight That Didn't Fade
Zephryn sat on the edge of the bunk.
Not lying down.
Not resting.
Just there—palms on his knees, staring at the far wall like it might start speaking.
Kaelen dropped into the chair by the desk, exhaling. "We've been through hundreds of scans. I've never seen the system react like that."
Yolti leaned against the doorframe. "They won't mark it officially. Not after that kind of failure. The scribe will log you as 'under calibration' or something harmless."
Selka didn't say anything.
She hadn't since they left the chamber.
She stood near the window, hands behind her back, eyes locked on the Lyceum skyline—pulse towers humming faintly beneath the clouds.
Kaelen rubbed the back of his neck.
"I meant what I said earlier. About the glyph folding."
Zephryn looked over.
"What did you see?"
Kaelen hesitated.
"It didn't register as two glyphs. Or a hybrid. It was like… one mark, split into layers. Like a memory trying to wear a second shape."
Yolti frowned. "That's not how Veilmarks work."
"Exactly," Kaelen said.
"It shouldn't even be possible."
Selka finally turned from the window.
"Unless it didn't originate here."
The room fell still.
Not shocked.
Just sharp.
Zephryn didn't argue.
Didn't blink.
He just said:
"I don't think it did."
Yolti stepped back into the hallway, arms folded. "If the Choir already knew… why let you walk in?"
Zephryn looked down at his hands.
"They didn't let me."
He raised his head, eyes steady.
"They forgot how to stop me."