Chapter Two: The Ones Who Bury Fire
Part Four — "Before the Flame Breaks Again"
Some moments don't end.
They echo.
They live in things no one can see—in the space between a heartbeat and a name, in the air between breaths where a voice used to be.
That's what the Lyceum felt like after the fire.
Not a school.
Not a sanctuary.
Just a building full of echoes pretending they couldn't hear themselves anymore.
It had been three days since the cliff.
Since the lie.
Since Kaelen looked his father in the eyes and said, "We were just training."
The King didn't believe it. Neither did the Doctrine agents.
But Selka had stood behind him, face blank, head slightly tilted down—the way Solara used to when she needed someone to trust her silence.
And somehow, that was enough.
They left without further question, boarding the skycraft and vanishing into the clouds. Selka never looked back.
Not once.
—
Now Kaelen stood alone in the Lyceum courtyard, dusk bleeding into the horizon. The Pulse Tree above him flickered its usual twilight hue—soft cyan veins weaving through the bark, shedding quiet light. The courtyard was empty. Everyone else had gone to the glyph chambers or the mess hall.
Everyone… except Yolti.
She walked out from behind the archway, holding a small crystal orb in her hands.
"You skipped again," she said.
"I know."
"You said we'd train."
"I know that too."
Yolti came closer and held the orb out. It pulsed once, then went dim.
"No activity," she muttered. "Again."
Kaelen didn't react.
"You're not trying anymore."
"I'm tired."
"Tired?" Her voice cracked, but not from anger. "Kaelen… it's been a year. A whole year since—"
"I know how long it's been."
"Then say his name."
Kaelen's jaw clenched.
"Say. His. Name."
He turned away.
Yolti grabbed his wrist. "Do you think forgetting him makes this easier?!"
He whipped around. "I never forgot him."
"Then act like it!" Her voice broke again. "He believed in you. Solara believed in us. We were supposed to become Resonants together."
Kaelen stepped back. "We still can."
"No. We could've. But the Lyceum won't let us test until our unit's complete." She paused. "And without him, it never will be."
Silence again.
Not the kind that comforts.
The kind that waits to see if it's still real.
—
That night, Kaelen lay awake on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The orb Yolti had used now sat beside him, flickering every few minutes. It was a tracker, designed to monitor early Veilmark signs. They were supposed to place it under their pillows.
It had never once lit up for him.
Not since the fire.
He rolled over.
In the bed across the room, Yolti was fast asleep, one arm dangling off the edge.
They still shared a dorm, even after all this time. Kaelen didn't know why. Maybe it was the way Solara used to braid Yolti's hair when they sat on the cliff. Maybe it was the way Zephryn always made her laugh without trying.
Maybe it was just because they were the last two left.
They hadn't seen Selka in months. Not since she'd been stationed in the capital under the King's directive. That was Solara's old job. No one said it out loud, but they all knew she'd taken her place.
And Solara…
Solara was ash now.
Still no memorial. Still no name in the Lyceum registry. Just a burned cliff. A lie. And two kids trying to carry a future they weren't allowed to walk into.
—
Six Years Later
Year 215 PCR
Two Weeks Before the Resonant Trials
—
Yolti ran her fingers across the stone.
She didn't cry anymore. Not like she used to.
Her hair was longer now, tied back like Solara's used to wear it in the field. Her eyes had hardened too—but the way she touched the old grave, gentle and slow, hadn't changed a bit.
Kaelen stood beside her, arms crossed.
The scarf remnant still tied to the rock fluttered in the breeze, faded now. But there.
"I almost didn't come this year," she said. "I thought maybe we should just move on. That maybe it's what they'd want."
Kaelen didn't speak.
"But then I remembered," she whispered, "he never said goodbye."
The words felt old. Familiar. Almost sacred.
Kaelen walked up beside her, laid a hand on the stone. His palm was scarred now—from training, from rage, from fights in the yard that Doctrine agents pretended not to see. But his hand softened as it touched the grave.
"Two weeks," he said. "That's all we've got."
"Until the Trial?"
"Until the world tries to forget them again."
Yolti lowered her head. "Then we'll make them remember."
Kaelen's jaw flexed. "Every flame. Every hum. Every silence."
—
As they turned to leave, Kaelen paused one last time.
He knelt.
Drew a glyph into the dirt with two fingers—one he hadn't used in years.
One Solara had taught Zephryn in secret.
One Zephryn tried to cast before the fire ever took him.
It didn't spark.
Didn't burn.
Didn't even hum.
But it didn't vanish either.
Yolti watched quietly as Kaelen stood.
"They said no one remembers," he muttered.
"But the glyph stayed," she said.
They got on the pulsebike—sleek, refitted, armed now with new resonant slots along the side.
Kaelen revved the core.
"Let's go rewrite what silence tried to steal."