Chapter 5: The First Search
The academy was on edge.
A strange malaise clung to the halls like a fog. It was not fear, not yet. Rather, it was a shared sense of wrongness, a subtle dissonance in the air. The rumor of the "ghost" had crossed a threshold — no longer dismissed as a joke, no longer idle gossip. It had become a persistent, gnawing reality.
Selan Myris walked toward her Myth-Weaving class, her steps crisp, her expression controlled. Yet within, an uncharacteristic tremor stirred. Her lineage, the Frost Lineage, was a fortress built on perfect composure. And yet the past few days felt like cracks spreading through ice.
Her memory was flawless. Her mental landscape pristine. But in the margins of her notes, she found herself sketching — again and again — a single black line. A stain on perfection. A tiny imperfection that should have meant nothing, yet grew heavier with every stroke. The arrogance that had defined her was eroding, replaced by simmering frustration. She felt a tug — faint, invisible — the same tug she had felt when she glimpsed the teacup on the bench. A phantom pull toward a mystery she could not master.
Joric was consumed.
He was no noble, no prodigy. Just a boy desperate to matter. The library became his battlefield, and the rumor his banner. Hours turned into days as he scoured shelves and scrolls, but found nothing. Still, the emptiness only stoked his fire. He no longer cared whether the ghost was real. He cared only that he would be the one to reveal it. Adrenaline surged through him. For the first time, he was not a bystander. He was part of the story.
And from the shadows, Kairo Vale watched.
In his secluded niche within the library's forgotten wing, he blended perfectly into the quiet stacks of dust and lore. He felt the ripple of emotions around him — anxiety, frustration, yearning. They beat against him like a tide. He understood them too well. He had once been ruled by the same hungers.
He was not a monster. He reminded himself of this. He was a pragmatist. A survivor.
There had been a time when he believed in raw strength. Power as a roar, thunderous and absolute. That roar had destroyed him. It had drawn every eye, every blade, every trap until nothing was left of the life he had known. Now, he was no roar. He was a whisper. A shadow. A thread tugged unseen. This was survival. This was victory. This was his only path.
In the main hall, the instructors gathered.
Head Instructor Kael stood at the podium, his face grim, his voice measured.
"We have a problem. The myth-layer sensors are reporting critical anomalies. An entity is present on campus. It bears no myth-signature, no origin. From this moment forward, we are calling it… a Ghost."
The word dropped into the room like a stone into still water.
Ghost.
It was no longer rumor. It was designation. Authority had given shape to the whisper.
The instructors argued, fear gnawing at their discipline. Some demanded lockdown. Others pressed for a full-scale search. The uncertainty was a tangible weight in the chamber — and to Kairo, watching from afar, that fear was sustenance. It was fuel.
"We will find this Ghost," Instructor Lorien declared, her eyes sharp as steel. "We will track it down, find its weakness, and expose it."
In his hidden corner, Kairo allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
She was a hunter. He was not prey. She sought a person. He was a story.
The hunt had begun.
Exactly as he intended.
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