Chapter 2: The Unwelcome Committee
The walk to Spire Quartz felt longer than it should have. Every shadow seemed to cling to Silas's feet a moment too long, and he caught more than one student giving his own shadow a wary glance before quickly looking away. Word traveled fast at Aurora Academy.
His room was exactly what he had expected from a scholarship assignment: a single bed, a worn desk, and a window overlooking the service entrances. Perfect. The less attention drawn to this place, the better.
The moment the door clicked shut, Silas leaned against it, finally allowing himself a full breath.
"Assessment: Designation 'Dormitory.' Structural integrity: Acceptable. Security: Minimal. Optimal for initial stabilization."
The voice in his head was like cold water trickling down his spine. "Do you always have to narrate everything?" Silas muttered, pushing off the door.
"Clarification: Continuous environmental analysis is essential for threat assessment and resource allocation. Auditory vocalization remains an inefficient alternative."
"It's called thinking. And I'd prefer to do it without commentary."
A sharp, needling pain pulsed behind his right eye. He moved to the small mirror above the washbasin, bracing himself. His reflection stared back: a tired young man with unremarkable brown eyes. No swirling galaxies, no cosmic fire. Just him. The relief was so potent it felt like a physical weight lifting from his shoulders.
His stomach chose that moment to growl, a starkly mundane demand. The dining hall. He could not hide forever. He had to move, to act normal, whatever that meant now.
The Grand Refectory was a symphony of controlled chaos. The air hummed with conversation and the subtle sounds of dozens of familiars. A girl nearby fed slices of glowing fruit to a small, fox-like creature made of woven light. Another student had a miniature storm cloud floating above his table, occasionally dropping a single, precise raindrop into his cup.
Silas felt a fresh wave of disorientation. This was their world. A world of light and order. His was a silent, cosmic horror judging the nutritional content of a meat pie.
He grabbed a tray and found an empty spot at the far end of a long table, as far from the bustling center as possible. He kept his head down, focusing on his food.
It did not last.
"So. The anomaly."
The voice was cool, melodic, and laced with a disdain so pure it was almost an art form. Silas looked up.
Seraphina Valerius stood over his table. She seemed to draw the very light in the room towards her. Her uniform was immaculate, her posture regal. Perched on her shoulder, preening its feathers of solidified sunlight, was a phoenix. Its eyes held an ancient, intelligent gleam. It looked at Silas, and he felt a sudden, primal urge to look away.
"Can I help you?" Silas asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Merely satisfying curiosity," she said, her gaze sweeping over him and finding him wanting. "A shadow-weasel. It is a peculiarly low-tier manifestation for someone who caused such a stir at the ceremony. One might have expected something with more presence."
"Analysis: Designation 'Seraphina Valerius.' Bond: Celestial-Class Phoenix. Threat Assessment: High. Social standing is a primary driver. Recommendation: De-escalate."
No kidding, Silas thought back, the mental retort sharp.
"My familiar is shy," Silas said aloud, forcing a bland smile. "Unlike some."
A faint flush touched Seraphina's cheeks. "Adept Valerius," she corrected him coldly. "We observe formalities here. And my familiar, Solaris, has no need for shyness. His lineage is documented back to the First Embers."
"Query: Purpose of 'lineage' documentation? Inefficient. Power is a constant. Pedigree is a variable."
It is called being rich, Silas thought. You would not understand.
"We possess the potential to unmake stars. The concept of currency is irrelevant."
"Fascinating," Silas said to Seraphina, deadpan. "I will be sure to note that in my lineage. 'Prone to stating the obvious.'"
Her eyes narrowed. Solaris let out a low, warning trill, a wave of heat washing over Silas's face.
"Your attitude is as unrefined as your familiar, Vale," she said, turning on her heel. "I suggest you learn your place. This academy has a way of correcting imbalances."
He watched her go, the knot in his stomach tightening. He had made an enemy. A powerful one.
He finished his meal in silence and made his way back to his room, the grandeur of the halls now feeling like the walls of a prison. As he turned the corner into the quieter corridor leading to Spire Quartz, he stopped.
Leaning against the wall next to his door was the man from the ceremony. Agent Corvus.
He was just as impeccable as before, his white suit a stark slash of purity in the dim hallway. He was not looking at Silas, but at a small, crystalline device in his palm that projected faint, scrolling lines of golden text.
"Silas Vale," Corvus said, without looking up. His voice was calm, pleasant even, and utterly devoid of warmth. "I am Agent Corvus of the Celestial Bureau's Compliance Division. I trust you are settling in?"
Silas's blood ran cold. Every instinct screamed to run. "Yes," he managed, his voice tight.
"Good." Corvus finally looked up, and his eyes were the color of a winter sky. They held no malice, only a detached, analytical focus. "There was a minor anomaly in your bonding registration. A statistical outlier. The system does not care for outliers, Mr. Vale."
He pushed off the wall, taking a single, smooth step forward. He was not tall, but he seemed to occupy the entire space.
"My familiar is just a shadow-type," Silas said, the lie feeling flimsy on his tongue. "The officiant said it was unlisted."
"Indeed. 'Unlisted.'" Corvus smiled, a thin, professional expression. "My job is to ensure the Registry is accurate. To list the unlisted. For the stability of the system, you understand."
His gaze dropped to Silas's shadow, which lay plain and unremarkable on the stone floor.
"I would like to perform a brief spectral analysis of your familiar. A simple procedure. It will only take a moment." He raised the device in his hand. It began to emit a soft, inquisitive hum, a beam of white light starting to coalesce at its tip.
"WARNING: Celestial-grade diagnostic scan detected. Probability of identity exposure: 99.9%. Countermeasures required."
Panic, cold and sharp, seized Silas. He could not run. He could not fight. If that light touched Lurk, they were finished.
What do I do?! he screamed internally.
"Directive: Obscure. Utilize ambient energy. Focus."
There was no time to question. As the beam of light began to extend from the device, Silas did the only thing he could think of. He focused on the sconce on the wall next to them, the magical flame within flickering gently. He did not know how to use magic. He just willed it.
More light. Blinding light.
A sudden, sharp pain lanced through his right eye. The world tinged violet at the edges.
The sconce did not just brighten. It detonated.
A silent, concussive wave of pure white light filled the corridor, accompanied by the shatter of crystal. Corvus flinched, his device flickering, the scanning beam dying. He shielded his eyes, his calm facade cracking for a single, precious second into one of pure, unadulterated shock.
In that instant, Silas's shadow on the wall behind him did not just darken. It deepened. It stretched, for a fraction of a second, into a monstrous, multi-limbed silhouette that was gone before the afterimages had faded from Corvus's eyes.
The light died down. The hallway was dimmer now, smelling of ozone and magic. Shards of the sconce littered the floor.
Agent Corvus lowered his hand. His expression was unreadable again, but his wintery eyes were fixed on Silas with an intensity that was far more terrifying than his earlier disdain.
"A fluctuation in the academy's ambient mana field," Corvus said slowly, his voice dangerously soft. "It happens." He looked from the shattered sconce back to Silas. "We will continue this another time, Mr. Vale. Do have your familiar ready for inspection."
He did not wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing with a grim finality.
Silas fumbled with his key, his hands shaking so badly he could barely get it into the lock. He stumbled into his room, slamming the door shut and sliding down to the floor, his chest heaving.
The headache was a full-blown migraine now, pounding in time with his heart.
"Scan averted. Energy expenditure: Minimal. Vessel stress: Moderate. Celestial attention: Elevated."
"Minimal?" Silas gasped, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I just blew up a light! He knows!"
"He possesses suspicion, not proof. The action was attributed to environmental instability. A successful misdirection."
In the quiet dark of his room, Silas became aware of a new sensation. A faint, cool trickle of power was seeping into him from the shadowed corners of the room, soothing the pain in his head, calming his frantic nerves. It felt like Lurk was sharing his energy.
"Symbiosis: The vessel's stability is paramount. Rest. The hunter will return."
Silas let out a shaky breath, leaning his head back against the door. The hunter would return. And next time, a blown light would not be enough to stop him. He looked at his hands, half-expecting to see starlight bleeding from his pores.
The gilded cage had its first official prisoner. And his jailer was wearing a white suit.