"Every object remembers. The cruel ones remember best."
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Morning came pale and wet.
Rain slicked across the Veridian courtyards, turning the cobblestones into mirrors. The air smelled faintly of ozone and petrichor — the scent of a world perpetually stitched between science and sorcery.
From the dormitory balcony, Elias watched students moving through the courtyard below, their umbrellas blooming like black orchids. He had slept only a few hours. His dreams were a static of broken images — the blood circle, the whisper of *the vessel wakes*, and Daniel Fluke's voice slicing through the storm.
Now, in the gray wash of dawn, those memories clung to him like damp cloth.
He rubbed his temple, staring at the city skyline in the distance. Veridian was alive, but its pulse felt wrong. It wasn't just nerves; the very air hummed off-beat. As if something ancient and hungry stirred beneath the ground.
A soft chime interrupted his thoughts. His datapad flickered to life on the desk — a sleek glass rectangle framed in sigil-etched steel. A message pulsed across its surface:
ATTN: NEW STUDENT—REN, ELIAS.
>Report to North Hall, Room 312.
> Assigned representative: D. Fluke
> Purpose: Briefing and aptitude assessment.
Elias sighed. Of course.
He gathered his things — gloves, datapad, his old watch — and made his way through the labyrinthine corridors. The Academy's interior was a strange marriage of eras: flickering candle sconces beside glass-paneled elevators, portraits of long-dead mages mounted above biometric scanners. The hum of wards vibrated faintly through the walls like distant electricity.
When he reached Room 312, the door slid open before he could knock.
Daniel was already there, leaning against a desk with the casual elegance of someone who knew every angle of his own posture. His coat was open at the collar, sleeves rolled once, a dark chain glinting faintly at his wrist. He looked up as Elias entered, expression unreadable.
"You're punctual," Daniel said. "Good. Most new students take 'orientation week' as an excuse to wander."
"I don't wander."
"I noticed." A faint smile touched Daniel's mouth — one that never reached his eyes. "Take a seat, Ren. We have a situation."
Elias did, setting his bag at his feet. "A situation?"
Daniel swiped his hand over the screen embedded in the desk. A holographic projection shimmered to life — the faint outline of a student file. The face that appeared was a boy about their age, dark hair, confident smile.
"Name: Alaric Venn," Daniel said. "Transmutation specialist. Officially marked 'missing' as of last night. His roommates claim he was working on a private project in the lab wing. Never returned."
Elias's brow furrowed. "Has this happened before?"
"Disappearances?" Daniel's smile thinned. "Not officially. But students vanish sometimes — usually written off as transfers, family emergencies, burnout. You know how it goes."
"And you want me to… what, find him?"
"Find something." Daniel crossed his arms. "You're a psychometric. The Council thinks you might be able to read his belongings — see if he left willingly, or if something else happened."
Elias looked away. "You read my file carefully."
"I like to know the tools at my disposal."
The word made him flinch. Tools. Always that word.
He adjusted the cuffs of his gloves. "I'll need to see the objects in question."
Daniel nodded. "Already arranged. His dorm's been sealed off for investigation. I have clearance."
He gestured to the door, his tone brisk, professional — but beneath that composure, Elias could sense the curiosity. Daniel wasn't just following orders; he wanted to see the power in action.
They walked together through the upper corridors, past students whispering in clusters. Snatches of conversation trailed after them — Did you hear about Alaric?, He was working with unstable matrices, They found scorch marks on the floor.
The gossip tangled like smoke.
The dormitory hallway beyond the restricted tape was colder, quieter. The overhead lights flickered intermittently. Someone had tried to cleanse the space with incense — the faint scent of burnt sage lingered.
Elias hesitated at the threshold. He could already feel it — that weight, that psychic residue that clung to a place touched by trauma.
Daniel watched him closely. "You alright?"
"I will be."
He stepped inside.
The room was tidy in the way of someone trying to impose control on chaos. Books stacked in perfect towers, diagrams pinned with mathematical precision. But beneath the order lay tension — an unease that made the skin prickle.
Elias moved slowly, scanning the space. His eyes caught a half-open notebook on the desk, its edges curled from moisture. He reached out, hesitated, then looked to Daniel.
"You might want to stand back."
Daniel tilted his head. "It's just a notebook."
"Not to me."
Their eyes met — a flicker of challenge — before Daniel took a half step back.
Elias drew in a breath, tugged at the fingertips of his gloves, and slipped them off. The air bit cold against his skin. His fingers hovered over the notebook, trembling slightly. Then, with a soft exhale, he touched the page.
The world cracked open.
A flood of sensation poured through him — light, sound, terror.
The echo began.
Hands trembling. Ink spilling. A scream swallowed by silence.
Someone whispering: "You shouldn't have tried to transmute it."
The taste of copper. The smell of burning.
The images hit in flashes: Alaric's face illuminated by rune light, his eyes wide in disbelief. A sigil circle blazing crimson on the floor. Then the air splitting — something tearing through, not from outside, but from within.
Elias gasped, nearly losing balance. Daniel's hand was there instantly, steadying his shoulder — the contact sending a rush of heat through his senses, dangerously grounding and distracting at once.
"What do you see?" Daniel's voice was low, controlled.
"Not… what. Who." Elias's breath hitched. "He wasn't working alone. Someone—someone else was here."
The vision sharpened, cruelly vivid now: Alaric's hands reaching toward a mirror-like crystal, the reflection behind him warping into a shadowed figure. Then the sound — a low hum, the same resonance from the gate.
A sigil flared, red and black. Alaric's scream cut off mid-breath.
Elias jerked back as if burned. The notebook fell shut.
He staggered, hand braced against the desk, heart hammering.
Daniel's grip tightened, firm but not unkind. "Easy."
Elias's pulse roared in his ears. "They were… harvesting. His aptitude. It wasn't random."
Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Harvesting?"
Elias nodded weakly. "The sigil—it's not a transmutation circle. It's an extraction array. He was drained."
For the first time, Daniel's composure cracked. "That's impossible. Aptitude extraction violates every known law of arcana—"
"Someone found a way." Elias's voice was hoarse. "And they'll do it again."
The words hung between them, heavy and certain.
Outside, the rain began again — slow, deliberate drops tapping against the window like a heartbeat.
Daniel released his shoulder, expression shifting — something colder, more calculating taking its place. "Then we need to find who helped him. Quickly."
Elias turned toward the window. The rain blurred the city beyond into streaks of gray. His reflection stared back — pale, drawn, eyes hollow with what he'd seen.
And somewhere in the static of the glass, he thought he heard the echo again:
The vessel wakes.
------------------------------------------------------------
Silence lingered after the vision broke — that sharp, unnatural silence that follows when something sacred or cursed has just spoken.
Daniel was the first to move. He straightened, running a hand through his damp hair, studying Elias as though trying to decipher him. "You're shaking."
Elias exhaled slowly. "It's a side effect."
"That didn't look like a side effect. You nearly collapsed."
"It's normal."
"Normal people don't bleed from the nose after touching paper."
Elias blinked, wiped at his upper lip — and his gloved fingers came away smeared with crimson. He hadn't even noticed. "It'll stop."
Daniel's expression tightened. The composed smirk he usually wore had vanished; what replaced it was sharper, almost alarmed. "You pushed too far."
"I had to." Elias turned toward the desk again, refusing to meet his gaze. "There was a second resonance signature — whoever was here with Alaric didn't leave through physical means. They folded space. A teleportation fracture."
"Which means?"
Elias glanced up. "They're still on campus."
Daniel's eyes flickered — the faintest flash of recognition, or maybe dread. "That narrows it down to a few thousand suspects."
"Not if I can find the object they used." Elias stepped away from the desk, scanning the floor. The light in the room seemed to dim, as though the building itself recoiled from the lingering echo.
Daniel followed his gaze, every movement deliberate, precise. "You intend to do another reading?"
"Yes."
"Not a chance."
Elias froze, turning toward him. "Excuse me?"
"You're depleted," Daniel said evenly. "If you collapse, I'll have to explain to the Headmaster why my new partner is comatose on day one. I'm not in the mood for paperwork."
"I don't need your permission."
Daniel's eyes gleamed — part challenge, part warning. "You're on my watch. That means your safety is my responsibility."
Elias's lips curved in a humorless smile. "You don't strike me as someone who cares about safety."
"Only when the collateral damage affects me."
The retort should have stung, but something in Daniel's tone — the faint tremor beneath the sarcasm — made Elias hesitate. He was telling the truth. In his own twisted way, Daniel was trying to protect him.
"I can handle it," Elias said quietly.
Daniel studied him for a long moment, then sighed — a small surrender. "Fine. But if you pass out, I'm dragging you to the infirmary, dignity be damned."
"Duly noted."
Elias's gaze swept the room again. It landed on a small, crystalline pendant half-hidden beneath the bed frame. The faint blue glow along its edges pulsed in rhythm with the air — a magical signature, still active.
"That's it," he murmured.
He crouched, reaching for the pendant. The closer his fingers came, the heavier the air grew. Daniel felt it too — a subtle pressure, like the room itself was resisting.
"Ren—"
But Elias's fingertips brushed the surface before he could finish.
The world fell away again.
Only this time, the vision didn't wait. It seized him.
He was no longer standing in a dormitory but in a narrow corridor of stone — old, dripping, carved with sigils that pulsed faintly red. The smell of decay was stronger here, the kind that soaked into skin and memory alike.
A voice whispered nearby — calm, almost kind.
"Don't fight it, Alaric. You wanted transcendence. I'm only giving you the chance."
Elias turned toward the sound. The figure stood cloaked in shadow, face obscured, hands steady over a glowing rune.
Alaric knelt before him, trembling. "I didn't sign up for this—"
The shadow's hand lifted. "No one ever does."
Then light — white, blinding, splitting through the body like glass under pressure.
Elias screamed. He wasn't seeing it; he was feeling it — the collapse of will, the body's desperate fight against erasure. His own veins burned with phantom fire.
Somewhere far away, Daniel's voice called his name — urgent, sharp.
"Elias!"
The corridor shuddered. The vision cracked. Through the blinding light, the shadow turned — and for a heartbeat, Elias saw its face. Or thought he did.
A man — older, dark eyes gleaming with cruel intelligence. A lecturer's robe, pristine, unmarked by the horror around him.
Anique Daz.
The name formed itself without words.
Then everything collapsed.
He came to on the dormitory floor, Daniel kneeling beside him, one hand against the back of his neck. The contact burned and anchored at once — warmth against the cold static still coursing through him.
"Breathe," Daniel said, voice low. "You're safe."
Elias's throat was raw. He couldn't tell if it was from screaming or swallowing back the echoes. "Don't—" He coughed, the taste of iron on his tongue. "Don't touch the pendant."
Daniel glanced toward the glowing crystal, still pulsing faintly. "Noted."
Elias leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His pulse still raced, every beat echoing the rune's rhythm. "It's him."
"Him?"
"The orchestrator. The one behind the harvesting. Anique Daz."
Daniel's expression froze. It was a subtle thing — a half-second pause, a blink too long. "That's impossible. Daz disappeared years ago. He was exiled."
"Exiled doesn't mean dead."
Daniel's jaw tightened. "If he's involved, this isn't just murder. It's rebellion."
Elias opened his eyes. "You've heard of his work?"
"Everyone has. He studied primal attunement — tried to merge human consciousness with pure Arcana energy. It was banned after half his test subjects disintegrated." Daniel stood, pacing once, controlled anger flickering under his voice. "The Council swore they destroyed his research."
Elias's voice softened. "They didn't."
The rain outside had intensified, wind rattling the glass. Daniel turned toward the window, jaw set. "If what you saw is true, we're standing in the middle of his next experiment."
Elias followed his gaze. In the reflection, the pendant still glowed faintly on the floor — like a heartbeat trapped in crystal. "The resonance is still active. That means the ritual isn't finished."
Daniel looked back at him. "And you can find the next one, can't you?"
Elias hesitated. "Maybe. But every reading takes more out of me."
Daniel's voice dropped — quieter now, the sharp edges softening. "Then we do it my way this time. We pace it. You rest when I say rest. Understood?"
Elias almost smiled at the command. "You like control, don't you?"
Daniel's gaze didn't waver. "Control keeps people alive."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The air between them felt charged — not magical, but human. Elias could feel Daniel's scrutiny, the way his mind worked behind those green eyes — weighing him, yet also, for the first time, concerned.
He rose unsteadily to his feet. Daniel's hand hovered, uncertain, before lowering to his side again. "You're sure you're steady?"
"I've been worse."
"That's not comforting."
Elias managed a faint, tired laugh. "Wasn't meant to be."
Daniel shook his head, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "You're infuriating."
"So I've been told."
The pendant on the floor flickered once more — then went dark, as if acknowledging their truce.
They left the room together, the wards sealing behind them with a low hum. In the corridor, the scent of sage still lingered, but beneath it, Elias caught something colder — a residue of the same blood-stained magic he'd seen in the vision.
It wasn't over. Not even close.
As they walked, Daniel's voice broke the quiet. "You know, when I volunteered to mentor the new recruit, I didn't expect 'possible accomplice to serial murder' to be in the fine print."
Elias gave a weary smile. "You can withdraw your application."
"I don't quit things I start." Daniel's tone was light, but his eyes stayed serious. "Besides, I'm curious now."
"About what?"
"You."
Elias glanced at him, brow furrowed.
Daniel's smile was small, almost genuine this time. "Most people would've run from what you just saw. You looked into hell and took notes."
Elias's voice came out quieter than he intended. "If I run, it follows me anyway."
Daniel didn't respond, but something shifted in his expression — an understanding he didn't voice.
They reached the end of the corridor, the lamps casting long twin shadows across the marble floor.
Outside, thunder rolled across the horizon, echoing through Veridian's spires.
And though neither of them said it aloud, both knew: the first victim was only the beginning.
Somewhere in the labyrinth of the Academy, Anique Daz was watching — and the next ritual was already in motion.