By sunset, Aetherion Academy looked like it was trying to pretend it wasn't haunted.
Lanterns floated above the central courtyard, casting warm gold light across carved stone and winter-dark hedges. Silk banners hung from the towers—Founders' Crest stitched in silver thread—fluttering like the academy was celebrating something instead of counting down a death.
Music drifted from the Grand Hall.
Beautiful.
Elegant.
Wrong.
Lina stood at the edge of the courtyard with Kai, Seren, and Reyon, watching students file toward the entrance in formal attire and half-laughing nerves—like they could party their way out of prophecy.
Reyon adjusted his collar and grimaced. "So we're going to a fancy murder ball."
Kai's gaze didn't leave the doors. "It's not a ball. It's a net."
Seren's eyes glowed faintly, her Soul Echoes restless. "The air tastes like clove smoke," she whispered. "They're already scrambling echoes."
Lina's ribs burned where Kai's name was carved into her bones.
A reminder.A map.A wound.
And her mind felt… thinner. Like her thoughts were pages the wind wanted to steal.
Kai brushed his knuckles against the inside of her wrist—subtle contact, steadying.
"Say your name," he murmured.
Lina blinked hard, refocusing. "Lina Veris."
Kai's voice was quiet but firm. "Stay real."
"I'm here," Lina whispered back.
Reyon's eyebrows lifted. "Okay. That is officially the scariest couple ritual I've ever witnessed."
Seren shot him a look. "Reyon."
He lifted both hands. "I'm coping. Let me cope."
Masks were required.
The Council attendant had said it like a dress code.
But Lina could feel the deeper meaning now.
Masks weren't costumes.
They were tools.
And the Runic Grave had proven names could be written into death with a single carve.
Lina held her mask in her hands—black satin with a thin gold outline. Simple. Elegant.
Too normal for what tonight was.
Kai's mask was dark, matte, edged with faint runes that shimmered when he moved. He'd found it in their dorm hallway, laid neatly on his bed like it had always belonged to him.
Seren's was ivory with delicate swirls.
Reyon's looked like someone tried to design "annoying but charming" in fabric form—half-silver, half-black, with a lopsided grin painted along the edge.
"I didn't pick this," Reyon muttered. "This mask picked me. That's offensive."
Kai's jaw tightened. "Don't joke about it."
Reyon's smile faltered. "Right. Sorry."
Seren stared at the Grand Hall doors.
"I hear… a chorus," she whispered. "Not music. Echoes. Like hundreds of heartbeats being measured."
Lina's stomach twisted.
"They're harvesting emotions," Lina murmured.
Kai nodded once. "And they'll spike the harvest with fear."
They started walking.
Each step toward the hall felt like stepping into a story someone else was writing.
At the entrance, two Council members stood beside tall silver stands. Students lined up in pairs, presenting invitations like passports.
Above the doors, a banner read:
FOUNDERS' MASQUERADE — UNITY THROUGH LEGACY
Lina's flame hissed under her skin.
Unity through control.
Reyon leaned in and whispered, "If 'legacy' is code for 'trauma,' I'm leaving a one-star review."
Kai didn't smile.
At the front of the line, a boy in a blue suit fumbled his mask strap with shaking fingers. A Council member held up a hand.
"Identity check," the Council member announced.
The music inside softened, like the entire hall leaned closer.
The boy swallowed. "My—my name is—"
He hesitated.
Just for a heartbeat.
The Council member's eyes sharpened.
The boy's reflection in the silver stand beside him twitched—late.
Lina's heart slammed.
A Name Test.
Public.
Weaponized.
The Council member smiled pleasantly. "Full name."
The boy's throat worked.
"D-Devon—"
He stopped again.
A cold ripple passed through the crowd.
The boy's mask strap snapped in his fingers as if the air had tightened.
His eyes widened.
Lina watched in horror as his reflection in the silver stand smiled—slow, wrong—while the real boy looked terrified.
Seren whispered, shaking, "He's being overwritten."
Reyon's voice went tight. "Okay. That's… not a normal party icebreaker."
Kai's hand tightened around Lina's. "Eyes down," he murmured. "Don't look at the stands too long."
The Council member's voice stayed calm, almost kind.
"Devon, you may try again."
The boy's lips parted.
No sound came out.
His reflection spoke instead, perfectly smooth:
"Devon Arclen."
The real boy blinked, confused—like he'd just heard someone else introduce him.
The Council member nodded.
"Welcome," they said, and let him pass.
Devon walked inside like a sleepwalker.
Lina's stomach turned.
"That wasn't him," she whispered.
Kai's voice was low. "Or it won't be soon."
Seren's hands trembled. "They're letting the replaced ones in."
Reyon swallowed hard. "So the party is literally a 'spot the real person' event."
Lina's bone-tether pulsed painfully, as if warning her that Kai's name on that invitation wasn't just ink.
It was a target.
They reached the front.
A Council member held out their hand. "Invitation."
Kai handed the paper over without flinching.
The Council member read the name and smiled.
"Kai Rhen," they said aloud, like savoring it.
Kai's jaw clenched.
The Council member lifted their gaze. "Identity check."
Silence tightened.
Lina could feel the eyes of the line behind them, the weight of students pretending this was normal.
Kai's shadow flickered faintly beneath his feet—his seal reacting.
Kai's voice was calm. "Kai Rhen."
The Council member didn't nod.
"Again," they said, too softly.
Kai's eyes darkened. "Kai Rhen."
The Council member's smile widened slightly.
"Say your oath," they murmured.
Lina's blood turned to ice.
Kai's shoulders went rigid.
Seren whispered, horrified, "They're trying to trigger the Oathbreaker seal."
Reyon stepped forward fast. "Hi! Hello! Quick question! Since when do we do oath recitals at parties? Is there also a pledge of allegiance to trauma?"
The Council member's gaze flicked to Reyon—cool, unimpressed.
"Step aside," they said.
Lina's flame rose in her bones.
No.
Not here.
Not publicly.
Not on their terms.
She squeezed Kai's hand hard and whispered, urgent: "Say my name."
Kai's eyes snapped to her.
For half a heartbeat, something in him softened—something human.
"Lina Veris," he whispered.
The bone-tether warmed. Lina's mind steadied.
Lina lifted her chin and spoke clearly, loudly enough for the Council member to hear.
"Say his name," Lina said, voice sharp. "Stay real."
The line behind them went still.
The Council member's smile tightened. "Excuse me?"
Lina didn't blink. "You heard me."
Kai's hand tightened around hers—warning.
Reyon whispered, "Oh my god. Lina is speedrunning authority issues."
Seren's eyes widened, terrified but thrilled.
The Council member's gaze sharpened. "This is not a student-led ritual."
Lina's flame flickered black at the edges, then steadied gold.
"It's survival," Lina said softly. "And you're the one who started it."
The Council member paused.
Then, slowly, they said:
"Kai Rhen."
Kai didn't react.
Lina watched for the weight.
The ring of truth.
Seren leaned in slightly, eyes glowing as she listened to the lie frequency.
Seren's breath hitched.
"That—" Seren whispered. "That was… clean."
Too clean.
Printed.
Like the mask room.
Kai's expression went cold.
The Council member smiled again, satisfied, and handed the invitation back.
"Welcome," they said smoothly. "Enjoy the evening."
Lina's stomach dropped.
They passed the check.
But the Council member had failed the Name Test.
Meaning—
The person at the door might not be real.
Or was being controlled.
Or both.
The Grand Hall doors opened.
Warm light spilled out—gold chandeliers, polished floors, swirling gowns, laughing students.
A perfect lie.
Music swelled.
Masks glittered.
And Lina stepped inside—
and felt Seren's hand grab her wrist hard.
Seren's eyes were wide, glowing, terrified.
"Lina," Seren whispered. "Don't move."
Lina's heart slammed. "What?"
Seren swallowed, voice shaking.
"I hear Mira's echo," she whispered. "Right now. In this room."
Lina's breath caught.
She scanned the crowd—hundreds of masked faces.
Then she saw her.
Across the ballroom.
A girl in a soft yellow gown, hair pinned like Mira's, posture familiar—
standing too still near the mirrored wall décor.
Lina started forward—
And stopped.
Because the mask on Mira's face wasn't satin.
It was porcelain.
White.
Runed.
Beautiful.
And etched into it in fine, cruel letters was a name Lina recognized instantly—
not Mira's.
Not even close.
LINA VERIS.
Lina's blood turned to ice.
Kai's hand tightened around hers like a warning.
And Mira—wearing Lina's name—turned her head slowly toward them.
And smiled.
Wrong.
To be Continued© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.