The morning unwrapped under an unsettling sky that seemed caught between its moods, pale light veiled by cloud-strands that drifted with an almost deliberate pattern, as though some unseen hand had stroked them into being. Kael stepped out into the courtyard with the feel of yesterday's tightening sensation still cradled beneath his skin, and it was all too uncomfortably vivid; every sound too crystalline, and every shadow too deliberate. The quiet thread he had sensed hadn't disappeared overnight; instead, it seemed to curl and uncurl in rhythmic pulse, neither closer nor further away, but simply there where nothing should be.
Brion stood waiting at the far end of the courtyard, leaning against one of the white pillars that framed the walkway. He pushed away from the stone as Kael approached. "You look like you've been reading ancient texts until dawn," he said, though the concern behind the remark was unmistakable.
"Didn't sleep much," Kael admitted. "Everything felt… close."
Brion frowned. "Close how?"
Kael hesitated, searching for a balanced explanation that didn't sound like the ramblings of someone fraying at the seams. "Like the air was listening."
Brion's face took on an uncertain expression. "Maybe you should talk to—"
"I will," said Kael gently, cutting him off. "But not yet."
Brion exhaled a long sigh. "At least inform me if it gets worse."
"I will."
That would do for now, it seemed. Together they merged with the growing crowd around the training grounds, where Instructor Avel stood between two other instructors Kael saw less frequently involved in the day-to-day training. Their presence alone was indication that something was different today. Avel waited for the crowd to quiet before speaking.
"Today's session expands on the perceptive training," she said, using that reserved tone of hers. "You shall work in smaller circles. The goal is to identify resonance, subtle patterns that ripple through the environment and respond to proximity. Most of you will sense little beyond faint vibrations if anything at all, and that is expected. Do not force clarity."
One of the other tutors, a man named Coren with deep-set eyes and a serious disposition, stepped forward. "You will be introduced to a form of passive attunement," he said. "Your role is to observe, nothing more. Those who attempt to reach beyond what they can currently handle risk misleading themselves."
Kael listened intently, though he felt the familiar prickle rising at the back of his neck. The thread beneath his awareness pulsed faintly, as if stirred by the mention of resonance.
Teams of four were given, and Kael received Brion, Seris, and a boy called Mirren whose peaceful composure made him appear considerably older than his years. They moved across the yard after Avel toward a part of the grounds near a low rock wall covered in creeping vines, where the grass grew somewhat taller and the breeze carried a cooler edge.
"You will stand in a loose circle," Avel said, "and extend your senses outward, not into the world at large, but across the space between you. There are currents in the air and in the ground that shift in response to presence. Your task is to notice fluctuations, nothing more."
They formed the circle. Brion let out a loud whoosh of breath, as if trying to shake the tension from his shoulders; Seris closed her eyes almost immediately. Mirren stood in some sort of oddly balanced pose, hands falling lax at his sides. Kael merely breathed, hoping not to draw the strange thread to him once more.
Time passed with no one saying a word. A light wind rustled the leaves, joined by the soft crunch of distant footsteps. Then, slowly, the air began to move in contrived ways. Kael detected a faint hum-so slight that he would have ignored it had he not already been primed for aberrant discord. It came from all directions and none. Rather, it emanated from the middle of their clearing, as though some point of air between them began to draw in and expel atmosphere in slow, measured cycles.
Brion opened one eye. "Are we supposed to feel something already?"
Seris nodded faintly. "There's a rhythm.
Mirren cocked his head. "It's irregular. Probably the baseline fluctuation the instructors wanted us to identify."
The hum dropped in pitch. Kael felt his ribs get tight, almost a gentle constriction, as if air itself had gained a phantom mass. He did not quicken his breath, but the impression grew stronger with each passing second.
"Do you feel that?" Kael asked quietly.
Brion furrowed his brow. "Feel what?
Seris opened her eyes, furrowing her brow a little. "Something changed. It feels colder.
Mirren's posture went stiff. "No… not colder. Thinner."
The hum within the circle pulsed more sharply across the ground in a slight tremor that any less sensitive person might have mistaken for a shift in balance. Kael stiffened. This feeling was decidedly too familiar.
Avel joined their circle at that moment. "What are you noticing?"
First to speak was Seris. "There's a rhythm. But it's changing."
"Thinning," Mirren added.
Avel's eyes met Kael's. "And you?
"It's pulling," he said before he could stop himself. "Like something is drawing the air inward."
Avel's eyes cut with interest, yet her face did not betray whether this was good or ill. "Stay focused. Let the sensation come clear without leaning into it.
That instruction, simple as it was, became almost impossible for Kael to follow. The thread beneath his awareness responded to the pulse within the circle, vibrating with a faint, quivering eagerness. It was like standing at the mouth of some dark corridor and hearing a whisper from far, far inside that called his name without using any voice he knew. His pulse quickened. The air around him blurred a little, or maybe it was his perception that blurred. He lifted a hand instinctively, not sure whether he was trying to steady himself or block his senses.
The hum then jerked, breaking from its rhythm, and the faint, held tension in the circle dissipated in that instant.
Avel raised his hand. "That is enough."
The air steadied. The grass swayed again gently, as if nothing had happened.
Brion let out a deep breath he'd held a bit too tightly. "Was that supposed to happen?"
"It was within expected bounds," Avel said calmly. "You detected resonance clearly. That is progress."
Mirren nodded slowly, but suspicion lingered in his eyes. Seris remained silent, watching Kael with an expression that bordered on concern.
Kael said nothing. His mind stirred with the memory of the thread reacting, tugging at his senses, insisting on being noticed. It was no longer subtle. It had grown stronger. And the resonance exercises had given it an opening.
The session went on with various exercises, in manners of stillness and gentle movement, but nothing, however, seemed to fill the moment as that created within the circle. Every time Kael attempted to steady his senses, the thread stayed at the back of his mind, beckoning silently, whispering with no sound, stirring with no motion.
The instructors dismissed them for a break at noon. Brion immediately dragged Kael toward the shade of a tall oak at the edge of the field. "Look," he said, his voice lowering, "something happened back there. You're pale, and your eyes keep shifting like you're tracking something that isn't there."
Kael rubbed the side of his head. "The resonance… it matched something I've been sensing since the mirror."
Brion's shoulders tensed. "So that's what you meant by the air listening?"
"Yes. It's like a thread. Thin, but constant."
Brion stared at him a long moment. "Is it dangerous?"
"I don't know."
"Then talk to Avel. Or the Archivist. Or someone."
Kael shook his head. "Not yet. It's not clear enough."
Brion looked ready to argue, but the bell for the afternoon session rang, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. They rose and crossed the field again, though Kael noticed that the sky had darkened despite the sun remaining visible. The clouds seemed to form shapes that dissolved the moment he tried to discern them—long, spindly patterns that stretched across the horizon before softening into nothing. A quiet discomfort tightened in his chest.
The afternoon exercises were one of controlled movement: the groups were to walk slowly between certain markers while sustaining a regular awareness of the landscape. It was a simple enough task as it sounded, yet the instructors' tone of voice suggested that there was more to the instructions than met the eye.
Kael went forward in measured strides, following Avel's lead. The ground shifted ever so slightly beneath each step he made, and the faint tremors returned anew, clear as before. Every step Kael made on the soil felt like landing on something soft underneath, loose-like fabric stretched to its limits.
Mirren spoke low behind him. "Do you feel that? The ground feels… layered."
Brion frowned. "Layered?"
"Yes. As if it were supported by another surface beneath it."
Kael swallowed. "I feel it, too."
Avel watched them from the flank, her eyes steady and serious. "Continue," she said. "Trust your senses, yet do not chase shadows. Perception must come of its own accord."
They moved again.
This time, the response from the ground felt clearer—less like a tremor and more like a pressure, as something beneath the soil shifted when approached, retreating with an almost sentient grace. Kael's breath caught; the thread inside him seemed to stretch, reaching to that hidden layer.
He stopped mid-step.
Something had touched his perception. Not from the air, nor from the earth, but from that thin place between the two-an almost invisible gap, nearly unnoticeable with his training.
It was a whisper.
A soundless whisper.
A wordless whisper.
A formless and fleshless presence shaped like the idea of a hand reaching out.
Kael staggered, and the moment shattered. The sensation pulled away instantly, vanishing so quickly it might have never existed. Brion grabbed his arm before he could fall.
Avel was at their side in an instant. "What happened?"
Kael fought for breath. "Something… touched me."
Brion stiffened. "Touched? What touched?"
Kael shook his head. "I don't know. It wasn't a physical touch. More like… something brushed against my awareness."
Avel's face did not change, but her eyes sharpened. "Describe the sensation."
Kael demurred. "It felt like a whisper without sound."
Avel watched him for a long moment, then turned to the others. "Training is over for today."
Murmurs rippled through the groups, confusion and concern widely spreading, though Avel silenced further questions with a gesture.
She pulled Kael aside as the others wandered off. "The resonance you picked up on isn't dangerous in and of itself," she said in a low tone. "However, some sensitives attract attention-normally non-harmful, but sometimes a pain.
Kael looked at her, unclear of what to say.
"Tonight," Avel said, continuing, "rest. Do not try to stretch your senses. If anything strange happens, come to me at once."
Kael nodded. Avel's tone loosened very little. "You are not in danger. But you are standing near a door whose hinge has begun to shift. Tread carefully." Long after he left the training grounds, her words lingered. That night, there were no stars in the sky. Shadows stretched out in strange and unusual directions. And as Kael had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, the thread beneath his awareness pulsed once more: soft, deliberate and impossibly aware. Somewhere beyond the reaches of perception, something stirred against the rim of reality. And this time, it did not retreat.