Elias returned to the hidden wing alone.
He hadn't planned to. In fact, he had promised himself he wouldn't. But the feeling had been there all morning quiet, persistent, tugging at him whenever he passed the stairwell. Not fear this time. Not urgency.
Recognition.
The door opened without resistance.
Inside, the hidden room felt colder than before. The symbols along the walls glowed faintly, as if they had been waiting. Elias stepped forward slowly, the hum settling into a steady rhythm beneath his skin.
"Okay," he murmured. "I'm here."
The school did not answer.
Instead, the far wall shifted.
Stone groaned softly as a narrow panel slid aside, revealing a section of old brick older than the rest of the room. Its surface was worn smooth in places, scarred in others.
And there, carved deep into the stone, was a name.
ELIAS
The letters were uneven, etched by a hand that hadn't been steady.
His breath caught.
"That's not…" His voice faltered. "That's not possible."
The school did not deny it.
He stepped closer, fingers hovering just above the carving. The moment he touched the stone, memories not his flickered at the edge of his mind.
A different hallway
Older uniforms.
A boy standing in the same room, terrified and alone.
Elias jerked his hand back, heart racing.
"This has happened before," he whispered.
The realization hit him slowly, settling into his bones.
He wasn't the first.
Mara found him there minutes later.
"I knew you'd come," she said gently, as if he had called her without meaning to.
Elias turned. "My name is on the wall."
Her expression shifted not disbelief, but concern. "Show me."
She traced the letters with her eyes, careful not to touch them.
"It's old," she said. "But it's not ancient."
"No," Elias agreed. "It's been rewritten."
That unsettled them both.
"How many times?" Mara asked.
"I don't know," he said. "But the school remembers every one."
They sat on the floor, backs against the wall, the carved name between them.
"Do you think you'll end up like them?" Mara asked quietly.
Elias hesitated. "I think… if I pretend this doesn't matter, I will."
She nodded. "Then don't pretend."
He looked at the name again at the fear carved into the stone, the desperation.
"I don't want to be forgotten," he said.
"You won't be," Mara replied without hesitation. "Not this time."
The hum deepened not heavy, not sharp.
Acknowledging.
Accepting.
As they left the room, the stone panel slid back into place.
The name remained.
Waiting.
And Elias understood something with quiet certainty:
The school didn't just teach.
It remembered.