The summons came at dawn. A crisp, automated message on his dorm terminal: Report to Headmaster's Office. 0800.
No reason given. None needed.
Aiden dressed slowly, the phantom feel of the burned handprint still lingering on his skin. The vision of the green fire and the silhouette in the doorway played behind his eyes on a loop. He looked at his own palms. Ordinary. For now.
The walk to the administration wing felt longer than ever. The portraits of past headmasters lining the hallways seemed to watch him pass with disapproving, painted eyes. Vance's office was at the end of a plush, too-quiet corridor.
The door slid open silently before he could knock.
"Aiden. Come in."
Headmaster Vance's office was spacious, lined with real books and tasteful awards. A large window looked out over the manicured school grounds. Vance stood by a cabinet, pouring two glasses of water. He looked like a different man from the cold bureaucrat in the infirmary. Softer. Almost paternal.
"Sit, please." He gestured to a comfortable chair facing his desk. He brought over the glasses, setting one before Aiden before taking his own seat. He sighed, a sound of weary responsibility.
"I've been reviewing your case, Aiden. And my own conscience." He steepled his fingers. "The path you're on… it leads to pain. For you, and for those around you. What happened in the cafeteria with Kyle… a minor scalding? Next time, it could be worse. A life."
Aiden's fingers tightened around the cool glass. He said nothing.
"The Board sees a liability. I see a young man in over his head." Vance leaned forward, his expression one of grave concern. "There is a procedure. 'System Stabilization.' It's non-invasive. It would… smooth out the anomalies in your magical signature. Remove the unstable elements. Your Creation Class would remain, pure and simple. No more fire. No more risk."
A cold trickle, unrelated to the water, went down Aiden's spine.
"In return," Vance continued, his voice smooth as oil, "the 'Containment' brand would be erased. All debts, forgiven. You could continue your education here, no longer a danger to yourself or others. A clean slate."
He made it sound like a gift. Salvation.
But the ember in Aiden's chest, the anchor point for Lyra, didn't just warm. It recoiled. A sharp, painful twist, like a hand gripping his heart. A silent, seismic NO reverberated through his entire being. It wasn't his thought. It was hers. A primal, terrified refusal.
The procedure wouldn't just remove 'unstable elements.' It would erase her. It would complete the purge the Ghost Protocol logs had started.
Vance was watching him closely, reading the hesitation on his face. "It's for the best, son."
The word 'son' hung in the air, tasting like ash. This man had buried his own daughter's murder. He was offering to bury a ghost.
Aiden found his voice. It was quieter than he wanted, but it didn't shake. "Thank you for the offer, Headmaster. But I think… I need to learn to control it. Not remove it."
The paternal warmth in Vance's eyes cooled by degrees. The concern solidified into something harder, sharper. "Control it." He repeated the words as if they were in a foreign language. "Aiden. You are an F-rank Creation student with a pyromanic glitch. Control is a fantasy. The only responsible path is removal."
"I'll take responsibility," Aiden said, the words feeling dangerous on his tongue.
A long silence filled the room. The pleasant mask was gone. What remained was the man who had signed the order to purge the Ghost Protocol.
"Very well," Vance said, his voice now as flat and cold as a marble slab. He leaned back in his chair, the offer officially withdrawn. "You have made your choice. Remember this moment when the consequences arrive. You will be held accountable for every spark, every scorch mark, every moment of fear you cause. To the fullest extent of school policy… and beyond."
The dismissal was final. Aiden stood, his legs feeling unsteady. He gave a short nod and turned to leave.
"One more thing, Ward," Vance's voice stopped him at the door. "The past is best left buried. Digging only unearths things that should have stayed dead. For everyone's sake."
The threat was clear. The door hissed shut behind Aiden, sealing him out in the cold, quiet hallway.
He took the long way back, through the older, less-used corridors of the main building, trying to clear his head. The confrontation had left him vibrating with a tense energy. Vance's final words echoed. Things that should have stayed dead.
He was so lost in thought he almost didn't notice the shift in the hallway ahead. The usual hum of the building faded. They were in a maintenance spur, near the old gymnasium. The lights were dimmer here.
Three figures stepped out from a cross-corridor, blocking his path.
Kyle. His right hand was bandaged. Flanking him were two of his usual followers, Brick and Tarn, both C-rank Brawlers. Their expressions weren't the usual sneering amusement. They were set, serious.
"Leaving so soon, Torch?" Kyle said, his voice low. "We missed you at morning drills."
"I have class," Aiden said, trying to keep his voice even. He glanced behind him. The way he'd come was clear, but they were faster.
"See, that's the problem," Kyle said, taking a step forward. "You're a walking violation. A glitch. And glitches get corrected." He flexed his bandaged hand. "The Headmaster might want to pretend this is a system issue. But I believe in hands-on education."
Brick and Tarn fanned out, cutting off any escape to the sides. The corridor was narrow.
Anger, hot and immediate, flushed through Aiden. It was the unfairness of it. Vance's threats, Kyle's bullying, the whole world pushing him into a corner.
The ember in his chest roared to life, a furnace door blasting open. Heat flooded his veins. He could feel Lyra's presence, not as a separate entity, but as a wave of fury riding his own. He saw the air around his fists waver.
Kyle saw it too. A grim smile touched his lips. "Go on. Lose control. Give them the reason they need to throw you out."
Lose control. The words from Rykker, from Vance. One more incident.
But the heat was there, demanding release. He could feel it pooling in his palm, a pressure building. He could burn them. He wanted to.
Lyra's silent scream echoed in his memory. The green fire. The murder.
No.
He wouldn't be like the figure in the doorway. He wouldn't be the one who brought the fire.
With a gritted-teeth effort that felt like holding back a tidal wave, he wrenched his focus away from Kyle's smirking face. Away from the immediate threat. He looked up. At the ceiling. At the line of simple, metallic fire-sprinkler heads running down the center of the corridor.
He didn't throw the fire. He directed the pressure, the boiling anger. He pictured a thin, focused line. A cutter, not a bomb.
A jet of concentrated orange flame, thin as a rope, shot from his outstretched palm. It wasn't the wild inferno of the dungeon. It was deliberate. Aimed.
It struck the sprinkler head directly above Kyle.
The metal glowed red, then white. The fusible link inside gave way.
With a sharp pop, the sprinkler activated. A torrent of cold water blasted down, drenching Kyle and his two friends instantly. They stumbled back, sputtering and shocked.
Aiden didn't wait. He turned and ran, the heat in his palm dying as suddenly as it had come, leaving only a faint, pleasant warmth.
Behind him, he heard Kyle's roar of pure rage, muffled by the downpour.
He didn't stop running until he was back in the crowded main hall, blending into the stream of students heading to first period. His heart was pounding, but it wasn't just from fear.
A fierce, wild grin touched his lips, there and gone in a second.
He had used the fire. Not by accident. Not in terror.
He had aimed it.
And for the first time, the power inside him didn't feel like a curse waiting to explode.
It felt like a key. And he had just taken the first, trembling turn in the lock.