Three days had passed.
Not in peace. Not in rest.
But in constant observation.
The West Hollow dormitory had become a sealed prison, its walls humming with passive wards. Nothing strong—just enough to make the air feel full of eyes, like it disapproved of whatever was inside.
Kyle had not been allowed to leave.
Nor had the others been allowed to return.
Food was delivered by silent golems—polished clay figures with lids for heads and no eyes. Communication had been limited to magically filtered messages. Even the orbs that lit the halls no longer glowed white. They were now tinted soft gold, the color of enchantments designed to detect emotional instability.
According to Professor Idris, it was for his own good.
For three days, Kyle had watched them flicker.
For three days, the serpent-shaped mark had not returned.
And for three days, he had spoken to no one about what lay below the dormitory.
It was more like no one even knew he had ever left.
He sat on the far side of a warded chamber carved into the west dorm's lowest study room. Its walls were smooth black obsidian, inscribed with subtle threads of nullification—no magic could be summoned here. Not by him. Not by anyone.
Across from him sat Professor Idris.
The man was tall, slightly slim with some muscle, and looked perfectly neutral in expression. His robes were plain beige with no insignia. The only ornament he wore was a small silver pin bearing his name.
Next to him stood Professor Iskra, arms folded.
She had not sat down.
Idris flipped a page on the slate in his lap. His voice was soft but crisp.
"Let's begin with something simple, Kyle. Can you state your name?"
Kyle looked up, dumbfounded.
"Is that necessary? Do I look like someone who doesn't know their name? Also, news flash—you just said it."
Idris sighed and made a mark.
"Current age?"
"Sixteen."
"Blood affiliation?"
"No House."
"Magical affinity?"
Kyle hesitated. "Not sure myself."
Idris looked up briefly. Noted the honesty. Made no comment.
Iskra watched him like a hawk that had already decided not to eat its prey—but still didn't trust it.
Idris continued.
"Do you feel pain anywhere in your body?"
Kyle shook his head.
"Hallucinations?"
"No."
"Are you hearing voices?"
Kyle looked straight at him. "No."
"Do you believe yourself to be a danger to others?"
Pause.
Kyle didn't blink. "As much of a danger as anyone capable of defending themselves."
Another note.
Professor Idris clicked the slate off.
Then looked at Iskra.
She nodded—just once.
Idris turned back to Kyle.
"Well then," he said. "You're cleared. There are no observable defects, no magical abnormalities outside accepted range, and your mana level has stabilized."
Kyle arched an eyebrow. "Stabilized in what way?"
"That," Idris said, standing, "isn't covered in your discharge notes."
He turned to leave.
Iskra lingered.
She looked at Kyle's eyes—still mismatched. Left brown. Right a glowing, crystalline blue.
"You've changed," she said.
Kyle didn't deny it. Jeez, she was so awkward about it, he thought.
"Will that be a problem?" he asked.
Iskra looked at him for a long moment.
Then shook her head. "Not yet."
And then she was gone.
What a mentor. Treats you well when you're weak, and one tragic day is all it takes for everyone to keep you at arm's length. Bunch of hypocrites, he thought as he left for his assigned living quarters.
An hour later, a letter was read aloud by a golem in the common room.
To Kyle,
By directive of the Administrative Council of Sanctum Magna, all first-year students are to return home effective immediately.
The semester is hereby concluded.
Credit has been awarded in full, commensurate with each student's performance prior to the incident.
This credit shall be accepted toward graduation or deferment should extended recovery be necessary.
For those unable to travel, school-arranged teleportation will commence tomorrow morning.
Silence followed.
Then Kyle snorted. "So they're giving us a year to get over it."
"No," a voice in his head said, tone flat. "They're giving you a year to disappear quietly and fall in line if you want to come back. In your case, get your shit under control—if you know what's good for you."
Kyle sighed, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I thought you guys gave up on interfering with my life. Why are you still talking to me?"
"I don't abide by that hag's laws. If anything, we're all beings who were close to divinity. I do as I please." The voice responded, bored.
"As the recipient of your annoying voice, I'd prefer you go back and die in a ditch. I've already gotten all I can out of you—so why bother?"
"Well, what if I told you that you could inherit more than our wills? Specifically... my power." The voice's tone turned oddly seductive.
"Firstly, never do that again. I'm more comfortable with you being male. And secondly, wasn't that whole stunt during the attack you giving me power?"
"Not quite, child. I merely let you borrow a fraction. If you want the real deal... you know what to do." A mischievous laugh echoed as the voice disappeared again.
The message had been delivered.
The school had closed the book.
But in Kyle's gut, he knew this wasn't closure.
It was transition.
The dormitory hadn't changed.
But it felt different.
After being cleared, Kyle had been allowed to have his friends over again.
The silence was heavier now—not enforced by wards or surveillance, but by knowledge. Everyone had seen something they couldn't unsee. Some were wounded physically. Others, mentally. And some were left wondering if they'd simply been overlooked.
A tray of half-eaten food lay untouched on the common table. Golem-delivered. School-approved. It smelled like vegetables and fake meat.
Kyle was sick of it.
No one had the appetite.
Vera sat in the corner chair, one leg tucked under her, coat draped around her shoulders like a battle-worn cloak. Her eyes flicked toward the others, but never settled.
Cynric leaned against the wall, arms folded, a glowing rune-lantern casting an amber outline over his face. The burn on his cheek—mostly hidden by a bandage—still hadn't healed right.
Orin sat cross-legged on the floor, turning that same pulse-charm in his fingers. The violet light stuttered now and then, like it was low on charge. He hadn't spoken much since arriving.
Mirai was last to arrive.
She walked slowly, cane tapping with every step, jaw tight—but not from pain. More from pride. Her eyes met Kyle's once, and something unreadable passed between them.
Not forgiveness.
Not anger.
Just existence.
A quiet tension neither could define—and everyone else could feel.
Kyle sat across from them all. Silent.
Vera broke it. Her voice unusually quiet.
"So. That's it. They're sending everyone home in the morning."
"Looks like it," Cynric said, unmoving.
"They're pretending like we passed a test," Orin muttered. "Like this was part of the curriculum."
Mirai said nothing. Just stared at the wall like it held the secrets to her life.
Kyle tapped a knuckle against the table. "You think they're scared?"
"Oh, they're terrified," Cynric said. "Not just of what happened. They're especially scared of you."
He didn't say it with venom.
But it landed anyway.
Kyle didn't respond.
Vera shifted. "They gave us credits. A full pass. An entire year, free—if we want it. That's not mercy. That's negotiation."
Kyle looked up. "You think we're being bought?"
"Pretty much," Mirai replied. "It's them saying: whatever you saw—you didn't."
A long pause followed.
Then Orin, softly: "I think we're being waited on."
Mirai blinked. "Waited for?"
Orin nodded. "They don't know what's next. But they know it's not over. The cult wasn't after nothing. They were after something. And now Kyle's in the middle."
Kyle exhaled, low. "I just wanted to get stronger. To never lose anyone again. Now this nonsense is following me like the plague."
The room went quiet again.
Vera finally stood. "Well. I'm packing. I'm not going to wait for the school to blink and pretend this didn't happen."
Cynric followed her silently.
Orin stayed behind for a second, watching Kyle.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Kyle looked back. "I don't know."
"Try to get some rest. You need it," Orin said, then left—leaving Mirai alone with Kyle.
Kyle's expression didn't change.
Mirai finally spoke.
"Your hair looks ridiculous."
Kyle snorted. "I'll grow it out. Call it post-trauma fashion."
She turned toward him, slowly.
"What happened to you—and to me," she said, "it's not your fault."
"But it's still mine to carry," he replied.
Mirai looked like she wanted to say more—but didn't.
Instead, she turned away.
"I'm sorry, Kyle."
"What for?" he asked.
"I lied. I know you saw my memories. I know that you know I'm a daughter of the Malloran family. I don't blame you if you want to keep your distance."
Kyle cut her off before she could continue.
"As much as I'm disappointed, I get why you never said anything. Honestly, I'd do the same. I mean, what idiot sacrifices a friend just because of a last name, right?"
Mirai gave him a deadpan look—and chuckled. "Pretty sure earlier this semester, you were fully ready to kill my brother because of that last name."
"I've grown. Don't you see?" Kyle said, chin raised mock-heroically. "But how did you know I saw your memories? I didn't think it was a two-way street."
"Because I saw the day your parents died," she said quietly. "You were so young. Yet the memory was so strong, so vivid... I couldn't help but know it was yours."
Kyle looked down. He had spoken vaguely of his trauma before, but this was different.
This was raw.
"So... what do you think of your family after seeing that?"
Mirai stood, cane in hand, and stepped beside him. She rubbed his back briefly, then embraced him.
"If it means anything, I was disowned. I'm the daughter of a mistress. A bastard, if you will. So I hold no strong affection for the name Malloran."
She stood back up and left.
He just watched her go.
And when the door shut behind her—
He finally let himself wonder:
What happens now?
Because somewhere beneath the school, beneath the city, beneath the world—
Something was still amiss.
And this wasn't the end.
This was just intermission.