Chapter Three: A Flame Too Young to Burn (Part Five)
The following morning felt colder.
Not by weather.
By intention.
The Lyceum's corridors never changed temperature—
but somehow, they always knew how to pull the heat from a person's breath
just as they were about to speak.
Zephryn walked with silence folded across his shoulders like a second robe.
Selka walked beside him, humming a line from a children's march.
Not the melody. Just the rhythm.
Kaelen trailed behind. Not guarding. Not following.
Just walking as if being early was a threat.
Yolti said nothing, but her eyes flicked up each glyph etched into the corridor walls—mapping them for later.
It was the day orientation began.
Not in halls.
On the platform.
Liraen Vosk stood waiting at the head of the trial floor.
Instructor robes. Veilmark tattoos kept mostly hidden.
Only the trace of resonance ink pulsing across her wrist suggested anything more than silence.
She didn't speak right away.
She let the wind do it for her.
The platform extended like a disc cut from the sky—circular, wide, impossible to fall from unless the Lyceum willed it.
It sat above the eastern courtyard.
Not the public one—
the private chamber used only for resonance readings, glyph duels, and memory audits.
Zephryn felt the difference the moment he stepped on it.
It didn't hum like the rest of the campus.
It didn't measure.
It listened.
Liraen lifted one hand—simple, flat—and the rest of the Echo unit settled without being told.
There were no introductions.
No names recited.
The Lyceum didn't greet.
It observed.
"Sit," she said.
And they did.
One circle.
Four points.
Glyphs beneath them pulsed faintly—old, clean, unfinished.
"You were brought here because your pulses carried enough potential to warrant containment," Liraen said.
Not invitation.
Not honor.
Containment.
Even Selka stopped humming.
Zephryn didn't flinch.
He simply studied the glyph beneath him.
It didn't match the others.
It pulsed half a second behind.
Out of sync.
On purpose.
"You will not be given titles yet," Liraen continued.
"You will not be given weapon rights, mark ranks, or dorm shifts."
She stepped once into the center.
The glyphs flared outward from her foot.
Each student's pulse flickered in return.
"You will be observed.
And when you've forgotten how to perform for our attention,
we will begin."
Yolti adjusted her grip on the stone she always carried in her sleeve.
Kaelen flexed his hands once.
Selka's hum started again—too soft to identify, too present to ignore.
Zephryn said nothing.
But the glyph beneath him…
stopped flickering.
For the first time—
it aligned with the others.
Liraen noticed.
Her eyes locked on him.
"You," she said.
"Name?"
Zephryn's jaw didn't move.
But his pulse quickened.
"Does he not speak?" she asked the group.
Kaelen looked away.
Selka stopped humming.
Yolti glanced at Zephryn, then back to the glyph.
"He does," Selka said.
"But only when it's worth something."
Liraen stepped closer.
Not confrontational.
Not aggressive.
But focused.
"Is this worth something?" she asked him.
Zephryn looked up.
And for the first time that morning—he spoke.
"It's not about worth.
It's about weight."
The wind paused.
Liraen's eyes narrowed slightly.
The glyph beneath him surged once—faint, but true.
She stepped back.
"Stand."
He did.
"You four are Echo for now.
Until we find a better name."
Selka smiled.
Kaelen snorted.
Yolti began sketching the glyph pattern into her thigh with her finger—no ink, just memory.
Zephryn stayed still.
But inside?
The silence hummed.