Chapter One: Beneath the Petals (Part One)
Date: May 23, Year 204 PCR (Maelis 23)
Location: Celestis Veil – Heartbloom Summit / Petalwind Courtyard
Time: Dawn
The morning came softly, like a held breath.
Celestis Veil lay quiet beneath a silver haze, its crystal-laced towers basking in the shimmer of a sun not yet fully risen. The wind had stilled. Even the birdsong—usually harmonized by morning pulse—had faded into reverent silence. Across the great balconies of the Lyceum's uppermost tier, banners bearing the mark of the Veil fluttered low and slow, not from wind, but from resonance. The world had exhaled, waiting for something to begin.
At the summit of the cliffs, far above the academy, the Heartbloom Tree stretched its roots through stone and memory. Its petals glowed faintly, drifting in a spiral of impossible stillness. The tree's blossoms shimmered with hues no paint could capture—silver-pink layered with sapphire echoes, resonating in pulses of unseen music. Beneath that tree, a platform of stone and myth had been swept clean.
The ceremony was about to begin.
Hundreds of trainees—those who had survived the Crucible and faced the Glyph—now stood assembled at the base of the Petalwind Courtyard. They wore fresh robes stitched with silver threading, each bearing the trial-mark of their survival. Most stood tall. Some shook. One or two wept quietly. But none turned away. Today was not just a day of recognition. Today was The First Bloom—the moment when the Veil no longer whispered what they could become, but sang what they were.
Zephryn stood among them.
His fingers brushed the base of his sleeve, where the glyph had once glowed during the Trial. There was no mark now—only faint warmth, like a memory trying to return. His pulse hadn't calmed since dawn. Not because of nerves. Because of her.
He had seen her.
Lumyra.
Cloaked in white, hair like moonlight, she stood near the edge of the stone path where the Veil's light refracted against the cliffs. She didn't move. Didn't blink. She wasn't part of any squad. Not standing with the trainees. And no instructor had called her forward.
Beside her… was Riko.
Crossed arms. Distant eyes. Pulse mark sealed beneath a leather wrap. He stared across the courtyard with a look that didn't belong here. Not excitement. Not pride. Just… defiance.
"Why aren't they with us?" Zephryn whispered.
Selka turned. "They weren't named."
"What?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes were heavy this morning.
Yolti nudged him from behind. "They'll say something. Just wait."
But Zephryn couldn't. He couldn't shake it—the way Lumyra didn't even look at him. The way the Veil itself refused to sing when she stood near it.
"Not yet," Kaelen muttered, stepping to his side, halberd at his back once again. "She'll come when she's meant to."
Before Zephryn could answer, the air shifted.
A low hum filled the summit. Not from voice, nor glyph. It came from the Pulse Eye Orb, now rising from beneath the platform. A levitating stone circle lined in ancient Veilmark etchings, wrapped in a song of light and silence. It pulsed once—and every robe in the courtyard fluttered.
Then came the voice.
Clear. Resonant. Crowned with calm:
"Let the record stand."
King Vaelen Tiramis stepped forward, his robes a cascade of ceremonial silver and deep-harmonic violet. The Veil around him shimmered as though it were bowing.
"By song and silence, by blood and breath, by mark and memory…
We declare this the 204th year of the Post-Fracture Reckoning.
Today, as petals fall, the Veil listens. And we—its stewards—listen in return."
He paused, gaze sweeping over the gathered youth.
"You are the children who survived. The ones who rose when others fell.
You have faced silence—and chosen to sing.
You have touched the fracture—and chosen to remember.
Today, you are no longer students."
The Pulse Eye Orb spun. One by one, names would be called. One by one, the orb would be touched. And when they did, each glyph would flare—not with just light, but element.
Some would burn. Others would flow. Some would fracture like ice in a song too sharp to hear.
Vaelen lifted his hand.
"You are not marks on paper. You are not numbers in line.
You are the flame. The hum. The shape of the Veil's future.
And now… you will take your place."
The wind rose, carrying petals down like silent applause.
"My people of Celestis Veil…"
The King's voice echoed through memory and stone.
"I give you our new Resonants of the year—Year 204, Post-Fracture."