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Northern Wall – Observation Ramparts
Banners of the Five Towers fluttered as wind howled across the towering ramparts. The academy sat nestled within the cradle of the Crescent Mountains, but beyond its fortified edge was the Wild Reaches—untamed lands few dared to map.
Alaric stood alone at the edge, his coat billowing, coffee in hand. His system was silent, but the silence itself buzzed with anticipation.
Behind him, footsteps approached—measured, quiet, almost cautious.
"Is this where you come to avoid people?" Lysandra's voice cut through the wind like crystal over silk.
Alaric didn't turn. "No. This is where I come to think."
She stepped beside him, arms folded, gazing out at the distant shimmering distortion that marked a leyline rupture far in the distance. Her hair shimmered with void-ice strands beneath the pale sun.
Neither spoke for a while.
> "Why does it feel easy with her, even in silence?" Alaric thought.
"Why do I keep watching him when he's not looking?" Lysandra wondered.
Unspoken thoughts. Quiet hearts. But the pull between them felt older than the stars above.
---
Thornebound Academy – Inner Sanctum
Headmaster Arven Drayne walked through a hidden library deep beneath the Academy. Beside him stood two new figures.
One, a young woman clad in desert-golden robes, wielding a spear etched with celestial runes—Zeyna of House Ash'dar, heir to the Scorching Eye, a noble clan from the Southern Dominion. Known for desert-bound divination and fire-type domain binding.
The other, a pale boy with silver hair and six layered sigils on his neck, unreadable and silent—Kael of the Archive, origin unknown, but granted direct recommendation by the Dominion Council itself.
"They've awakened early," Arven said.
Zeyna nodded. "I saw a vision in the sand. A throne, lost in time, echoing. Then a name—Alaric."
Kael's voice was a whisper. "I hear him… in the gaps of logic. He walks against the weave."
"Good," said the Headmaster. "Then you will observe. Test. Stir the waters."
---
Combat Arena – Elite Trial Showcase
The arena was carved into a cliffside, with magical seating rings rotating midair. Today was a spontaneous trial match—meant for evaluation, but beneath the surface, a different game played out.
Zeyna stepped into the arena, her golden spear flaring. "I seek a challenge," she declared. "Let fate reveal worth."
Eyes turned. Elric stood, ready to answer—until Lysandra stepped forward.
"I accept."
Gasps.
Zeyna smiled. "Void meets Flame. May the stars judge."
Their clash was dazzling—ice sigils slicing through bursts of burning sand, time slowing for brief flickers as power twisted midair. Alaric, watching from above, narrowed his eyes.
> [Binding Sync: Lysandra – +3.4% Emotional Stabilization Trait Detected]
He hadn't felt that before. The sync deepened—not just power but… resonance.
Zeyna yielded with a laugh. "You carry the cold with pride, Lysandra. I look forward to dancing again."
But her eyes then flicked briefly to Alaric. A flicker of recognition. A test still pending.
---
Academy Courtyard – That Evening
Lysandra sat beneath the moon-tree—a glowing plant from the Eastern Isles that shimmered with lunar essence. Alaric approached and handed her something.
"Tea?" he asked.
She blinked. "Not coffee?"
"I ran out."
She smiled—only faintly, but it was real.
They sat together, not touching, not speaking more than needed. But under that moon-tree, something shifted.
He noticed how she always kept her fingers close, as if afraid to reach.
She noticed how his eyes never let themselves linger—but never strayed far either.
Love brewed between silences.
---
Elsewhere – Cult of the Page
Deep within an ancient ruin lit by dreamfire, robed figures surrounded an obsidian tome. At its center, a name burned and reshaped the script again and again.
"Alaric."
"He is not following the prophecy."
"He was not meant to Echo."
"Then we must send the next dreamer."
A pale girl stepped forward—eyes swirling with rewritten runes. Her voice was soft.
"I will guide the dream back into its binding."
---
End of Chapter 15