The morning haze clung to the Academy like a second skin. Thin wisps of fog wove through the outer courtyard, curling around the pillars like fingers that refused to let go.
Lyle stepped into formation like any other cadet.
Neutral expression. Neutral posture.
His uniform pressed, sleeves rolled exactly two fingers up the forearm. His wand holster buckled tight. He didn't fidget. Didn't yawn.
He just… existed.
And no one cared.
> Good.
Keep it that way.
Instructor Darvon strolled past their line, nose buried in a worn crystal tablet. His mana pulsed as he walked—each footstep releasing a soft wave of pressure that passed harmlessly over the students.
Harmless for most.
But when it brushed against Lyle, it stopped.
Just a hair longer.
Just a flicker.
Then passed on like it had found nothing.
> The Ethos is holding. Even an instructor can't see it.
I'm officially no one again.
That morning's drill was a rotating duel simulation. Nothing lethal—just mana blade projections and spell pattern tracing under time constraints.
He was partnered with Juno.
Again.
"Greenbottle," she said under her breath as they squared off. "Try not to pretend you're terrible this time. It's starting to get insulting."
He gave her a half-smile. "I'll try to embarrass myself more creatively."
The match began.
She lunged first, glyphs flaring up her right arm. A whip of compressed wind curled toward his chest.
He twisted low, forming a half-baked deflection glyph mid-motion—on purpose.
It sputtered, failed, and let just enough of the whip hit his shoulder to spin him awkwardly across the ring.
The students laughed. The instructor rolled his eyes.
But Juno frowned.
> She's starting to doubt the act. I need to be more careless.
---
After class, Lyle slipped away before anyone could pull him into a conversation. Even as he kept his head low, he listened.
Whispers were picking up.
"Greenbottle? Isn't he in Tower V now?"
"Thought he failed last term."
"No… he's quiet, not stupid."
None of them had proof. Just hunches.
But hunches were dangerous things when you were trying to disappear.
---
That evening, his new schedule glowed faintly again.
The Veiled Path had given him a second time block in Sub-Level 3. No training title. No objectives.
Just a word:
> Observe.
When he arrived, the training floor was already in use.
Two other students were sparring inside the ring, their casting far more aggressive than anything taught above ground. No flourishes. No regulation delays. They were fighting like lives depended on it.
And neither of them noticed Lyle.
But Asterion did.
He stood near the wall, arms crossed, watching both the duel and Lyle's reaction.
"You see it now?" he asked without looking away.
"Yes."
"What do you see?"
"They're not fighting to win," Lyle said quietly. "They're fighting to test how far they can cheat the rules without collapsing the spell structure."
Asterion finally smiled. "Then you're learning. Welcome to the real curriculum."
---
When Lyle returned to his room later, he didn't feel tired.
He felt electric.
Like everything he'd been forced to suppress before—his instincts, his casting reflexes, even his curiosity—were finally being fed.
And something inside the Core agreed.
That night, as he slept, it reactivated.
A single glyph appeared in his dreams.
He couldn't read it.
But he knew what it meant.
> Phase Two has begun.