Lyle was dreaming.
Except it wasn't his dream.
It was someone else's.
The wind was colder here. Sharper.
And the light came from somewhere too distant to name.
Runes floated in the air like frost bitten loose from old steel.
> This isn't the Codex, he realized. It's deeper.
> This is the Tower.
---
He woke with a start.
No sound.
No prompt.
Just… stillness.
He sat upright in his bunk, immediately noticing two things:
1. The black iron ring on his nightstand was gone.
2. A scroll had been placed in its place.
> No seal. No glyph lock. But definitely placed with care.
He unraveled it.
Inside: a single symbol, burned into the parchment in flowing arcane ink.
A spiral breaking in three directions.
The Trial of Intent.
A challenge used only in ancient Academy traditions—long abandoned. And yet…
> "Report to Mirror Spire. You will not be alone."
---
He dressed slowly.
Prepared nothing but the wand, a mirror shard, and the smallest glyph he'd designed himself: a three-stroke weave that looked like nothing but disrupted air.
Useless in combat.
But perfect for misdirection.
---
Mirror Spire was darker this time.
Not abandoned.
Just... watching.
The instructors didn't greet him.
The wardens didn't speak.
Only Asterion was there—standing by the gateway with his arms crossed, eyes half-lidded like a man who already knew the outcome of a game no one had played yet.
"You're sending me in blind," Lyle said.
Asterion shook his head.
"No, Greenbottle. I'm sending you in sharp."
---
Inside the trial field, the environment changed instantly.
A valley of cracked glass beneath a bleeding sky.
Two figures stood across from him.
One was armored—a cadet from Shield Wall. Recognized. Ranked. Predictable.
The other wore a mask.
Not ceremonial.
Not magical.
Just smooth black lacquer with no holes. No eye slots. No crest.
> A decoy, Lyle thought.
Or a test.
But the moment they moved, he knew.
Not by their gait.
Not by their stance.
But by the pause.
The hesitation.
The way her hand twitched slightly when he tilted his head.
It was Juno.
Disguised.
Forced into the trial.
> They're testing both of us. Separately. Together.
> They want me to hurt her without knowing. And her to stop me without trying.
---
The rules dropped from the sky like knives:
> "Target must be claimed, subdued, or removed. Last cadet standing advances to private Tier Three assessment."
Lyle raised his hand.
"I forfeit."
The crowd watching from the upper shadows murmured.
Nothing happened.
He repeated louder, "I forfeit the match."
Still nothing.
The mask tilted slightly.
The armored cadet flinched.
Then everything exploded into motion.
---
The fight was fast.
Brutal.
Deliberate.
But Lyle didn't fight to win.
He fought to direct.
He parried the armored cadet toward the masked figure, using the terrain to split their movement patterns.
Used his weaker glyphs.
Spoke nothing aloud.
But every spell was coded—silent signals Juno would recognize.
A twist in the air.
A delayed pulse.
A three-count release before impact.
Language between liars.
She adapted.
Blocked the cadet's attack.
Let Lyle "miss" her by inches.
And together, without saying a word, they dropped the other fighter.
---
The match ended.
And only then did the upper balcony open.
Dean Maren stood at the center, arms folded.
"Well," she said. "I suppose it's true what they say. When two predators find each other, they either tear each other apart… or circle the same prey."
Lyle bowed his head slightly.
Juno didn't move.
The mask remained on.
Lyle reached over.
And gently pulled it free.
Their eyes met.
No words passed.
But every observer saw it.
And every observer knew:
> Whatever they are… you'll never break one without turning the other.