The discovery of the hidden prisoner—the "Whispering Mind," as Kyan began to call it—changed everything. The Academy was no longer just a gilded cage he had to endure; it was a puzzle he had to solve. The rage he'd felt upon learning the truth about the "cure" for the Fading now had a focus. He was not just a fugitive in waiting; he was a liberator. But his target was not just himself, but a secret that lay beneath the Empire's most heavily guarded institution.
Inquisitor Valerius became a constant, oppressive shadow in Kyan's life. The man seemed to be everywhere. Kyan would see him standing motionless in a distant archway, feel his cold, probing consciousness brush against his shields during lectures, and sense his presence near the library at night. Valerius was not just watching him; he was hunting him, waiting for the slightest misstep, the faintest flicker of heretical power. It was a silent, deadly war of attrition fought in the hallways and archives of the Academy.
Kyan knew he could not risk another direct mental probe towards the prison. Valerius's senses were too acute. He needed a different way to communicate, a way to pass a message without creating a psychic ripple the Inquisitor could trace.
His studies with Magister Liana provided the answer. They were studying "Sympathetic Resonance," a minor, almost forgotten branch of Runic Theory.
"The theory posits that two objects created from the same source material retain a conceptual link," Liana explained, her passion for the obscure subject evident. "For instance, if you were to split a specific, unique stone in two, an action performed on one half could, in theory, create a subtle, sympathetic vibration in the other, no matter the distance. The Throne deemed it too unreliable and chaotic for practical use, of course."
Unreliable for them, perhaps. But for a Recaller who could command the very concept of Connection? For Kyan, it was the key.
His plan was audacious. He needed a medium, a pair of objects he could split and use to communicate. His gaze fell upon the small, simple rock he used as a paperweight on his desk. It was a common piece of granite, unremarkable in every way. Perfect.
That night, in the privacy of his quarters, he began the delicate work. He did not use a hammer. He used his will. He placed the stone on his desk and focused, recalling the echo he had used to carve the bird's feathers—the perfect, conceptual memory of Separation. He poured his intent into the stone, not to shatter it, but to cleave it along a single, perfect plane.
The stone split with a soft, internal snap, falling into two perfectly matched halves, their surfaces impossibly smooth. He had created a sympathetic pair.
The next step was the most dangerous. He had to get one half of the stone down to the prisoner.
He returned to the Athenaeum's central mosaic. This time, he didn't probe with his mind. He focused on the physical world. He knew he couldn't break through the floor; the wards were too strong. But there were other paths. He recalled the architectural diagrams he had studied, the ones showing the Academy's complex network of plumbing and ventilation shafts, ancient channels carved through the living rock.
He found it: a narrow, long-forgotten ventilation grate, hidden behind a tapestry depicting the glorious victory of the First Gods. It was barely wide enough for a man to fit his arm through.
He lay on the floor, his heart pounding, and reached into the grate. The shaft was cold, dark, and dropped straight down. He could feel the faint, upward draft of air. He held one half of the sympathetic stone, focusing his mind on it, and simply let go.
He didn't hear it land. He had to trust that it had reached the bottom, near the prisoner's cell. Now, he just had to wait and pray the prisoner would understand.
He returned to his room and placed the other half of the stone on his desk. He waited for two days. Nothing happened. A cold knot of fear and doubt began to form. Had the stone been lost? Had the prisoner ignored it? Had Valerius found it?
On the third night, as he sat staring at the stone, it happened. A faint, almost imperceptible vibration pulsed through it. It was not a physical shaking; it was a conceptual one, a ripple in its very essence.
The whisper came, not into his mind, but from the stone itself. It was clearer now, less chaotic, focused through the sympathetic link.
...clever wolf. So you found a way to pass the Gardener a note...
Kyan's breath caught in his throat. He sent a thought back, not with a psychic broadcast, but by focusing his will directly into his half of the stone, recalling the echo of Communication.
"Who are you?" Kyan projected.
The response was a wave of ancient, weary sadness. ...I was a Chronicler. Like the one who saved you. My name is Lyra. I was tasked with observing the Sunstone Empire's origins. I saw too much. I learned the truth of their 'Sanctioned Art.' It is not just a tool of control; it is a weapon of suppression. It slowly starves the human soul of its innate connection to the Art, making each generation weaker, more docile... I tried to reveal the truth. And for that, the Gardener pruned me from the world's sight.
A Chronicler. One of the enigmatic, powerful beings who were supposed to be neutral observers. Imprisoned. This was a secret of monumental proportions.
"Valerius is the Gardener?" Kyan asked.
He is this prison's warden, yes, Lyra's thoughts replied. But the title is older. The 'Gardeners of the Divine Mandate' were a secret order created by the First Gods themselves. Their purpose: to seek out and prune any 'weeds'—any mortals who rediscovered the true Art of Recalling—before they could grow strong enough to challenge the 'perfect garden' of their static reality. Valerius is but the latest in a long, cruel lineage.
Everything clicked into place. The Empire wasn't just hiding the truth; it was actively hunting and exterminating it. Kyan wasn't just a heretic; he was a weed.
"What do you want from me?" Kyan asked.
To live, the answer came, simple and devastating. My mind is shielded, but my body is failing. Valerius has bound me with runes of Negation. They do not just block my power; they slowly unmake my physical form. I have years left, perhaps only months... But in you, I sense a power he cannot negate. The power of the Void. The Silent Stone.
The prisoner knew about the stone.
"How can I help you?" Kyan asked, his mind racing.
The source of the Gardener's power, the anchor for his Domain of Negation, is not within him, Lyra explained. It is a place. An artifact. They call it the 'Silent Heart.' It is the sanctum of his order, hidden deep within the Academy. It is what powers the prison and amplifies his own abilities. If you could disrupt it, even for a moment, the prison would weaken. I might be able to... slip free.
A sanctum of negation, hidden within the school. It was a suicide mission. Valerius would surely be there.
He is not always there, Lyra's thought came, as if sensing his hesitation. Once every moon, on the night of the new moon, he must leave the Academy to perform a ritual of renewal at the Spire of Divinity. It is the only time the Silent Heart is left with only its own automated defenses. That night is tomorrow.
It was an impossible timeline. He had less than a day to find a secret sanctum, bypass its defenses, and disrupt its power, all while under the watchful eye of the entire Academy.
"How do I find it?" Kyan asked.
Follow the silence, Lyra whispered. His power of Negation is not perfect. It is like a consuming shadow. It leeches the ambient conceptual energy from its surroundings. Go to the place in this Academy that feels the most... empty. The most lifeless. That is where you will find his heart.
The connection faded. Lyra was conserving her strength.
Kyan sat in his room, the two halves of the stone before him. The path was laid out, a razor's edge between liberation and annihilation. The risks were astronomical. But the reward... the reward was not just freeing a powerful potential ally. The reward was striking a blow against the very foundation of the Empire's power. It was a chance to put the Gardener on the defensive.
He spent the next day in a state of intense, focused preparation. He went about his classes, his face a mask of bored indifference, but his mind was a whirlwind. He reviewed every architectural map he had ever seen, every text on Imperial wards. He searched for the "empty" place Lyra had described.
He found it in the Academy's own records, a detail so mundane that no one would ever think to question it. In the oldest section of the Academy, there was a wing of faculty housing that had been abandoned for centuries due to "chronic soul-dampening sickness." The official reason was a natural geological phenomenon.
Kyan knew better. It was the Silent Heart, hiding in plain sight, its draining effect disguised as a common ailment.
That night, as the new moon hid the world in a blanket of true darkness, Kyan prepared. He was no longer a student. He was an infiltrator. He wove the echoes of Unseen and Silence around himself, becoming a ghost. He crept through the sleeping Academy, a shadow moving through shadows, his destination the one place that every other living soul instinctively avoided. He was walking into the Gardener's private hell, ready to pull his garden up by the roots.