The night after the duel smelled of burnt stone and secrecy. Every corridor hummed with half-spoken rumors; every candle's flame bent toward the shadows as if listening.
Lyn walked those halls in silence, wrists bandaged, crest aching beneath the linen. He could still feel the echo of his double's final words—"The Council has more of us."
Umbra's presence pulsed faintly within the bond, weak but alert. —They will erase what happened today.
"I know," Lyn murmured. "Which means they'll come for the witnesses first."
When he reached the dormitory wing, two sentinels already stood outside Arden's door. Their armor bore the insignia of the Council Guard—an emblem that hadn't been displayed on Academy grounds for years.
Lyn's gut twisted. "You're early for curfew enforcement."
"Order of containment," one guard replied flatly. "Division 7 is under review for exposure to corrupted resonance. All members to be detained for examination."
Arden's voice rang from inside, sharp with defiance. "Examination, my ass—"
Lyn moved before the guard could finish drawing a seal. A flick of his fingers, a pulse of concentrated shadow—one lantern went out, then another. By the time the light returned, the guards were unconscious, slumped against the wall.
Arden threw open the door, eyes wide. "You're insane."
"Not yet," Lyn said, grabbing his friend by the wrist. "We need to move. They're cleansing records tonight."
"Cleansing—what?"
"The archives. Every trace of Umbra, the duel, the mimic project—gone by sunrise."
They slipped into the maintenance tunnels beneath the dorms, narrow passages that smelled of dust and old ink. Pipes carried faint mana currents overhead, humming like restless serpents.
Umbra's whisper guided them. —Left. The scent of corrupted crest ink lingers there.
The tunnel opened into the old library vaults, sealed decades ago after the last Crest War. Shelves stretched endlessly, scrolls bound in iron clasps. And amid the rows, lamplight glimmered—someone was already there.
A figure in instructor robes turned at the sound of their approach. It was Master Velan, one of the Council's heralds—and the man who had once taught Lyn how to form his first pact.
"Lyn," Velan said softly, almost regretful. "You shouldn't have survived that duel."
Arden stepped forward, blade half-drawn. "So the mimic was yours."
Velan's eyes flickered with guilt. "Not mine. The Council's. We sought to create tamers without dependency—to sever the spirit's will. You, Lyn, were proof it could be done… until Umbra resisted."
Lyn's voice was cold. "And the copies?"
"Failed vessels. Until last night." Velan lifted a scroll glowing with crimson seals. "The rebellion you're chasing began long before you. You are only its spark."
Before Lyn could react, the instructor tore the scroll open. The sigil burst, releasing a wave of spectral energy that shredded the shelves. Paper burned, ink spiraled upward like black snow.
Arden shouted, "He's destroying the evidence!"
Lyn lunged through the storm, shadow-step carrying him across the vault. His hand closed around the scroll's remnants, searing his palm with molten runes. Umbra's energy surged through him, devouring the residual spell.
When the light faded, Velan was gone—only his crest insignia remained, burned into the stone floor.
Arden coughed through the smoke. "He teleported out. Coward."
Lyn stared at the sigil mark, heart pounding. The design wasn't a simple crest; it was a map—a network of lines linking the Academy to other unknown sites.
Umbra's tone was grim. —They're breeding more shadows beyond these walls.
Lyn clenched his fist around the half-burnt scroll. "Then we hunt the chain from its first link."
Above them, bells began to toll—three slow chimes, the signal for an internal breach. Guards would flood the tunnels in minutes.
Arden looked at him. "What's the plan?"
Lyn turned toward the exit, eyes gleaming in the dim light. "We vanish before they can decide which of us is real."
They disappeared into the labyrinth as the vault doors shattered behind them, flames licking at the edges of the past.