The academy's stone began to sweat.
At first, it was subtle—light dew on cold walls. But not where it should have been. Not outside. Inside. Beneath sigils. Along torch brackets. Under beds.
No condensation. No logic. Just... moisture.
By midweek, it had a scent. Copper and charcoal.
Students whispered that it came from the stone itself—like the building was bleeding in reverse.
Wards flickered. Lightstones turned dim. And the bells began to ring late. Only by seconds. But late.
Briefing that morning felt different. They gathered in Room Red. Forty chairs, one crescent desk. Stone walls reinforced with silent glyphs. It was supposed to be neutral ground—where orders came clean.
But Lorr stood stiffly at the front, eyes flicking sideways every few minutes, as if reading something only he could see.
He cleared his throat without urgency.
"Spiral anomaly west of the cliff pass. No breach yet, but we're calling dual-team observation."
Jace raised a hand. "Containment glyphs in place?"
"Currently stable."
Sylva spoke next. "How long since last pulse?"
"Uncertain. Tracking fluctuated yesterday."
Tiv murmured, "They're not failing anymore. They're changing."
Everyone went quiet. Even Lorr.
Kael sat in the second row, flame dormant beneath his skin. He could feel it pacing inside him—like a caged predator aware of something approaching.
His eyes drifted to the side window. Outside, past the practice court, beyond the blackpine trees. Someone stood at the gate. White robes. Still.
Head tilted slightly. No wind moved his cloak. No birds flew nearby. Kael's mouth went dry. The figure didn't move. Didn't vanish.
Just stood there, like he had always been part of the scenery and reality had only now remembered him.
Kael blinked. The figure was gone.
Tiv's glyph notes tore themselves. He didn't notice it at first. Just pages curling from his notebook one by one, until a symbol burned itself onto the fresh sheet beneath, scorched but not hot.
A spiral split down the center. It had grown roots—tiny curling lines drifting outward, like veins or tendrils.
Then a word formed beneath it. Not written. Not drawn.
It's formed. In char. "Shepherd."
Sylva followed a ghost. It had started with Ki residue—light, delicate. Almost floral. Not Kael's. Not Spiral.
Something between. She traced it into the underwings. Sealed-off servant routes from decades past. Dustless. Clean.
The trail led to a hallway she didn't remember.
Wooden floors.
Handrails that gleamed. Light from nowhere.
And at the far end, a door. Old brass knob. Polished.
She opened it.
Sky. Not stars. Not void. Just sky. A clear sky. Infinite, wrong, and breathing.
She stepped back. Then heard a breath behind her. She spun but found nothing. She shut the door and did not return.
The third-year rune class lost a student mid-sentence. They were practicing harmonic glyph alignment. One boy laughed, said something about his older brother's Spiral scars.
Then folded. Not like falling. Like vanishing inward.
His mouth stopped midword. His eyes went wide. And he was gone. No scream. Just absence.
His shadow remained for six seconds. Then curled. Then burned itself into the floor. The instructor dismissed class. Wrote nothing on the report.
That night, Kael stood at the academy's main gate. He didn't remember walking there. Didn't recall dressing, stepping, leaving the dorms.
But he was there. His flame had gone still. Not cold. Not dormant. Still. Like it was listening.
Across the field stood a figure. White robes. Spiral mask. One hand lifted—not waving. Not beckoning. Just raised.
Kael didn't flinch. Didn't call out. His heart pounded once. Twice. Then the world... paused.
Not stopped. Not slowed. Just... paused. Like something was deciding whether to turn the page. The figure remained. Then turned.