Ashveil Academy loomed against the jagged face of the mountain—like a wound carved into stone, ancient and unresolved. Its towers rose with solemn pride, veiled in drifting mist, as if daring the heavens to look away. Hours had passed since Otoku and Arthelia arrived, their admission sealed through rites neither fully understood nor trusted.
This was no mere institution of learning.
Magic pulsed beneath the very stones, woven into walls that had seen too much and whispered too often. Shadows clung to archways like memories that refused to die. Here, lessons were taught between lines, and trials waited where curiosity lingered too long.
From the outset, they had been separated.
It was tradition at Ashveil. A precaution, they said—to house potential "Flares" apart, to prevent resonance. Those marked by the Loop carried the weight of repetition and the burden of unpredictability. And in this place, unpredictability was feared.
Otoku's quarters were modest, austere. Stone walls cooled by mountain winds. A desk etched with faded runes hummed faintly beneath his touch. A single window framed the Academy's blackstone courtyard below, where silence lingered like mist. Upon the highest shelf rested the Codex—its cover unassuming, yet it pulsed with a quiet awareness, as though it recognized its owner.
Night fell without ceremony.
A knock came at his door—soft, hesitant.
"Enter," he called, fingers already brushing against the sigil carved beneath the desk lip.
The door creaked open. A boy stepped in—narrow-shouldered, fidgeting, eyes a size too large for his face. His aura lacked any real presence, but his nerves filled the room.
"You're the new one? From the eastern sector?" the boy asked.
Otoku regarded him carefully. "I am. What do you want?"
There was a pause—uncertain, laced with something more than fear. The boy glanced over his shoulder before speaking again.
"They say strange things happen when new entries arrive. Bell chimes at the wrong hour. Candles that won't stay lit. And…" He hesitated, voice dropping, "they say the Vault breathes when someone like you comes."
Otoku's gaze sharpened. "The Vault?"
The boy swallowed. "Just… stay away from the library basement."
He turned and left without another word, the silence that followed thicker than before—charged, almost expectant.
Otoku returned to the window. Below, bathed in silver light, Arthelia stood still in the courtyard. Her blindfold glowed faintly, untouched by breeze or shadow. As if she sensed something no one else could.
This time… this loop carried weight.
And already, the rules had begun to bend.
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