The Voice Beneath the Glyph
Zephryn didn't speak the whole walk back.
Not through the western corridor, not when Kaelen saw him return, not when Yolti raised her brow like she wanted to ask but already knew better.
He moved like someone carrying something he wasn't allowed to open until the world was still.
So he waited.
Until the others slept.
Until the Lyceum dimmed to its base harmonic.
Until even Bubbalor's hum settled into a quieter key.
Then—he unsealed the envelope.
The crystal thread unwound on its own, as if recognizing the frequency in his hand.
Inside:
A dorm key Celestols An official frequency seal And wrapped in a folded slip of veilpaper—
A memory shard.
Small. Smooth.
Etched with a glyph that hadn't flickered since the night the cliff burned.
He placed it on the desk.
Activated it with a pulse.
Light flared—but didn't expand.
It stayed tight.
Focused.
And then—her voice.
"If this is what it took for you to survive…"
Zephryn's breath caught.
"…then remember, Zeph—"
"You didn't come from silence."
"You came from me."
The light trembled.
So did the glyph burned into the base of the shard.
"You carry something the Choir failed to erase.
They'll call it anomaly.
They'll call it fractured.
But it's older than they are."
"It's yours."
The shard dimmed.
No explosion.
No warning.
Just memory, folded into quiet.
Zephryn sat motionless.
Outside, Selka turned her head slightly—her eyes narrowing as the pulse signature in his room briefly outshined the entire dorm wing.
Down the hall, Yolti turned toward Kaelen.
"…Did you feel that?"
Kaelen nodded once.
"Yeah."
He didn't say it aloud.
But they all knew:
She just spoke.
And the glyph hummed when it heard her voice again.