Kael didn't sleep.
He tried. Gods, did he try.
He lay on the bed in that stupid stiff-starched academy linen, arms crossed behind his head like some brooding cliché, staring at the ceiling like it held answers in the runework. It didn't. Just a faint spell to repel condensation and the soft, ever-pulsing glow of sigil-threaded trim above the balcony doors.
He counted them at one point. Thirty-seven. They blinked out of sync, like drunk fireflies trying to spell out a warning.
Every time his eyes drifted shut, the same phrase echoed back.
"You're meaner than you used to be."
What the hell did that even mean?
He hadn't used to be anything. Not really. Not here.
The Kael Vire she knew—whoever the hell that was—was already dead. Technically. Morally. Canonically.
Kael had stepped into a corpse and puppeted it back into position. A placeholder. A narrative speed bump. A villain who wasn't supposed to make it past Chapter 17.
And yet here he was. Still upright. Still functional.
Still haunted by the weirdly wistful words of a girl who was supposed to be his enemy.
He sat up with a huff and ran a hand through his hair. It was getting too long. The character design had included some floof. He had no idea how old Kael styled it. Maybe gel and spite.
He opened the window.
The air hit him like a wet cloth—cool, lake-scented, wrapped in the hush of early morning mist. It rolled off the treetops and settled over the retreat like a soft blanket with secrets.
The birds were awake already. Chirping like unpaid interns trying to impress their boss.
Kael exhaled through his nose.
"System," he muttered. "You got anything for me?"
[QUERY ACCEPTED][CONTEXT: PREVIOUS DIALOGUE — "You don't remember, do you?"][CROSS-REFERENCING MEMORY INDEX...]
He waited. Pulse elevated. Not from hope, exactly—more like morbid curiosity.
[DATA NOT AVAILABLE. ORIGINAL OCCUPANT MEMORY LOG TERMINATED AT DEATH EVENT FLAG – CH17][EMOTIONAL CONTEXT INACCESSIBLE]
Kael leaned forward and thunked his head gently against the windowsill.
"Of course."
Because why would the old Kael leave behind a diary? A journal? A personality?
He'd read the novel. He'd gotten to Chapter 17. That was where the old Kael got vaporized in a blaze of dramatic irony and undeveloped character arcs. A villain exit worthy of a shrug and maybe a footnote.
Everything before that was fragments. Inference. Subtext. He remembered implications of cruelty, moments of genius, one scene where Lyssa said his name like it tasted bitter.
He had assumed—wrongly, and possibly stupidly—that Lyssa had hated him like everyone else.
Now?
Now he wasn't sure what she was feeling. Or worse—what she was remembering.
He pulled on his lighter academy coat. No uniform needed today. Retreat privileges.
He left the room without looking back and wandered down the long interior hall. The wooden floor whispered under his boots, and he passed the occasional student—a few early risers, some still yawning, one mid-stretch in slow spell-stance warmups.
The lodge was gorgeous in that overfunded, noble-sponsored, borderline suspicious kind of way. Carved arches. Spell-treated windows. Scryproofed meditation rooms with mana-neutral sound dampeners. It felt less like a school trip and more like a setup.
Kael made his way through the garden paths. The trees stood in neat, politely-spaced rows. Even the birdsong sounded orderly.
Eventually, he found himself at the edge of the private practice ring. Again.
"Just wandering," he told himself.
"Definitely not hoping to bump into someone I don't want to talk to."
He stepped up onto the platform. The spell-anchored tiles lit faintly under his weight, recognizing a sanctioned user. No instructor needed.
He moved to the far edge and sat down—legs dangling over the side, boots scuffing the edge of a mossy rune track. The air smelled like stone and lavender.
"Meaner than you used to be," he muttered.
Was she nostalgic? Angry? Mourning?
The question lodged in his chest like a splinter.
He couldn't ask her.
Hey Lyssa, quick thing—what kind of complicated, emotionally repressed relationship did we maybe have back when I wasn't me?
Follow-up: were we dating? Plotting murder? Just emotionally sparring until one of us cracked?
Nope. Not a chance in hell.
He remembered a single paragraph from the novel—vague, clipped, written more for plot flow than catharsis.
"Kael Vire fell in the halls of the northern tower. His Core shattered. His gauntlet broken. And even Lyssa didn't look back."
Which meant there was something between them. Enough for the narrative to make a point of her not hesitating.
But last night?
She had hesitated.
She'd stayed.
And asked him the kind of question you only ask someone you already know the answer to.
"You don't remember, do you?"
Kael closed his eyes.
He didn't.
And that terrified him more than anything so far.
The System pinged again.
[NARRATIVE DRIFT: 6.3%][WARNING: RELATIONAL DYNAMIC DEVIATION – LYSSA / VIRE][SUGGESTED PROTOCOL: OBSERVE – DO NOT ALTER][SYSTEM ADVISES CAUTION]
"System," he muttered, "define 'relational dynamic deviation.'"
[RELATIONSHIP FLAG ALTERED FROM 'HOSTILE/OPPOSITIONAL' TO 'UNRESOLVED/EMOTIONAL']
He blinked.
"...That's a setting?"
[YES.]
[MOST CHARACTERS HAVE RELATIONSHIP FLAGS. CURRENTLY: 1 FLAG(S) CHANGED.]
Kael leaned back on his hands and stared up at the misted sky.
"I'm not a dating sim protagonist," he muttered.
[CORRECT. YOU ARE FLAGGED AS 'DIVERGENT ANTAGONIST.']
"...That's worse."
[FACTUAL.]
He sat in silence for a while.
Not the peaceful kind. The kind that crawls under your skin. The kind that sounds like your own heartbeat when you're thinking too much and everything feels too quiet.
A fish jumped in the lake with a faint plop.
Kael gave it a slow, unimpressed look.
"Don't start with me."
Footsteps approached.
He didn't look up.
"Brooding this early in the day?" a voice called, far too cheery for Kael's current emotional bandwidth.
Tarin.
Of course it was Tarin.
Kael cracked one eye open and found the protagonist himself walking toward him, carrying two folded paper parcels in one hand.
"Didn't peg you for a pastry guy," Kael said.
Tarin grinned. "I'm a nice guy. That includes carbs."
Kael took the offered pastry with a nod of thanks.
It smelled like cinnamon, sugar, and misplaced trust.
They ate in silence for a while. Tarin sat cross-legged beside him, radiating protagonist energy like a bonfire that refused to dim.
Kael tried not to be annoyed at how genuinely likeable the guy was.
It was exhausting.
"So," Tarin said, voice casual, "Lyssa was looking for you earlier."
Kael nearly choked on a flake of pastry.
"She what?"
"Yeah. Said she had something she wanted to talk about."
Kael squinted at him. "You didn't ask what?"
Tarin shrugged. "She looked… off."
Kael frowned. "Off how?"
"Like she was chewing on a thought too big to swallow."
Kael muttered something about metaphors and forced his attention back to the pastry.
It had started to taste like guilt.
"She says you're different," Tarin added after a moment.
Kael froze.
"Different how?"
Tarin didn't answer right away.
Just watched the lake for a bit, like he thought it might start offering advice.
Then, finally:
"She said you feel like you're trying not to be someone."
Kael went still.
For once, he didn't have a quip ready.
Just silence.
Tarin stood up after a while and dusted off his hands.
"We're planning another spar later. Less intense. More like a warmup. You coming?"
Kael gave him a long look.
"Only if you promise not to give me any more emotional pastries."
Tarin grinned. "No promises."
He wandered off, humming some old academy marching song under his breath.
Kael stayed where he was.
Watching the water.
Wondering which version of himself Lyssa had looked back for.
And which one she saw now.
Somewhere under the surface, he was pretty sure a fish was judging him.
And honestly?
He deserved it.