Ashveil Academy towered against the serrated face of the mountain—like a scar etched into stone, old and unforgiven. Its spires stood tall with somber pride, shrouded in drifting mist, as if challenging the heavens to avert their gaze. It had been hours since Otoku and Arthelia had arrived, their entry confirmed through rituals neither completely comprehended nor trusted.
This was no simple school of knowledge.
Magic thrummed beneath the very foundations, sewn into walls that had watched too much and spoken too long. Shadows hugged archways as memories that will not perish. Lessons were learned between lines here, and trials lay in wait where curiosity ran too deep.
They had been apart from the beginning.
It was the custom in Ashveil. A safety measure, they claimed—to contain possible "Flares" separately, to keep resonance from happening. Those stamped with the Loop bore the responsibility of repetition and the weight of unpredictability. And unpredictability was dreaded here.
Otoku's rooms were simple, spartan. Walls of stone cooled by mountain breezes. A worktable scored with worn runes whirred softly under his hand. One window outlined the Academy's blackstone courtyard below, where stillness clung like fog. On the top shelf lay the Codex—its cover plain, but it thrummed with a subdued awareness, as if it knew its master.
Evening came without fanfare.
A knock on his door—soft, uncertain.
"Come in," he called, fingers already tracing the sigil cut under the desk lip.
The door groaned open. A boy entered—shoulders hunched, nervous, eyes too big for his face. His aura had no real presence, but his nervousness filled the room.
"You're the new one? Eastern sector?" the boy asked.
Otoku eyed him warily. "I am. What do you need?"
There was a silence—tense, tinged with something greater than fear. The boy looked back over his shoulder before continuing to speak.
"They say odd things occur when fresh additions come in. Bell tolls at an odd time. Candles which refuse to stay alight. And…" He paused, his voice lowering, "they claim the Vault is breathing when you come, someone like you."
Otoku's eyes narrowed. "The Vault?"
The boy swallowed hard. "Just. avoid the library basement."
He turned and departed without another word, the silence that followed denser than before—charged, almost anticipatory.
Otoku went back to the window. Below, lit by silver light, Arthelia stood motionless in the courtyard. Her blindfold glowed softly, not disturbed by breeze or shadow. As though she felt something no one else could.
This time… this cycle had significance.
And already, the laws had started to warp.
---