CHAPTER TWO – THE SCAR BENEATH THE CLIFF
Kaelen sat up first.
His breath caught halfway between sleep and warning—
not fear, just friction.
Like his body remembered something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.
He rubbed the side of his neck and muttered,
"If we're not ready, we shouldn't act like we are."
No one replied.
Zephryn didn't move. He'd been up since before the rain.
Still seated at the window.
Still watching something that no one else could see.
Yolti pulled the blanket from her legs and stood without a sound.
She didn't ask how anyone slept. Didn't stretch or yawn.
She just turned and began making her bed with sharp, precise hands—
tucking corners, smoothing cloth.
As if routine could keep her from unraveling.
Selka rose last.
She walked barefoot, slowly, across the creaking floor.
No shoes. No cloak.
Just a simple tunic and the sound of her breath.
She stopped beside Zephryn—didn't look at him.
Just out.
Through the rain-slicked glass.
Into the mist beyond the veil.
The Heartbloom Tree stood in the distance.
Still. Watching. Remembering.
Selka's voice was soft,
so soft he almost missed it.
"It's thicker today."
Zephryn blinked once.
She didn't need to explain what "it" was.
No one did.
The walk to the Lyceum was quiet.
Not because they were hiding something—
but because there was nothing left to explain.
The air was damp. The gravel underfoot stuck to their boots.
Bubbalor followed in slow, low hops—unhurried and unreadable.
The stone gates loomed ahead.
Kaelen walked in front, shoulders tight.
Zephryn just behind him. Yolti beside Selka.
No words passed. Only rhythm.
As they passed the first resonance checkpoint,
three students leaned against the pillars.
They didn't speak.
Didn't laugh.
Just watched.
One of them nodded once toward Zephryn—
not as recognition, but as a question.
Zephryn didn't look back.