The violet twilight draped over Skycloud City, staining the sky in dusky hues that bled into the sleek towers and polished stone of the Academy's heart. A hush lingered over the central park—a rare preserve of real soil, real trees, and whispering wind, nestled among silver structures that drank starlight and pulsed with quiet energy. Here, technology served nature, not the other way around.
Kael sat alone on a weathered bench, half-sheltered by a twisted ash tree, its roots snaking into the living earth and branches swaying gently overhead. Birds still sang here. The scent of jasmine curled through the air. Yet none of it touched him.
Neo was gone.
Not dead. Not transferred. Gone. As if the world had exhaled and forgotten he had ever been part of it.
Kael's hands were clasped between his knees, knuckles white, not from anger but from trying not to tremble. His eyes stared upward—not at constellations, but at the yawning absence between them. Neo had always burned brighter than the rest. Arrogant. Unshakably brilliant. Always in control. The kind of person who couldn't vanish without leaving smoke in the air.
But the world was clean. Too clean.
A shift in the wind stirred Kael's hair. He didn't move. The twilight deepened.
Footsteps approached along the gravel path. Not hurried. Not hesitant. Just there.
"Ayna," Kael murmured before she even spoke. Her name fell from his lips like a breath that had been waiting to escape.
She stepped beside him, her stance easy but alert. "You've been out here a while."
"I needed the quiet."
Ayna glanced at him, then the garden. "This is the only place in the city where the silence doesn't feel artificial."
Kael gave a humorless smile. "Even the birds aren't listening."
She sat beside him without asking. For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Kael's voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Neo's gone."
Ayna didn't flinch. Her gaze sharpened, but she didn't look away. "Gone how?"
"No comms. No logs. No withdrawal. Not even a blip from the security towers." His jaw clenched. "He didn't leave. It's like he was erased."
She frowned but didn't interrupt.
"I pulled his access history. Last place he visited was the Red Embers Relic."
"The shop in the western district?" she asked, brows furrowed.
Kael nodded. "He worked there part-time. Liked how quiet it was."
"Not Academy-owned. Off-grid. Practically invisible."
"Exactly."
"You think someone waited until he was alone?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Her voice dropped. "You think Damian had something to do with it."
Kael looked back to the sky. "Neo embarrassed him. Badly. The kind of badly that doesn't heal."
Ayna's mouth tightened. "Then we tell the principal. If someone's targeting students—"
A soft chime cut her off. Not mechanical. Not technological. Just... present. Like a drop of water in a still pond, rippling outward.
They turned in unison.
A woman stood a few paces away—tall, poised, unreadable. Her robe shimmered faintly, lined with silver thread that moved like liquid under moonlight. Not ornate. Not showy. But precise. Symbolic. Only one person in the Academy used that pattern: Principal Velren.
The woman's voice was smooth, calm, and cold. "Kael Elsin. Ayna Revell. The Principal will see you now."
Ayna's brow furrowed. "Regarding?"
"That will be discussed in his office."
Kael stared at her, reading the emptiness behind her expression. "Is this about Neo?"
The woman said nothing.
Ayna gave Kael a faint nod. "We're not refusing."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Kael said, voice dry. But his eyes didn't leave the woman. He was still trying to understand why now—and why them.
As they followed her down the winding path that led away from the garden and toward the Academy's inner towers, the quiet around them grew thick. Not oppressive. Just... expectant.
---
The journey to the Principal's Office was not far in distance—but in ambiance, it felt like a descent into something older and deeper than mere protocol.
Kael and Ayna followed the assistant in silence, their footsteps muffled against the moss-lined stone paths that led away from the garden. The Academy had no need for elevators or teleportation gates in this region; movement was deliberate here, as though those summoned were expected to reflect with every step.
The path gradually rose into a narrow bridge flanked by small streams of flowing water, their sources hidden in the surrounding architecture. Beneath the bridge, luminescent algae glowed faintly, casting eerie, undulating reflections against the underbelly of the skyward towers. Stone lanterns dotted the way, but none held fire—each one hummed with low energy, resonating with the ambient flow of power from the city's grid, subtly attuned to the heartbeat of the building itself.
As they crossed into the Administrative Wing, the trees gave way to sculpted marble and obsidian walls, carved with delicate grooves that shimmered faintly when passed. Natural vines, allowed to grow freely along the walls, coexisted with high-efficiency light panels hidden in the ceiling like constellations trapped in amber. It was a strange harmony—stone and circuit, bark and beam.
At the end of the hall stood a single door—nothing ostentatious, just dark wood veined with silver and framed by two massive columns shaped like intertwined branches. Above the door was an inscription in the old tongue. Kael didn't recognize it, but it felt heavy. Not in mass—just in consequence.
The assistant didn't knock.
She simply placed her hand against the door, and the wood responded—softly parting down the center and folding open with a sound like sighing wind.
The scent hit them first. Not incense. Not machinery. Just... petrichor. The scent of distant rain and ancient forests. As if something vast and green had once lived here and never truly left.
The room beyond was circular, rising in tiers of bookcases and observatory-like panels. A vast skylight at the center revealed the twilight above—no barriers, no energy domes, just pure sky. A large tree rose directly from the floor, its roots sunk into a ring of polished earth, its branches curling into the upper domes. Its leaves were silver on one side, green on the other, and they rustled despite the absence of wind.
At the far end of the chamber sat a desk carved from the same tree. Behind it stood Principal Velren.
He did not speak as they entered. He simply stood, arms folded behind his back, staring up at the sky as if he were waiting for something to fall.
The assistant bowed and left without a word, the door folding shut behind her like the sealing of a vault.
Kael and Ayna exchanged a look.
They were here.
And something was already in motion.
---