CHAPTER TEN: THREADS OF THE UNHEARD (Part two)
Kaelen opened the old field notes again.
The pages were worn—creased at the corners, dotted with faint scorch marks where his pulse had flared too hard.
But his father's handwriting was still legible.
Tight. Precise. Distant.
The kind of writing that held more secrets than knowledge.
He flipped past glyph theory.
Past harmonic modulation diagrams.
Past the failed Veilmark resonance logs.
Until he found it.
A loose page. Unmarked.
Just one thing drawn in the center:
A spiral. Split twice. Four arcs branching outward.
Kaelen's brow furrowed.
He'd seen it before—
not in these pages.
In the dorm.
Under their feet.
Formed from glyph dust.
The symbol that bloomed when they stood together.
He pressed his fingers to the spiral.
It didn't glow.
Didn't react.
But his pulse tightened.
Like the page didn't want to be understood—
just witnessed.
He turned his head toward Zephryn.
Didn't speak.
But his eyes asked a question neither of them could answer yet.
From the corner, Yolti's voice broke the silence.
"She left that page for you."
Kaelen looked up.
"What?"
"Your father," she said.
"I think he wanted you to find that… only when you weren't looking for anything else."
Kaelen stared at the symbol again.
The weight of it.
The recognition of it.
Whatever this spiral was—
it wasn't meant to be read in pieces.
It was meant to be remembered.