CHAPTER TEN: THREADS OF THE UNHEARD (Part five)
Zephryn stepped out into the courtyard without a word.
The dorm door clicked shut behind him,
but the silence didn't follow.
It stayed behind—
pressing itself into the beds,
the floor,
the ashes of the page Selka burned.
The Lyceum was quiet, but not asleep.
Lights flickered in distant towers.
Faint hums pulsed beneath the stone like a heartbeat beneath cold skin.
He walked slowly.
Not out of hesitation.
Out of awareness.
Every step felt like memory.
Every breath like a promise he wasn't ready to make.
The Trial gate stood just beyond the lower ring.
Not marked.
Not guarded.
Just waiting.
Its stone arch curled upward into the sky—unfinished, asymmetrical,
like it had been broken long ago and never rebuilt properly.
But the glyphs etched into its center still shimmered.
Still pulsed faintly.
Like it didn't need to be whole to be true.
Zephryn approached.
Bubbalor followed from the shadows,
but stayed back when they reached the final step.
The creature paused—ears flicked back.
It didn't hum.
It didn't move.
It just watched.
Zephryn placed his palm against the gate.
It was cold.
Not repelling.
Not inviting.
Testing.
The glyphs didn't flare.
But the air around his hand began to vibrate.
Like the gate remembered something about him
that he hadn't yet remembered himself.