Chapter Three: A Flame Too Young to Burn (Part Eight)
The training field stayed silent long after the test ended.
There were no victors.
No announcements.
No score tallies or glyph-read summaries.
Because this wasn't about winning.
It was about seeing.
They weren't told the trial had begun.
But they felt it.
The pressure.
The alignment.
The hum beneath the stone that didn't belong to the Lyceum—
but to something older still watching through the cracks.
Afterward, the squads were dismissed.
Not formally.
Not together.
Just scattered.
Sent to their corners of the academy with glyph bruises and questions they weren't trained to voice.
Echo walked back through the north corridor in silence.
Kaelen's steps slower than usual.
Selka's hum missing its middle note.
Yolti's hands still tracking invisible sigils on her sleeves.
Zephryn stayed in the back.
He didn't walk like someone exhausted.
He walked like someone calculating resonance drift inside his bones.
That night, the dorm lights dimmed early.
Outside, the wind struck the corners of the walls like it wanted to speak but hadn't learned the right language yet.
Inside, Bubbalor stared at the ceiling from his usual perch.
He hadn't moved in hours.
But his hum had changed.
It was lower now.
Slower.
Resonating through the beds like a secret trying to be subtle.
Selka hummed once to match it.
It didn't work.
Yolti rolled over twice and gave up.
Kaelen didn't sleep at all.
He sat at the edge of his bed, one hand pressed to his jaw like he was trying to hold the words inside.
Zephryn stayed awake in the corner.
He didn't write.
Didn't sketch.
He just stared at the crack in the floor tile under his right foot and waited for the rhythm to shift again.
It didn't.
The next morning, Liraen stood outside the Echo dorm with an envelope.
She didn't knock.
Didn't announce herself.
She slid it beneath the door and left.
Kaelen picked it up.
Read it aloud.
"Pre-trial preparation begins tomorrow."
Silence.
"You've been cleared for Crucible entry."
Yolti blinked.
Selka exhaled slowly.
Kaelen swore once under his breath and stood without finishing his tea.
Zephryn remained seated.
He didn't move.
Not because he was surprised.
But because he wasn't.
The Crucible.
The first measure of those the Lyceum called worthy of pulse inheritance.
It didn't have rules.
It didn't need them.
The only thing guaranteed was that someone wouldn't walk out the same.
Selka sat beside him.
Didn't say anything.
Just traced the edge of her sleeve until it matched the line in the floor.
"You think they'll call us squads after this?" she asked eventually.
Zephryn glanced at her.
"You want a title?"
She shrugged.
"I want to know what they call us when we're not Echo anymore."
He paused.
"If you want a title—earn a reason to be named."
She nodded.
Not in agreement.
In understanding.
Later that day, as the other squads filtered through the archway into the Crucible antechamber, Riko passed them.
He didn't stop.
Didn't speak.
But his eyes lingered half a second longer on Zephryn's feet.
Not his face.
Not his stance.
His anchor point.
Kaelen watched him go.
"I don't trust him."
Yolti replied without turning:
"He's not meant to be trusted."
In the final hours before entry, Echo sat in formation for one last alignment drill.
Liraen passed in front of them slowly.
Her voice low.
Measured.
"They'll try to name you in there."
She didn't elaborate.
"Don't answer."
Zephryn lifted his eyes for the first time that day.
The glyph beneath him pulsed once.
So did the others.
Aligned.
Unified.
For a moment—
the Lyceum's walls stopped humming.