Chapter One: The Trial Begins Tomorrow (Part One)
Date: May 22, Year 204 PCR (Maelis 22)
Location: The Bar of Silence – Harmonic Lyceum
Time: Morning
He woke without gasping. That was the first sign something was wrong.
The silence wasn't peaceful—it was deliberate. Stretched. Pressed against his ears like a veil. Light from the window cracked across the floor of the dormitory, bleeding pale across half-folded uniforms and unused books. Dust hovered. No wind. No warmth.
The Bar of Silence had earned its name that morning.
Zephryn sat on the edge of his cot, elbows on knees, hands hanging. He wasn't shaking. He wasn't sweating. But something in his chest felt… pulled. Tight. As if he'd slept through something violent and only the shape of the memory remained.
"I've lived this lie over and over again…"
The thought didn't belong to him—but it spoke in his voice.
"But how? Who keeps touching my memory? Why can't I remember their face?"
The room felt wrong. Familiar, but misaligned. Like someone had broken it and put it back together just slightly off-center.
He stood.
The others were already moving down the long corridor. Kaelen's voice echoed ahead—measured, tired, battle-hardened. Yolti's reply, curt and calm. Selka walked behind them, quiet as ever.
Zephryn joined them.
They didn't ask why he was late. No one commented on his silence. As they walked, the Lyceum grounds unfolded as they always did—precise, curated, harmonic. Students filtered between pillars. The scent of copper and sage clung to the air. Nothing out of place.
Except him.
His steps felt too light, like the stone didn't recognize his weight.
"Cycle 204. Maelis 22. The Trial is today…"
"But why does it feel like I already failed?"
His vision swam for half a second. Not darkness—just… skip.
When he blinked again, he was no longer walking.
The arena towered before him.
No one had spoken. No one had moved. But somehow, without reason or recollection, Zephryn was standing at the edge of the combat grounds, watching Kaelen and Torr face off in the dust-choked center of the ring.
He felt it in his bones before the blades even moved.
"I've seen this."
Kaelen's stance was forward-leaning, right hand wrapped too tight around the halberd's neck.
"That grip's off. Torr'll take advantage of the drag."
Torr advanced.
Zephryn's mouth opened before his thoughts could catch up.
"Low sweep. Counter-clockwise. Shoulder feint into left flank."
Kaelen reacted—too late.
The halberd cracked as Torr's strike collided at the joint between head and shaft. Wood split. Steel rang.
Just like before.
"I knew that."
He clutched his chest—right side, beneath the collar. His breath stuttered.
"Why did I know that?"
Behind the sound of the cheering crowd and the rush of the match, something hissed. Not in the air—but in him.
A voice.
No—many.
"Threadglass instability confirmed."
"Let him believe this version. Do not interrupt."
"He cannot handle another collapse."
Zephryn whispered without meaning to.
"Stabilize the fracture…"
Selka stopped walking.
"Loop consistency maintained…"
He trembled.
"Let him see her die again—anchor the grief—bind the tether—"
And then her hand. No words. Just her hand, resting on his shoulder like it had always been meant to be there. Not comfort. Not control. Just a touch. Just real.
Everything inside him froze.
Kaelen staggered in the ring, recovering, pieces of his halberd now scattered across the stone. Torr stood across from him, waiting for the command to continue.
But Zephryn wasn't watching the fight anymore.
He was listening to the weight of Selka's fingers. To the silence in her gaze. To the hum in his blood that no one else could hear.
Bubbalor stirred.
Not loud. Not violent. Just a pulse. A vibration. A murmur beneath the surface of skin.
Like the beast inside him wasn't afraid anymore.
Like it knew the loop had cracked.
Zephryn turned his head slightly toward Selka, but didn't meet her eyes.
"I've done this before."
He didn't say it to her. He said it to himself. To the wind. To the Choir.
To whatever was still listening.
The world had moved him without permission. Had played his body like an echo.
But this time… he remembered just enough to scream.
And next time—
he would remember enough to break it.