Morning unfolded slowly over the academy. Pale beams of light streamed through the high windows, illuminating drifting particles of dust and gliding over the etched insignias carved into the stone walls.

  The air felt awake but restrained, as if the entire structure were holding its breath before the day fully began. Even in the quiet, there was discipline woven into the stillness.

  A summons arrived at first light.

  Chancellor Sterling requested to see Tymir and Marcellus in his private study, with no further explanation offered.

  They met in the east corridor without arranging it.

  The timing aligned too perfectly to feel accidental, yet neither of them gave voice to that thought.

  For a brief moment they simply stood there, facing one another beneath the tall windows.

  Then, without discussion, they began to walk.

  Side by side, they moved through the long stretch of hallway. The sound of their boots echoed softly against the stone, muted by the high ceilings and polished floors.

  Light slipped across their uniforms as they passed beneath each window, illuminating fabric and skin before giving way again to shadow.

  Yesterday walked with them.

  It pressed beneath their ribs like a weight that had not yet decided whether it would settle into something bearable or fracture into something worse.

  The loss. The battle. The impossible thing they had done. It lingered in the space between their shoulders and in the silence that followed each step.

  Neither spoke of it at first.

  The quiet between them was not empty. It was shared.

  Tymir was the one who finally broke it, his voice measured and low.

  "How are you feeling?"

  Marcellus glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring his own reflection. "Better than I thought I would," he admitted.

  A faint, puzzled frown creased his brow.

  "I had a dream last night," he continued carefully. "Nothing I can fully explain, but when I woke up this morning I felt... lighter."

  Tymir looked down at his own chest, hand brushing subconsciously against the spot where he still felt a subtle pull, a lingering tension at the center of his heart.

  He thought back to the dream, to the moment he had shared with Marcellus, and wondered quietly if he had taken on part of his grief through the night.

  The pressure remained faint, persistent, like an echo of sorrow not fully released.

  Marcellus glanced at him.

  "So... about this meeting," Marcellus said after a pause, his tone steady but carrying weight.

  Tymir lifted his gaze, meeting his eyes. "Yeah," he replied.

  "I know he is going to ask how we managed to... you know."Marcellus said, lowering his voice slightly, careful.

  Tymir nodded once.

  "I don't know how it happened, but we cannot tell him that we linked." Marcellus added.

  Agreement passed quietly in the space between them.

  Then, after a breath, Marcellus added more softly, "I was such a wreck yesterday that I never said thank you."

  Tymir looked at him.

  "For helping me," Marcellus clarified. "If you had not stepped in when you did we probably would not be standing here."

  The sincerity in his voice was unguarded.

  Tymir felt warmth rise in his face before he could stop it. A small smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

  "No problem," he said simply, though the weight of the words lingered between them.

  The heavy wooden doors of Chancellor Sterling's study loomed ahead, gold handles gleaming beneath the morning light. Marcellus and Tymir approached, their steps measured, a quiet rhythm against the polished stone corridor.

  They reached for the handles together. Marcellus's hand brushed over Tymir's for an instant. A faint static seemed to pulse along his fingertips. He cleared his throat and gently moved his hand aside.

  "Sorry," he murmured.

  Tymir offered a small, understanding nod and shifted forward. Together, they opened the doors.

  Chancellor Sterling rose from behind a broad desk of polished dark wood. His hands rested atop an old leather-bound book, fingers steepled. His gaze swept the room, calm but precise.

  "Gentlemen," he said. "Please, have a seat."

  Two golden chairs awaited, soft blue cushions pressed neatly against their backs. They lowered themselves into the chairs, the air taut with expectation. Sterling sat back slowly, the faint creak of leather marking his movement.

  "I was told you accomplished something extraordinary yesterday," he began.

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  Marcellus and Tymir maintained steady expressions, but a quiet weight pressed into the space around them. The sunlight from the high windows caught on Sterling's desk, casting sharp lines across the floor.

  "I am proud of you both," Sterling continued. "It has been a long time since I witnessed such an event. Not since my own days as an agent."

  Tymir's mind flickered with images from the dream, the shadowed figure who had claimed to know Sterling. He kept his composure, though the thought hummed faintly beneath his awareness.

  Sterling leaned forward slightly. "I must ask. How did you manage it?"

  Marcellus recounted the story he had already shared with Vice Chancellor Dorinda.

  "Tymir still had an active link with Cleo before she was rendered unconscious. He was able to channel enough stabilizing force to neutralize the entity, sir."

  Sterling's eyes narrowed, a subtle crease forming at his brow. "That must have taken a significant toll."

  "It did," Tymir admitted. "I struggled to get up this morning."

  His hands rested lightly on his knees, the movement controlled, deliberate.

  "I was planning to check on Cleo later to see how she is recovering."

  Sterling's expression softened, but the faint glint in his eyes suggested calculation beneath his calm.

  "She is recovering surprisingly well, given the circumstances," he said, his tone even. "Perhaps you are stronger than we anticipated."

  Marcellus glanced briefly at Tymir. "Well," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I love a good challenge. It motivates us to give our all."

  He lowered his hands into his lap. "Maybe too much," he added quietly. "And it cost Gina."

  Sterling shook his head decisively. "No. This does not fall on you. We were unaware the victim had entered the early stages of possession. Gina acted before the signs were recognized. If the entity could replicate, as you mentioned to Dorinda, the odds were already stacked against you."

  Marcellus nodded slowly, acknowledging Sterling's words, though a subtle tension remained along his spine.

  "I don't have an anchor now," he said cautiously. "What does this mean for me?"

  Sterling's gaze softened, and he leaned back slightly. "We have someone in mind. Kyra. She is currently level six, but recent evaluations suggest she is ready for level seven."

  Sterling's eyes lingered on Marcellus. "We wanted to give you time to process the loss of your link with Gina. Such a rupture leaves an imprint. It can affect clarity and performance."

  Marcellus nodded again, exhaling slowly. "I'll see the Reiki Master later today."

  "Good," Sterling replied. "Rest, both of you."

  They stood, nodding in unison. "Yes, Sir."

  As they turned to leave, Tymir hesitated. "Sir," he began, careful.

  Sterling looked up, raising an eyebrow.

  "When you were an agent here... did you have a close friend? Someone about my complexion? Maybe darker. With dreads."

  Sterling paused, a faint laugh escaping him, though it did not reach his eyes. "I had several friends in those days. I am not sure I recall the one you are describing. Why do you ask?"

  Tymir held Sterling's gaze for a moment longer than necessary. "Just curious."

  He stepped back, smoothing the folds of his uniform, and left the study. The door closed softly behind him.

  Sterling's fingers flexed against the edge of his desk. His mind raced beneath his calm exterior.

  That question was not random.

  There was no reason that Tymir should have known anything about that time.

  Unless something had awakened.

  Unless the past had begun to move again, and if it had, it would not be allowed to unfold unchecked.

  It was becoming increasingly clear that whatever lay dormant within Tymir was far more complex than the academy records suggested.

  And potentially far more dangerous.

  The tension from the meeting had not fully dissolved, yet something lighter lingered between them now. Something almost tentative.

  Marcellus slowed slightly.

  "Tymir."

  Tymir turned toward him.

  Marcellus hesitated for a moment, before he spoke.

  "Do you want to come by my room later today?"

  The words came out calm, but his fingers brushed briefly against the side of his uniform as though grounding himself.

  Tymir froze, caught off guard. His chest tightened as the words sank in.

  Marcellus's shoulders shifted slightly, a faint tension in his posture. "You don't have to," he added quickly. "I was just wondering."

  A soft smile touched Tymir's lips. "Sure," he said. The word carried more warmth than he expected.

  Relief flickered across Marcellus's face before he masked it with a grin. "Cool. See you then," he said, jogging lightly down the corridor.

  Tymir watched Marcellus disappear down the corridor, the faint echo of his steps fading into the morning quiet.

  His breath caught before he could steady it.

  A strange lightness brushed against the center of him, soft and disarming, even as a faint tension lingered beneath it.

  He exhaled slowly and turned toward the medical wing.

  The halls were brighter now, washed in clean white light that reflected off polished floors and glass panels. When he stepped inside the ward, he expected to see Cleo resting.

  Instead, she stood at the front counter signing her discharge paperwork.

  Her posture was straight and assured. There was color back in her face. Even under the sterile lights, her presence felt vibrant, almost defiant.

  "Tymir?"

  She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, surprise flashing across her features before breaking into a grin.

  He blinked, momentarily thrown by how normal she looked. "Hey. You are up already?"

  She let out a sharp, lively laugh. "That weak ass Rage Entity was not going to keep me down for long."

  Relief unwound something tight inside him. He shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You are a trooper. You really held it down in there."

  "Please," she said, snatching her bag off the counter. "I refuse to let that be the story they tell about me."

  Before he could respond, she caught his wrist and pulled him along with her.

  "Come on. I need air."

  They moved through the corridor together and stepped out into the courtyard.

  Sunlight spilled across trimmed grass and smooth stone paths. The fountain at the center sent a steady arc of water into the air, the sound soft and grounding.

  A breeze drifted through the open space, stirring the leaves overhead and brushing against their clothes.

  Cleo didn't stop walking until they reached the fountain. Then she turned to face him fully.

  The shift was immediate.

  The humor drained from her expression. Her eyes sharpened, alert and searching.

  "The real question," she said, lowering her voice, "is how the hell did you, a conduit, anchor me?"

  A sharp alertness climbed his spine.

  He kept his shoulders relaxed, forcing himself not to go still. "What do you mean?"

  Cleo stepped closer, close enough that he could see the faint shimmer of healing energy still settling beneath her skin.

  "When you touched me," she said carefully, watching him with unwavering focus, "I felt you push energy into me. It wasn't a residual current. It was controlled. Directed. You reinforced my shield."

  The memory flickered through him. The heat in his spine. The surge in his chest. The instinct to reach.

  "That is not something a typical conduit can do," she continued.

  He swallowed, steadying his voice. "I was just reacting. Everything was chaotic. Maybe you are remembering it wrong."

  Her brows lifted slowly.

  "I know your ass didn't just try to gaslight me."

  Despite himself, a faint breath of laughter threatened to escape him, but it died under the intensity of her stare.

  "I know what my energy feels like," she said, quieter now. "I know the difference between my power straining and something outside of me stepping in and reinforcing it."

  The breeze shifted again, cooler this time.

  For a split second he considered telling her everything.

  About the link with Marcellus. About the dream. About the warmth that still pulsed faintly beneath his chest like a second heartbeat.

  Instead, he held her gaze.

  "I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe that is why they keep me isolated from the other conduits. Maybe I'm not a typical conduit."

  Cleo's eyes narrowed, not with suspicion, but with deepening intrigue.

  "They don't isolate REM agents for no reason," she said slowly. "Not unless there's something about them that they are studying. Or containing."

  The words hung between them.

  "You need to find out why they are doing this," she continued. "If you can anchor other anchors, that changes the entire structure of how we operate."

  Her gaze softened slightly, but the intensity did not fade.

  "You are more than what they have labeled you," she said quietly. "I felt it."

  Silence settled between them, softened only by the steady rush of the fountain and the distant hum of training rings beyond the courtyard walls.

  A subtle vibration stirred beneath his skin again.

  It pulsed gently, subtle but undeniable, as though Cleo's words had stirred something that had been waiting.

  The sensation no longer felt random.

  Now it felt like a question.

  Around them, the academy continued as it always did.

  Everything was orderly. Structured. Certain.

  Since his arrival to Limnara, he had never questioned the isolation before.

  The controlled interactions. The observation framed as mentorship.

  He had accepted it.

  Now he wasn't sure he should have.

  Had they kept him apart to prepare him for something greater?

  Or to protect everyone else from what he might become?