Patterns of Friction

The air in Aetheris carried a weight that night, one that pressed against Cael Mavros like an unseen tide. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but a sense of inevitability. He had spent years perfecting his irrelevance, but that was no longer an option. Someone had noticed him.

And now, the ripples had begun to spread.

Cael moved through the dimly lit corridors of the Academy, his steps measured, his presence still a ghost among the living. The book hidden beneath his cloak felt heavier than its physical weight should allow. He had uncovered something meant to remain buried.

Abstract magic. A warning smudged from history. A truth no one wanted known.

His mind burned with questions. Why had this knowledge been erased? Why was it considered a danger? And more importantly—who had erased it?

A flicker of movement up ahead forced him to slow his pace. A pair of figures stood near an archway, speaking in hushed tones. One of them he recognized instantly—Soren Draeven. The other wore the sigil of the Academy's inner council.

"...concerns have been raised," the older man was saying. "We cannot allow another incident."

Soren scoffed, arms crossed. "If you're suggesting what I think you are, we don't even know if he's truly capable."

"We cannot take the risk."

Cael's pulse quickened. They weren't talking about just anyone. They were talking about him.

He had expected this. The moment he let himself step outside the veil of irrelevance, he became a problem. A variable they couldn't control.

And the Academy hated variables.

Lirienne Valis found him first.

"You look like a man preparing for war," she said, arms folded as she leaned against the stone railing of the upper terrace. The moon cast silver over the courtyard below, where students gathered in the last moments of curfew.

Cael didn't answer at first. He stared out over the Academy, calculating his next move.

"You were right," he admitted finally. "Someone is watching me."

Lirienne sighed, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "Of course, I was. You've spent years making yourself invisible, and now you're suddenly…not. That sort of shift doesn't go unnoticed."

He turned to her, meeting her gaze. "They want to erase me."

She didn't flinch. "Then we don't let them."

A small, humorless smile ghosted across Cael's lips. "We?"

Lirienne tilted her head. "You may be the smartest person in the Academy, but you're also an idiot if you think you can do this alone."

Something unspoken passed between them. An understanding. A choice.

Cael had always worked alone. Always relied on himself. But for the first time, he considered the possibility that maybe—just maybe—he didn't have to.

The Scholar's Wing was locked at night, but locks had never been much of an obstacle for Cael. A flick of his fingers, a twist of perception, and the mechanism surrendered to him with barely a whisper.

The hall beyond was silent, lined with towering bookshelves and ancient manuscripts. He moved quickly, scanning the archives for anything that could give him more answers.

Then he saw it.

A record sealed in wax, marked with the insignia of the High Chancellor himself.

Cael reached for it just as the air shifted behind him.

"You shouldn't be here."

He spun, instinctively stepping back, his mind already mapping escape routes.

Soren Draeven stood in the doorway, arms folded, expression unreadable.

Cael narrowed his eyes. "If you're here to stop me, you're too late."

Soren exhaled, stepping forward. "You don't get it, do you? You're playing a game you don't understand."

Cael smirked. "Then enlighten me."

Soren hesitated. Just for a second. But Cael caught it.

"There are things even the Academy fears," Soren said finally. "And you're about to put yourself at the center of them."

Cael held his gaze, then looked down at the sealed record in his hands. A choice lay before him.

To turn back. Or to see the truth for himself.

He broke the seal.

And the world, as he knew it, shattered.

Somewhere in the depths of the Academy, hidden in the shadows of power and secrecy, a name was whispered in warning.

Cael Mavros had become more than a variable.

He had become a threat.