The Sanctum entered lockdown. All initiates were restricted to their dormitories unless summoned. Kaien paced like a caged animal, the incident with the Choir echoing in his thoughts.
He stared at his palm. "Why do they care about me?"
Lyra entered without knocking. "Because they fear what you might become."
Kaien turned. "And what do you think I'll become?"
She met his gaze evenly. "I think you're the storm we never prepared for. And I think you're worth saving."
For a moment, silence.
Then she sat beside him. "My family helped found the Sanctum. But my father… he joined the Choir before I was born. He believed the world was already lost. That emotions corrupted the Veyl."
Kaien looked at her in disbelief. "You never said."
"I don't say a lot of things," she admitted. "But we don't get to choose where we come from. Only where we go."
Later that night, Kaien dreamed.
He was in a broken field of glass, surrounded by floating shards reflecting his face—each twisted, monstrous, or empty. In the center stood a figure in white robes, faceless.
"Who are you?" Kaien asked.
The figure lifted a hand. Light shimmered. "You already know."
Then the light erupted, swallowing him.
He awoke in a cold sweat.
Outside, bells tolled. An emergency summons.
The Choir had attacked a nearby village—one too close to Kaien's past.
He stood, eyes burning with something new.
Not fear.
Purpose.