The One Who Watched the Hum Return
Zephryn didn't speak as he walked.
He didn't have to.
The corridor lights adjusted to him automatically now—each step activating the floor glyphs with a quiet shimmer that bent ever so slightly… wrong.
Not broken.
Not unstable.
But resonant—like the system was adjusting itself to a frequency it had forgotten how to read.
The others followed behind him.
Kaelen was the first to break the silence.
"That glyph… I've never seen anything like it. It didn't fracture—it folded."
Yolti pulled her scarf tighter. "The scribe panicked like the thing spat out a ghost."
Selka just watched Zephryn. Her eyes didn't flicker, didn't soften.
"It hummed," she said.
"Before it vanished… it hummed."
Zephryn didn't slow.
"Then they heard it too."
Above the Lyceum, the rooftop spires trembled with wind.
But not natural wind.
It carried too much silence between the gusts.
Too much listening.
Perched on the highest spire—half cloaked in shadow, half wrapped in a veil of pulse-silence—a figure crouched. Gloved hands rested against the ledge. No insignia. No crest. But the fingertips of those gloves shimmered with Choir-etched markings.
The kind only used by Watchers.
The Watcher didn't blink.
Didn't write anything down.
They simply placed one gloved hand against the metal plate embedded in the roof's spine. A pulse traveled instantly through the Lyceum's hidden circuits.
"He's surfaced."
"Unmarked. Unrecorded. Silver Flame confirmed."
"Permission to monitor… or silence?"
There was no response for several seconds.
Then, across the etched glove—three glyphs lit in order:
Watch.
Do not move.
Wait for the next name to hum.
Inside the dorm, Zephryn turned the key.
The glyph plate flared open.
The door swung wide, revealing a familiar space dressed in new silence.
But he didn't step in.
Not yet.
He looked back at Kaelen.
"Did the king say anything about this?"
Kaelen shook his head.
"Just that the scan would confirm who you were."
Zephryn stepped forward.
"It didn't."