It rained through the morning prayers.
No one mentioned the duel.
No summons. No inquiries. The Spiral Council gave no word — as if it hadn't happened at all. But wordless silence carried weight in the Grand Academy. It curled between columns, whispered across dorm halls, wrapped around Lyric's name like ivy around bone.
The glyph arena had been sealed by sunrise.
Not repaired.
Sealed.
Students who wandered too close felt their marks shudder. One acolyte fainted at the edge — woke muttering glyphs that didn't belong to any god still worshipped.
Lyric didn't sleep.
His hands still trembled hours later, even washed clean. His uniform sat soaked in a basin near the hearth, the second mark now a raw, ghosted outline beneath his shoulder.
It hadn't stopped glowing since the duel.
When he closed his eyes, he still saw the expression on Vhentyr's face — not rage, not scorn, but doubt. Cold. Cracked.
That had scared him more than the blade.
Worse still, he hadn't seen the final blow.
The glyphs had shattered. Light had bent. A voice had spoken. And then—nothing.
When he awoke, he was alone in the arena.
Vhentyr was gone.
By midday, the Academy had reshuffled.
Vigilance Tower was under silent lockdown.
Thorne students whispered about secret punishments and quiet reassignment. Others claimed Vhentyr was being reconditioned in a deep prayer vault, forced to stare at relic texts until his mark either aligned or extinguished.
Lyric stayed in the Ring of Echoes.
The only one left there, now.
Even the girl who left food had stopped coming.
That night, someone knocked.
Three short taps. A pause. One long.
He opened the door expecting another decree. Or worse, a priest.
But the one standing there wore the ocean-thread robes of House Oryllae.
She didn't speak. Just held out a hand — palm inked with a dual sigil, swirling with silver and something deeper than sea. Not a second god. Not even a known glyph.
Something older. Something that watched.
"You've seen him too," she said softly.
"Who?"
Her lips barely moved.
"The one who remembers us before we're born."
Then she stepped inside — and the glyph-lanterns in the hall flared with saltwind.