The summons came at dawn.
Every student was ordered to the Great Atrium, their names called one by one by the Academy's Seers. None were excused. The announcement carried the weight of judgment, and even the most confident walked with uneasy steps.
When Anaya arrived, the air was thick with dread. The vaulted ceiling loomed above them like a cathedral, mirrors and runes glowing faintly along the walls. The Seers stood in a line at the front, robes stark white, their eyes blindfolded in ceremonial cloth — a reminder that their sight was turned inward, toward glimpses and truth.
And at their center, like a blade drawn from its sheath, stood Headmistress Veyra.
Her presence silenced the hall. Her voice carried like iron wrapped in velvet.
"Two mirrors have shattered," she said. "Such things do not happen by chance. Threads have been cut, and the weave trembles. Until the culprit is found, no one is beyond suspicion."
Her gaze swept the room, resting momentarily on Anaya before sliding on.
"The Hunt begins."
The process was simple and terrifying.
Students were called forward in groups of five, placed within a ring of runes, and subjected to resonance probes. The Seers' voices droned in unison, calling out their names, their glimpses, their histories. If threads flickered or gaps appeared, they were marked for further questioning.
The first time a student faltered, the Atrium shuddered. A boy from the northern provinces collapsed mid-probe, his glimpse-thread writhing violently in the air. The Seers declared his resonance unstable. Guards led him away.
Whispers erupted:"What will they do to him?""Erase.""No—just testing, just testing…"
But no one saw him again.
When Anaya's name was called, her heart nearly stopped.
"Anaya Sol," intoned the Seers.
Her legs carried her forward on instinct, though her knees felt like glass. She stepped into the circle. The runes pulsed, faint blue fire creeping toward her feet.
Her allies watched from the crowd. Leila's lips moved in silent prayer. Kato's jaw was clenched, fists balled. Rafael smirked, but his eyes were hard.
Anaya forced her breathing steady. She remembered the concealment rune woven into the bracelet Leila had given her. She prayed it would hold.
The Seers began. Their voices overlapped, threads of sound weaving like a net:
"Name: Anaya Sol. Transfer. Glimpse: obscured. Resonance:—"
A pause. The air thickened. The runes flickered.
One Seer's head tilted. "Interference."
Her heart plummeted.
Veyra stepped forward. "Explain."
The Seer's blindfolded face turned toward her. "Something cloaks her. Threads cannot be read clearly."
Murmurs spread through the crowd like fire.
Anaya's palms burned. She forced her voice steady. "Perhaps… it is because I am a Transfer. My glimpse was always unclear. You told me so yourself, Headmistress."
Veyra's gaze locked with hers. For a heartbeat, the whole Atrium held its breath.
Then Veyra nodded once. "Proceed."
The Seers moved on, their chants resuming. Anaya's legs nearly buckled as she left the circle, her bracelet hot against her skin.
That night, the whispers grew louder.
Students eyed one another with suspicion. Friends avoided each other, afraid of being tainted by association. Mira, of course, thrived. She moved through the corridors like a hawk among pigeons, her smirk sharper than ever.
At dinner, she leaned close to Anaya. "The Seers smelled something on you. They might've let you walk this time, but not forever. Threads unravel eventually."
Anaya forced a smile. "Maybe you should worry about your own threads, Mira. Sometimes the most obvious suspects are overlooked."
Mira's smirk faltered, just slightly. But her eyes promised retribution.
In their secret circle, panic warred with determination.
"They know," Kato hissed. "They know. It's only a matter of time before one of us slips."
Rafael shrugged, though his leg bounced restlessly. "So we don't slip. We keep our heads, we keep moving. The Hunt's just a show of power. They don't actually know who did it."
Leila shook her head. "You didn't hear the Seers. They felt something in Anaya. If Veyra hadn't stepped in…"
At the mention of Veyra, silence fell.
"What side is she on?" Kato asked at last.
No one answered.
The Hunt tightened over the next week.
Students disappeared quietly — first one, then three, then five. Some returned, pale and trembling, claiming they had been "cleared." Others never returned at all.
The atmosphere in the Academy shifted. Laughter died in the halls. Doors were locked at night. Whispers followed Anaya wherever she went.
Her group moved carefully, their meetings shortened, their practice hushed. But the journal of Kaelen Deyr never left her side. Each night she read its words, each entry burning deeper.
If they come for you — and they will — remember: you are not alone.
One evening, as Anaya crossed the courtyard, she saw the Seers dragging another student away. The boy struggled, shouting.
"I didn't do anything! Please!"
His friends tried to intervene but were shoved back by guards.
Anaya froze, heart wrenching. The boy's eyes met hers for a heartbeat, wide with terror. His glimpse-thread flickered above him, unraveling as though already being cut.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw herself at the guards. But Kaelen's words chained her feet: You cannot save them all. Choose your moments, or you will burn too soon.
So she watched as the boy vanished into the dark halls, his cries echoing long after he was gone.
That night, her group argued again.
"This ends now," Kato said. "We burn the journal. We stop practicing. We bury it all. Otherwise, we'll be next."
"No," Rafael snapped. "That's exactly what they want. Fear keeps us chained. Kaelen gave us a weapon — we can't throw it away."
Leila looked at Anaya, her voice trembling. "You're the one they watch. If you say stop, we stop. If you say keep going, we follow. But you have to choose, Anaya."
The room swam. The weight of their gazes pressed against her chest.
Anaya's hand clenched around the journal. She remembered the shattered mirrors, the vanishing students, Mira's smirk, Veyra's heavy eyes.
And Kaelen's voice, echoing in her dreams.
The tapestry screams when threads are severed. But silence is worse. Silence is death.
She looked at them, fire burning in her veins.
"We don't stop," she said. "We hide better. We move smarter. But we don't stop. If they hunt us, we hunt back."
The candlelight flickered across their faces — fear, doubt, resolve.
The Hunt had begun. And now, so had their rebellion.