The morning bells rang clear across the sect, echoing off stone courtyards and tiled roofs. Disciples streamed toward their duties, but Kaelen lingered in the shadow of a colonnade, hands folded calmly behind his back. Outwardly, he was unremarkable. Inwardly, every sense strained, replaying the moment in the Archive.
Someone else had been there. Someone carrying a lantern, deliberate in their steps. Had they seen the faint disruption in the seals? Had they noticed the whisper of his presence?
Kaelen had left no footprints, touched nothing he couldn't mend. Still, the unease clung like cobwebs.
By midday, the summons came.
An elder's attendant found him in the practice yard, where Kaelen had been drilling quietly with other juniors. "Disciple Kaelen," the attendant called, voice carrying enough for several heads to turn. "You are summoned to the Hall of Inquiry."
Whispers rose immediately. Joren's smirk was the sharpest among them, his serpent glimmering bright jade at his side. "Careful," he murmured just loud enough for Kaelen to hear. "The Hall doesn't call without reason."
Kaelen offered no reply. He only bowed, calm mask in place, and followed the attendant.
The Hall of Inquiry was not large, but its weight pressed heavier than any arena. Dark beams supported a ceiling painted with constellations, and beneath that false sky sat three elders. Their gazes pierced like blades.
Kaelen knelt, his serpent faint at his shoulder.
"Kaelen," the center elder intoned, "a disturbance was noted in the Archive Hall last night. Records suggest a ward was tested. Tell us—where were you during the night watch?"
Kaelen's pulse spiked. He forced his breathing steady. "In my quarters, Elder. Preparing for morning drills."
The elder's eyes narrowed. "No one saw you."
He let silence hang just long enough before answering. "Few disciples would notice one such as me." A small self-deprecation, perfectly in character with his reputation.
The elder to the left leaned forward. "Your serpent. Weak, faint. Yet we have heard… rumors. That you show more resilience than your standing suggests. Tell me, Kaelen—have you stumbled upon some… unorthodox practice?"
The question cut close. Kaelen bent deeper in his bow. "This disciple would never dare."
His serpent, faint grey, coiled weakly, the very image of mediocrity. Inside, however, the husk stirred with the memory of whispers from the fang.
The silence stretched. Kaelen's skin prickled. Then the elder to the right—older, harsher—snorted. "A waste cannot suddenly sprout wings. Release him. Better to keep our eyes on those with real promise."
Joren's name did not need to be spoken.
The center elder nodded once. "Very well. You are dismissed, Kaelen. Remember—the eyes of the sect do not close. Stray where you should not, and you will not walk free again."
Kaelen bowed low, hiding the flicker of relief in his eyes.
Outside, the courtyard air felt sharper, cleaner. But he knew better than to believe he was free of suspicion. Someone had been in the Archive. Someone had noticed. The question now was who.
As he descended the steps, Joren leaned against a pillar, arms folded. His serpent gleamed, eyes bright with mockery.
"Well," Joren drawled, "you return in one piece. I suppose even the elders can't be bothered with shadows. But tell me, Kaelen—" his smile curved sharp, "what keeps shadows alive when the light grows brighter?"
Kaelen's gaze held steady. "They learn to move where the light does not reach."
For a heartbeat, silence crackled between them, before Joren gave a low laugh and turned away.
That night, Kaelen did not rest. He sat cross-legged, serpent coiled faintly in his Soul Palace, and replayed every current he had seen in the Archive. Every twisted line of Qi around the fang. Every possible application.
Suspicion had brushed close, but it also proved something vital: the sect was not blind. If he wanted to survive, he could not stumble. He had to sharpen every edge in secret, until the day came when even the brightest prodigies would not see his strike until it was too late.
He exhaled slowly, whispering into the darkness, "Let them chase shadows. I will make them real."