The morning air inside the Archive was always cold, filtered through layers of crystal conduits that carried Aether through the structure. By sunrise, the training floors were already alive with motion. Recruits from every Crown sparred in quiet, rhythmic bursts of energy, the sound of Aether crackling through the halls.
Unit B stood near the western wing, waiting for their instructor to arrive. Marek was practicing by conjuring thin ribbons of flame from his palm. Lira watched in silence, arms crossed. Deog sat beside Connor, tinkering with a wrist device that emitted faint pulses of light.
"You think we'll actually see Vonix?" Deog muttered.
Connor shrugged. "He leads the Archive. I doubt he wastes time on recruits."
"Still," Deog said, tightening a screw on the device, "rumor says he once silenced an entire battlefield with a single thought."
Connor smirked. "Rumor also says the Fire Crown bathes in lava to keep their power. You believe that too?"
"Only on weekends," Deog shot back.
◇◇◇
Their instructor finally appeared—a tall man with pale hair and eyes like cut glass. His uniform was simple, but the energy that coiled around him was heavy, disciplined.
"Unit B," he said, voice steady, "today's focus is resonance control. Most of you can feel Aether. Few of you can hear it. Today, we bridge that gap."
He paced slowly across the floor, stopping by Connor. "You're the one who registered anomalous frequency readings yesterday."
Connor froze. "I didn't—"
"You didn't need to," the man interrupted. "The Archive hears everything."
He stepped back. "Begin."
A wave of motion swept through the room as each recruit raised their hands. Threads of color and light shimmered, some steady, some erratic. Connor's own pulse flared too bright. He tried to restrain it, but the hum within the tower surged back—stronger, alive. His control faltered.
The instructor's expression didn't change. "Again."
Connor clenched his fists and focused harder, forcing the current inward. The resonance bent, then twisted. The air shimmered. For an instant, he felt something watching him—not from the room, but from deep within the Archive itself.
◇◇◇
Later, the recruits gathered for rest, breathless and sweating. Marek collapsed onto the bench beside Lira. "That wasn't training. That was torture."
Lira ignored him. Her gaze was locked on Connor. "You're not new to this, are you?"
Connor hesitated. "Everyone learns differently."
"Some of us bleed for it. You… hum with it." Her tone wasn't admiration—it was suspicion.
Before Connor could answer, the ground vibrated. A low chime echoed through the tower, deep and resonant. Deog's device flickered violently.
"Warning alert," he muttered. "That came from the core levels."
The instructor appeared again, his composure unbroken. "Training dismissed. All recruits return to quarters."
Connor's chest tightened. The hum he'd felt earlier was louder now, like a heartbeat pounding through the walls. He didn't realize it yet—but the Archive had started whispering his name again.
◇◇◇
Deog caught up to him in the corridor. "What did you do?"
"Nothing," Connor said, though his voice lacked conviction. "At least… nothing on purpose."
"You felt it too, didn't you?"
Connor nodded. "It's like the building's alive."
Deog exhaled slowly. "If it is, then you just woke it up."