The academy's halls looked peaceful that morning, but under the calm surface, whispers moved faster than light.
Students traded rumors — about the "Blank" who had broken the Resonance Chamber, about Nyra being seen escorting him out before dawn. Some said Kael was a fraud. Others said he'd been chosen for something special. Either way, the name Kael Draven was now the most talked about in the lower wings.
Kael ignored it all.
He sat in the courtyard, eyes half-closed, pretending to read from a worn manual while his Crest pulsed quietly beneath his skin. Lucen tossed a small rock at him.
"You know everyone's staring, right?"
"Let them."
Lucen grinned. "They're betting how long you'll last before you explode again."
"Tell them to bet higher. I could use the confidence boost."
Ryn dropped beside them, her tray clattering. "You two attract chaos like it's a sport. Half the first-years think you're running some secret experiment."
Kael didn't look up. "They're not wrong."
Lucen rolled his eyes. "Don't feed the rumors."
"Fine," Kael said lightly. "I'll just quietly break more equipment."
Ryn snorted into her drink.
But even while joking, Kael's focus was elsewhere. The Crest had been acting strangely all morning — not glowing or flaring, just responding. Every time he touched something, he felt faint feedback, like an echo. A table, a leaf, even the air.
When Ryn flicked a crumb off her sleeve, he caught a ripple of energy trailing behind it.
It wasn't sight or sound. It was pattern recognition.
He froze briefly.
Lucen noticed. "You good?"
"Yeah. Just thinking."
He didn't tell them what he felt — not yet. If the Crest was learning through contact, that meant everything around him was data. And if it kept learning without limit, it might not stop at imitation.
---
Meanwhile, across the academy, Nyra stood in a narrow glass chamber with dim light filtering through high windows. A tall man in gray robes faced her, his eyes like sharpened glass.
"Your report, Instructor."
She handed over the datapad. "Draven's Crest reached stage three adaptive response within controlled exposure. It generated counter-feedback strong enough to disable containment units."
The man's lips curved slightly. "Impressive. Or dangerous, depending on how you look at it."
"I'd say both."
"Has he shown instability?"
"Not yet. But his Crest is evolving faster than predicted."
The man scrolled through the data. "Mimic lineage cases usually burn out before twenty percent synchronization. If he survives past that, the Board will want him transferred to Division Zero."
Nyra's jaw tightened. "That's not an option."
"You don't decide that."
"I'm the only one who's kept him stable so far."
He looked up. "Do you really believe that's your doing?"
Nyra met his gaze. "If it isn't, then we're all in trouble."
The silence stretched.
Finally, the man said, "The Council's watching, Nyra. If this boy's Crest shows signs of consciousness, you know what protocol demands."
"Containment," she said flatly.
He nodded. "Good. I'm glad we're clear."
She didn't move as he left. When the door shut, she exhaled sharply, the datapad shaking slightly in her hand.
She whispered to herself, "They'll kill him the moment they confirm it."
---
Back in the courtyard, Kael stretched his arm. The Crest pulsed once, faint but sharp. He winced.
"Again?" Lucen asked.
"It's nothing."
But it wasn't. The pulse had triggered without him calling it. His hand moved on its own, palm facing the air — a soft hum followed.
A leaf drifting past froze mid-fall, suspended by a faint shimmer.
Ryn blinked. "Kael, are you doing that?"
He opened his mouth to deny it — then stopped. His Crest was moving itself, stabilizing the pattern like it had decided to practice.
The shimmer broke and the leaf fell.
Lucen muttered, "That was not normal."
Kael forced a calm tone. "Maybe static discharge."
Ryn gave him a deadpan look. "From what, your soul?"
"Exactly."
But inside, Kael wasn't calm. He felt it — a faint presence watching through the Crest, not speaking, just listening.
He stood suddenly. "I need air."
Lucen called after him. "That's literally what we're breathing."
"More of it," Kael said, walking off.
He headed toward the western cliffs, where the academy grounds met open sky. The wind was cold, cutting through his coat. He closed his eyes and let his Crest pulse freely for once.
"Can you hear me?" he whispered, half-mocking.
The Crest flared.
He staggered backward as images flooded his mind — fragments of techniques, faces he'd never seen, and a voice not in words but rhythm. It wasn't speaking to him; it was showing him memory. Old memory.
> Echo fragment recognized: Origin cycle—recorded.
Host link confirmed.
Kael fell to one knee, gripping his chest. The pain wasn't physical. It was connection — too much data, too many sensations.
Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. The Crest dimmed.
He stayed there, gasping softly until the air cleared.
Behind him, Nyra's voice said quietly, "You felt it, didn't you?"
He turned slowly. She was standing near the railing, coat fluttering in the wind.
"You've known this would happen," he said.
"I hoped it wouldn't happen so soon."
Kael steadied his breathing. "What was that? A memory?"
"More like a signal," she said. "Every adaptive Crest leaves behind residue from its previous hosts. When one awakens early, it starts recalling them."
"So that was someone else's life?"
"Possibly many."
Kael looked down at his hand, the faint glow barely visible now. "Then I'm not the first."
"No," Nyra said softly. "But you might be the last."
They stood there a long moment, the wind howling around them, neither speaking again.
The Crest pulsed once more, faint but deliberate — as if agreeing.