(Third-Person Limited - Lysera, Age 7)
I. Morning - The Candle That Breathed Wrong
Lysera woke to cold light pooling on her blankets like spilled milk. Her skin prickled when she sat up; the morning chill often made her complexion pale, the faint rose on her cheeks sharpening into an almost fragile blush. She rubbed her eyes gently, as though afraid the gesture itself might shatter something.
Lighting her candle should have been familiar. She struck the match.
The flame rose, then bent-not away, but toward her, as if reaching for the warmth beneath her skin. Lysera's silver-frost eyes narrowed slightly, the pupils tightening with a quiet alertness.
The flame thinned into a line, trembling like a creature caught between instinct and fear.
It was the deepest aversion she had witnessed from a solitary flame; the resistance felt focused, almost personal.
Lysera inhaled. Her breath frosted the air in the faintest shimmer. "Please behave," she whispered. Her voice softened at the edges-cautious, embarrassed.
Sometimes she felt silly speaking to flames. But flames never behaved around her.
The candle gave a final twitch, folding faintly inward. Lysera's jawline tightened-barely a millimeter-but enough that the motion would be visible to anyone observant.
No one was here to see. The only witness was the misbehaving flame itself.
She exhaled, and the flame held its unnatural shape, like a question that could not be answered.
II. Academy Arrival - Whispers Given New Shape
The Academy courtyard glowed under the early morning sun. Light settled on white stone and polished glass windows, scattering soft halos. But when Lysera walked through, the light dimmed itself by a degree-not darkening, merely quieting.
Girls whispering by the fountain shifted their tones. "...the Shrine girl... the one whose flame sings when she prays..." The other candidate, the one of strong resonance. "...Mother said her resonance is graceful, like the old hymns..." "...maybe that means she's chosen..."
Lysera lowered her gaze. Her lashes, long and pale, cast soft shadows on her cheeks.
Serin tried to approach, but a senior pulled her back gently. "Not now. The Sisters are keeping... notes."
Serin's hand jerked slightly-a twitch of hesitation. Her eyes flicked to Lysera's. Lysera turned away politely-her version of easing someone's discomfort.
Mirelle lifted her hand for a timid wave. A flame-lamp above them flickered in response to Lysera's presence. The lamp's gentle light struggled, protesting the Nullbound distortion. Mirelle's fingers dropped instantly.
Lysera kept walking. Her heart beat evenly; her face remained composed. But the flush on her cheeks cooled to near-white.
III. Triad Work - A Small, Fragile Offering
Averra's hands shook faintly when Lysera touched the brass flame-conductor. The device vibrated, unable to maintain thermal alignment. The equipment registered Nullbound disturbance.
Under her breath, Averra muttered something that sounded like a prayer. Lysera retracted her hands slowly, posture straight, face neutral.
Serin's voice came timidly: "Lysera... if you ever want to sit with us during break... we could find a quiet space."
Lysera blinked. Her expression seemed unchanged-but her frost-grey eyes softened, widening a fraction.
"Breaks are noisy," she murmured.
Serin smiled, small but earnest. "We can be quiet. We can be quiet together."
Averra looked between them-bewildered, envious, nervous all at once. Lysera's cheeks colored the faintest pink. A micro-expression. Gone as soon as it appeared.
But Serin saw it. And for the first time, Lysera felt seen in a way that didn't feel like measurement. It felt like a choice offered, not a verdict delivered.
IV. Mistress Veyra's Office - A Ledger Without a Name
The moment Lysera entered Veyra's office, she felt it: the air heavier, the light tighter. The atmosphere of official consequence.
Veyra's expression was stern in the formal way-not harsh, but braced. "Your earlier work requires review," she said.
Lysera sat, back straight and perfectly still. Her pale hands rested on her lap; her fingers curled lightly inward, a subtle tension she couldn't hide.
A soft draft-impossible in a sealed room-brushed across the desk. The minor thermal void caused by Lysera's passive effect.
Pages of the red ledger lifted one by one and fell open on a page marked with no name. Her pulse jumped. The slightest red spread across her cheekbones-not from embarrassment but from a sudden, sharp breath she tried to suppress.
The ledger read:
Resonance Decay: 0.41 → 0.19 → 0.07
Flux Pattern: Reverse
Conduction Stability Index: Cold-Inclined / Volatile
Assessment: "Subject displays inversion tendencies."
Lysera's throat tightened. Her jawline tensed-barely perceptible. She read one more line: "Recommend Tier III Observation pending authorization."
Tier III. She didn't know its official meaning, but a whisper of old academy rumors echoed in her mind: Tier III involved Sisters with crimson trims, the kind who rarely spoke to students- only investigated them.
Mistress Veyra snapped the ledger closed. "Children are not meant to read administrative materials." Her tone was sharp. The fear of documentation leaked through.
Her hands trembled ever so slightly. Lysera bowed her head. "I apologize." Her voice was steady. Her eyes glistened like glass cooling too quickly.
Veyra inhaled deeply, as though steadying herself. "You did nothing wrong." But the sentence wavered. As though Veyra wished she believed it.
V. Corridor - The Sister Who Measured Her
As Lysera stepped into the corridor, a figure waited. A Shrine Sister-robe immaculate, posture too straight, and along the hem, a trim of deep crimson.
Lysera's eyes flickered to it. Crimson meant Conduction Assessment Division. Not quite Inquisitor rank. But dangerously close.
The Sister's smile was gentle, almost affectionate. "Do not be troubled," she said. "Documentation is simply procedure."
Her voice caressed the air like warm oil. But her eyes-sharp, calculating- moved like someone mapping Lysera's movements in real time.
When Lysera bowed and stepped past, the Sister lifted her stylus and wrote: "Response to administrative pressure: outwardly calm. Micro-expressions controlled. Emotional modulation high." She was reducing Lysera to data points.
Lysera didn't look back. But the skin at the nape of her neck prickled with an instinctual warning.
She understood something now: Observation was no longer a hallway seat. It was everywhere.
VI. Garden Interval - A Moment That Should Have Been Ordinary
The terrace garden shimmered under mid-day sun. Girls ran, laughed, practiced weaving emberthreads. When Lysera entered, the warmth dimmed subtly, as though sunlight hesitated to fall fully on her.
Mirelle approached timidly, holding a small piece of bread. "I brought... extra," she said. Her fingers trembled around the crumbs. "If you want some."
Lysera reached out. As her fingertips brushed the bread, a faint winter-pulse slid across its crust. The bread paled instantly, tiny crystals forming at the edge. Not ice. Not frost. Something like cold recognition-the absence of heat.
Mirelle gasped and dropped it. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't- I didn't mean-"
Lysera shook her head. "It's alright." Her voice was gentle. But her eyes dimmed, silver-grey with a hint of bruised sadness.
Serin picked up the bread-dusted it off-and took a small bite. A tiny act of defiance against the fear Lysera represented. Mirelle stared at her as though she'd watched someone step into danger.
Lysera... froze. Her lips parted a fraction. Her eyelashes trembled. Her jawline softened-a tiny, tender movement. It was the closest Lysera came to looking surprised. Grateful. Human.
Serin gave her a small smile-nervous, but unwavering. And Lysera, for a brief instant, felt warmth where there should have been cold.
VII. Evening - Dorian Holding More Than He Should
The estate's lamps cast warm pools of light, but Lysera felt a strange pressure in the air- as though the walls themselves were listening.
Dorian returned late. His face was pale, his posture rigid. He held a sealed Shrine scroll-one marked with the deep crimson insignia.
Lysera approached cautiously. "Are you unwell?"
Dorian exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No. Just tired. And... thinking about the House."
He unrolled the scroll. The light reflected off his dark eyes, casting sharp shadows beneath his lashes.
"The Shrine sent inquiries," he said quietly. "About Father's estate. And about us."
Us. Not "you." A gesture of shared burden.
Lysera's breath hitched. Color bloomed faintly on her cheeks- a soft flush of fear she couldn't hide.
"Did I... cause trouble?" she whispered.
"No." The answer was immediate. Too forceful.
Dorian placed a hand on her shoulder-rare, hesitant, warm. "You haven't done anything wrong. Whatever this is... I'll handle it."
Lysera lifted her eyes to him. Her pupils trembled-not visibly, but emotionally. And Dorian's expression softened in return.
But the scroll remained heavy in his other hand. The weight of the system was far heavier than the weight of his promise.
VIII. Auremis and Veyra - A Closed-Door Conversation
Lysera passed the study. The door wasn't fully closed.
She heard her father's voice-strained, shaking at the edges: "She is my daughter, Veyra."
Veyra's reply was quieter, controlled, purely administrative: "And the Shrine believes she may be... something they must understand. Tier III is not lightly invoked."
A pause. Lysera's fingers tightened on her sleeve. Tier III. The crimson trim. The measuring eyes.
Auremis whispered: "Must it come to this?"
Veyra hesitated. A brief human falter. "The High Shrine will decide."
The silence that followed felt like a verdict.
Lysera stepped away before they sensed her. Her heart beat faintly- like a candle struggling to stay lit in a room with too much wind.
IX. Night - The Word That Should Not Exist
The candle on her balcony flickered as though confused. Lysera opened her notebook- Dorian's gift, pages still mostly untouched.
Her fingers, pale and steady, rested on the first blank sheet. Her jaw tightened, lifted by a breath she didn't take.
Then she wrote: "What am I becoming?"
The candle bent toward the word, its flame shrinking into a thin, trembling line. Almost afraid. It recognized the weight of the question.
Lysera closed the notebook gently. Outside, the estate quieted.
Inside, the flame pulsed once more- not rejecting her, not accepting her. Trying, perhaps, to understand a girl the world itself could not name.