Elian half-tuned out of the lecture, tapping a stylus against his desk, the faint tik-tik-tik swallowed by the low hum of the hall's ventilation. Few minutes to go. The holographic board flickered at the front, streaming lines of code — networks, nodes, and encrypted channels glowing in pale blue.
Professor Denzil's voice carried across the hall in that slow, steady rhythm only long-time lecturers had perfected.
."Remember — automation doesn't mean absolution. The system only mirrors its maker. So when you're building one that can think, or worse, decide... you'd better know where your ethics stand."
A few students chuckled softly. Others didn't even look up. Denzil went on, switching the projection to a simulation model — a data sphere rotating like a tiny planet.
Elian's gaze drifted. His notes were half-finished lines, diagrams bleeding into sketches. His mind, as usual, wandered elsewhere.
"For all their vanity and class obsession,"
he thought,
"Creisleigh prided itself on one thing — its fairness in the academic halls."
Yes, the hierarchy was real — the gap between the founders and other students student was like the distance between worlds. But inside the classroom, there was supposed to be no foul play.
Supposed to be.
If there were exceptions and Elian wasn't sure there weren't _it would be the Primax: the descendants of the Founders. Their brilliance and bloodlines made them untouchable. Still, most of them earned their place; their families valued intellect almost as much as prestige.
Some regulars whispered that not every Primarch was as sharp as they looked, but no one dared say it out loud. Not in a place like this.
Elian's stylus stilled. The professor's voice faded into background static. Despite its talk of fairness, Creisleigh had its shadows — and he'd learned long ago that fairness, here, was a matter of perspective.
The lecture hall glowed faintly under the pulse of magitech panels — pale-blue grids humming softly along the walls. Streams of encrypted data spiraled across the holo-display as Professor Denzil walked the front with unhurried steps, the kind that came from decades of teaching.
He was kind, middle-aged, intelligent — the rare type who treated every student with the same even tone. No flattery, no favoritism, no hierarchy.
"Excellence, not lineage, keeps the system alive,"
he said, voice carrying easily through the hum of screens.
He moved through them with practiced ease.
" In theory, an adaptive system learns to distinguish patterns faster than we ever could,"
He said, fingers drawing paths through light
"But intelligence without restraint is just noise — power without direction. Every good engineer knows where to draw the line, even when the code doesn't."
He paused, letting the room breathe for a moment.
Elian tapped his stylus against the desk, eyes following the cascading light. The rhythm of the lecture washed over him — words about protocols and safeguards — but his thoughts drifted somewhere else.
Denzil adjusted the projection again, the blue glow softening around him. His expression carried that same quiet warmth, the kind that didn't have to try. It reminded him of his mother. Or maybe just the memory of her. The way it seemed.
He didn't linger on it. Some memories lost shape the longer you tried to hold them.
Denzil flicked his wrist, and the projection folded in on itself, code collapsing into a soft white fade.
"That's enough logic mapping for today,"
he said with a nod.
"Remember — design like you'll be the one using it."
A soft vibration rippled through the desks as a time seal glowed gold across the wall — the signal for class end.
Students began packing up, holo-tabs snapping shut, chairs shifting in easy rhythm.
"Elian!"
Reiss's voice cut through the chatter. "PE after lunch — you in?"
Mateo leaned forward, grinning. "You sure you can keep up today? You looked half gone the whole class."
Elian smirked, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "That's called conserving energy. You'll understand when I score."
They laughed. "Big words, genius."
"Yeah, yeah," Elian said, brushing past them with a half-smile. "I'm right behind you."
They filed out ahead, their voices fading into the corridor's hum of mid-day chatter.
Elian didn't move right away. He stayed back, letting the noise die down, craving a moment of stillness that wasn't filled by anyone or anything. Only when the silence felt right did he finally turn and follow.
****
The corridor buzzed faintly with movement as Elian stepped out, a ping flickering at the edge of his wristband. He didn't check it. Not yet.
He drifted down the long glass-lit hall, mind still half in class. The professor's words lingered — ethics, systems, choices. Most of his coursemates would forget by tomorrow.
Some of them hadn't even shown up today. They never did. The ones who mattered didn't need attendance; everyone else just stopped pretending to care.
He gave a small, knowing breath — half a sigh, half a chuckle. The system wasn't broken. It was just designed that way.
A pair of students passed him, laughing about lunch.
"I heard the chef's trying a new glaze on the herbfish."
"About time — the old one was far too mild."
The mention pulled at something quiet in him.His mother used to make her own version of that — lighter, a bit spicier, served with rice instead of bread.
it tugged loose a memory he hadn't asked for.
For a moment, the present folded.
He was somewhere else — in a sunlit kitchen where warmth didn't come from wires.
His mother moved between counters with her usual quiet command, her copper-brown hair twisted up, the light catching the gold flecks in her eyes. She was setting plates — simple white ones with the thin blue rim she loved — while calling over her shoulder, "If either of you spills that sauce, I swear—"
Too late. His brother had already flung a spoonful at him.
"Lior!" she scolded, spinning around with mock outrage as Elian ducked behind the table, laughing.
"Wasn't me!" he said — voice high, the way only a seven-year-old could sound when caught mid-lie.
"It's innovation," his father said, not looking up. "Prototype timing chip. Lior might need it someday."
"Mm-hm," she muttered, wiping the counter, but her smile gave her away.
Elian had watched the whole thing — his father explaining something about gears and current flow to Lior, who nodded like he understood. Elian didn't, not really. But in that moment, he wanted to. He wanted to be just like them — clever, capable, sure.
His mother finally sat down, serving the buttered rolls and herb sauce herself, and for a second, the whole world fit neatly around that table — too small for their stories, but somehow still enough.
Then came her voice again, firm but fond:
"Talk less. Eat."
And they all laughed.
The warmth of that memory lingered just long enough to hurt.
Back in the corridor, he almost smiled again. Almost.
Then it folded in on itself.
"It's not the same," he muttered.
The light on his wristband pulsed again. He glanced down.
Isadora: Hey, you done with class? Wanna grab lunch?"
He read it twice, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Frisky, that one. Curious to a fault. But still too honest, too untouched by how this place really worked.
He started typing.
Paused, continued typing and almost hit send when a faint sound cut through the corridor — a soft pulse, almost like a heartbeat under the noise.
He slowed, glancing down. A thin silver pin, tucked against his wristband, blinked once.
Creisleigh's handbook had made it clear: no personal devices beyond approved school tech, and for gadgets approved, they should not be used within school premises
And the school took that rule seriously—maybe too seriously.
Hidden within every corridor, classroom, and dorm wing were scanners that pulsed invisible waves through the air, detecting unregistered electronics the moment someone stepped through.
He studied the device's light for a moment, expression unreadable.
Then, a faint curve tugged at his lips.
"Then again," he murmured, "there are always exceptions."
The message flickered into view across the thin display:
COME. NOW.
He started typing back — about to go for lunch but before he could finish, another line appeared:
Navigation sent.
The corner of his lip tightened.
"Guess I don't get a say."
He had his back to the corridor's exit, steps already carrying him forward, when it hit Isadora, her message. Unreplied.
Isadora: Hey, you done with class? Wanna grab lunch?"
He erased the half-written text and sent something simpler.
Elian: Something came up. Maybe another day."Then, finally, he walked on, the corridor stretching ahead.
****
The corridor's noise faded behind him as he entered his dorm. Half-lit and empty, the room felt impossibly quiet. He sank onto the bed and let out a slow breath.
He thought, "How long can I keep this up?"
Then, almost as if convincing himself, "Just a little longer. Just until I find it."
A flicker of the overhead light caught his eye, A memory surfaced,his father, kneeling over a circuit board in the small workshop at home:
The smell of solder and machine oil filled the cramped workshop. Eli crouched beside the workbench, eyes wide as his father bent over a circuit board, screwdriver in hand. The glow of the small lamp cast sharp shadows across the room.
"See this?" hisfather said, pointing at a jumble of wires. "Every system has a hidden path, a door you can open if you look closely enough."
Eli frowned, trying to follow. "A door?"
His father chuckled, not looking up. "Not a real one. A door in the code, in the circuits. You just have to find it. Pay attention, Eli. That's how you get ahead."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "Rememberthis," his father added, placing a hand on Eli's shoulder, "every system hides a door — you just have to find it."
Eli nodded, the lesson sticking in his mind, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.
His dorm door slid open, and a friend leaned in.
"Yo, you ghosted PE again. You good?"
"Yeah. Just tired."
They chatted briefly, laughed, and for a moment, it felt normal. But as the friend left, Elian's eyes drifted, and his smile faded.
He wished he could tell someone—anyone—the truth.
But that would mean admitting how deep he'd gone. And Elian wasn't ready to stop. Not now. Not until it was done.