The summons came at noon.
I was midway through a dull transcription exercise when a messenger slipped a sealed letter onto my desk, nodded once, and vanished before I could ask anything. The seal on the parchment wasn't the academy crest—it was a silver sigil shaped like an open eye, surrounded by three small stars.
The Field Council.
My stomach tightened.
I broke the seal. There were only a few lines of neat, sharp script:
> Cadet Arin Vale,
You, along with Cadets Lira Thalen and Seris Kael, are assigned to Field Observation Task #47.
Destination: outer village of Merinth. Suspected phenomenon: minor resonance disturbance.
Departure: today, third bell.
Report to the east gate in travel gear. Instructor escort: none.
—Councilor Dareth
I read it twice, then a third time.
No escort.
That wasn't normal for lower-circle students.
The bond flickered in my chest, reacting to my unease. A faint echo of surprise came with it—Lira's—and, distantly, a spike of interest that felt a lot like Seris.
I didn't need to check to know they'd gotten the same letter.
---
By the time I reached the east gate, the sky had mellowed into pale blue, clouds drifting lazily above the academy walls. A small pack lay slung over my shoulder—basic field gear: spare clothes, bandages, chalk, a focus crystal, a knife I barely knew how to use.
Lira was already there.
She stood by the old stone arch, checking the straps on her satchel. The wind caught her hair, lifting a few strands into the air. She smoothed them back absently, her eyes narrowing slightly as she read over her own copy of the order again.
"No instructor," I said, coming to stand beside her.
She nodded. "They trust us. Or they're testing us."
"Or both," I offered.
There was a flicker of worry behind her calm expression, but it softened when she looked at me. "At least we're going together."
"Yeah," I said. "Together."
"Wow," a voice called behind us. "They really are sending the three of us unsupervised. Someone in the Council is feeling bold."
Seris strolled up the path, cloak flared loosely, pack slung in a way that looked more stylish than practical. Her grin was there, of course—bright, confident, like she'd been born walking into trouble with a smile.
She held up her letter. "Observation Task #47. Sounds fancy."
"It sounds like they don't know what's happening," Lira said.
"That's what makes it fun," Seris replied.
She stopped right between us, looking from one to the other, then at the gate.
"Well," she said, "shall we go see what the world outside looks like when we're not just staring at it through classroom windows?"
I tightened the straps on my pack. "Let's go."
We stepped through the gate.
The academy fell behind us like the closing of a book.
---
The road to Merinth wound through low hills and sparse woodland. Birds called from the branches above, and small creatures rustled in the undergrowth as we passed. The world felt bigger out here—not framed by stone and glass, but open and indifferent.
We walked for a while without speaking. The silence was different this time—not heavy, but full. Every now and then, I felt the bond hum faintly, as if adjusting to the rhythm of our steps.
"So," Seris said eventually, nudging a pebble with her boot, "resonance disturbance. Remind me what that actually means in Council language."
Lira adjusted the strap on her satchel. "Could be anything from a minor spell gone unstable to a natural magical anomaly. They usually send scouts before students, though."
"Unless they want to know how we handle the unexpected," Seris said. She glanced at me. "You're quiet."
"Thinking," I said.
"Dangerous habit," she teased.
Lira smiled faintly. "For everyone else, maybe. For him, it depends."
They were both looking at me now. I cleared my throat. "I'm wondering why they chose us. All three. There are plenty of stronger mages out there."
"Strength isn't everything," Lira said. "Resonance is rare. The Council knows about ours now."
Seris nodded slowly. "So we're the experiment."
She didn't sound upset—more intrigued.
"Do you mind?" I asked her.
She shrugged. "Being part of something new? Not really. Being watched like a specimen? That part I mind. But they're not here, are they?"
"No," I said. "Just us."
"Exactly." She flashed me a grin. "Which means if something goes wrong, we get to fix it our way."
Lira shook her head. "Your way usually involves chaos."
"And yet," Seris said lightly, "we're all still alive."
A breeze brushed past us, cool and clean. The road narrowed as it entered a stretch of thicker forest. Shadows dappled the path; beams of sunlight broke through the canopy in tall, shifting columns.
My chest warmed again.
The bond stirred, sensing something ahead.
"Do you feel that?" I asked.
Lira's hand drifted to the mark on her wrist. "Yes. The air is… heavier."
Seris stopped walking and closed her eyes. "It's like standing near a thunderstorm before it breaks. Exciting."
"Or dangerous," Lira reminded her.
"We'll find out soon," Seris said.
---
We reached Merinth by late afternoon.
The village lay in a shallow valley, a cluster of stone and timber houses gathered around a small well. Smoke rose from a few chimneys. Children played near a fenced field where lean cows grazed. At first glance, everything looked normal.
But the closer we got, the more wrong it felt.
The air shimmered faintly, as if heat waves were rising from the ground despite the mild day. Colors seemed slightly off—the red of a rooftop tile too vivid, the blue of a bucket too dark. Sound moved strangely too; the clatter of hooves from a cart seemed louder than it should be, while nearby voices faded too quickly.
Resonance. Distorted.
Lira frowned. "The field here is warped."
Seris clicked her tongue. "And they call it 'minor.' Figures."
A woman by the well spotted us and waved cautiously. Her hair was streaked with gray, her hands calloused. "You three from the academy?" she called.
"Yes," Lira answered. "Field observation team for the disturbance."
The woman let out a breath. "Good. Maybe you can fix whatever this is. The well water turned sour two days ago. Animals spook at shadows that aren't there. People say they wake up hearing voices that aren't anyone's."
"Voices?" I asked.
She nodded, glancing around nervously. "Like someone standing right beside you, asking you to follow, but when you turn… there's no one."
The bond tightened in my chest like a warning.
"Has anyone gone missing?" Seris asked, suddenly serious.
"Not yet," the woman said. "But my son swears he saw lights out by the old shrine last night. Floating over the ground."
Lira and I exchanged a look.
"Direction?" Lira asked.
The woman pointed toward a line of trees beyond the last house. "Past the fields. The shrine's half-broken now. No one's used it in years."
"We'll check it tonight," I said. "For now, stay inside after dark. Keep your doors shut, windows covered."
She nodded quickly. "You don't have to tell us twice."
We left our packs at a small inn at the edge of the village—the owner was so relieved to see academy colors that he refused payment. "Just stop whatever's doing this," he said, wringing his cap in his hands.
"We'll try," I told him.
---
Dusk settled over Merinth like ink diluted in water.
We made our way toward the old shrine as the sky deepened to violet. Crickets had begun to sing, and the first stars trembled faintly overhead. The trees ahead formed a dark line against the fading light.
The further we walked, the more the distortion pressed in.
The air thickened. My breath felt heavier in my lungs. Sound warped again—the crunch of our boots on leaves echoing oddly, as if the forest were hollow.
"Stay close," Lira said quietly.
We passed through the treeline.
The shrine stood in a small clearing, half-swallowed by moss and creeping vines. What had once been a stone arch was now cracked and listing to one side. A broken statue lay in pieces near the base, its face worn smooth by time.
And above it, just as the woman's son had claimed, floated lights.
Not lanterns. Not fireflies.
Orbs of pale, shifting color—blue, white, faint violet—slowly circling the ruins like lazy planets. They moved in patterns that almost made sense, like a language I nearly understood.
Seris whistled softly. "Well. That's not normal."
"No," Lira said. "It's resonant energy given shape. But it's… untethered."
"It's beautiful," I said before thinking.
Seris glanced at me with a small smile. "You would notice that first."
Lira's eyes stayed on the lights. "Beauty is often the first mask of danger."
The bond pulsed sharply in agreement.
> [Resonance Source: proximal]
Emotional imprint: fragmented.]
My skin prickled. "It's connected to us," I said quietly. "I can feel it reacting."
The lights dipped lower, as if drawn by our presence. One orb drifted toward Lira, haloing her face in soft blue. Another hovered near Seris, turning faintly gold.
A third stopped directly in front of me.
For a moment, everything else faded.
Images flashed behind my eyes—not memories exactly, but impressions: a hand reaching out, a voice calling from somewhere very far away, a sense of being incomplete.
"Arin?" Lira's voice came through as if from underwater. "What's happening?"
"I—" I swallowed. "It's… asking. Or searching."
"For what?" Seris asked.
"Connection," I said.
The word slipped out on its own. It felt right.
The lights brightened.
The bond flared hot.
Our marks burned.
> [Warning: external resonance attempting integration]
[Stability at risk.]
"Back," Lira said sharply, grabbing my wrist. "Now."
Her touch cut through the pull. The orb shimmered, wavered, then drifted upward again, as if reconsidering.
Seris stepped between us and the shrine, staff raised. "Okay, no one told me haunted stars were part of the assignment."
"They're not haunted," Lira said, breathing harder now. "They're pieces of something broken. Trying to attach to anything that resonates."
"Like us," I added. "Like our link."
Seris glanced at me. "So if we let them in—"
"We don't," Lira snapped.
Her tone was sharper than usual. It made both of us pause.
"If we let them in," she continued more calmly, "they could overload the bond. We don't know what that would do to us."
"Well," Seris said, lowering her staff slightly, "good thing we brought the careful one."
The tension eased a little.
Lira exhaled. "We should observe from a distance tonight. Set up a camp where we can see the shrine but not be in its direct pull."
Seris nodded. "Agreed. I want to keep my soul in one piece for at least another year."
"Two," I said.
"That's ambitious," she grinned.
We retreated to the edge of the treeline, just far enough that the pressure lessened but the shrine remained in view. The innkeeper had given us a small satchel of supplies—dried fruit, bread, a bit of salted meat.
Seris built a small fire with casual efficiency. Lira marked a boundary circle in chalk and salt around our camp, humming an old warding song under her breath.
I watched them both.
Different as fire and river.
And yet, somehow, part of the same current now.
When the wards were set, we settled around the fire. The lights above the shrine continued their slow dance in the distance.
"Do you think they're sentient?" Seris asked, nodding toward them.
"Yes," Lira said softly. "But not fully. Like… echoes of something that used to be whole."
I poked the fire with a stick. "If they're pieces, where's the rest?"
"Gone," Lira said. "Or waiting to be found."
The flames crackled. The bond thrummed gently, not painful now—more like a sympathetic vibration with whatever was out there.
A log shifted, sending a small spray of sparks upward. One drifted closer than the rest and landed on Seris's wrist.
She yelped softly, flinching back. "Ow."
"You okay?" I asked, leaning toward her.
She waved me off. "Just a spark."
But when I reached for her wrist, I saw her skin had reddened more than a normal ember burn. The mark there—faint and new—was glowing brighter.
"It reacted," I said. "The bond."
She tried to pull her hand away. I held it gently but firmly.
"Stay still," I said. "Let me check."
Her expression flickered—surprise, then something like embarrassment, quickly hidden behind a familiar smirk. "If you wanted to hold my hand, Arin, you could've just asked."
Lira shifted slightly across the fire, watching us closely.
Heat crept up my neck. "That's not— I'm trying to see if it's spreading."
"Relax," Seris said. "I know." Her voice softened. "Thank you for worrying, though."
I let a small thread of my magic move toward the burn, careful and light. The already-warm bond flared again, meeting it. For a moment, I felt her—not just surface thoughts, but a flash of how she'd felt beside me in the training yard earlier: exhilarated, challenged, oddly happy.
Then it receded.
The redness lessened. Her mark dimmed to its usual faint glow.
I let go slowly. "Better?"
She flexed her fingers. "Much. See? You are useful."
Across the fire, Lira's gaze softened. "You stabilized it through the link."
I looked at her. "We stabilized it. It flowed through you too. I felt it."
"You did?" Seris asked.
"Yes," Lira said quietly. "We're all connected now. More than before."
Seris leaned back, studying the both of us. "So this isn't just between you two anymore." She tapped her own mark. "I'm in it too."
The bond pulsed once, firm as a heartbeat.
> [Triad link: confirmed]
Stability: fragile, but holding.]
"Seems so," I said.
She gave a small, lopsided smile. "Good. Would've been offended if the universe left me out."
Lira actually laughed at that—a low, soft sound. "I don't think the universe knows what it's doing anymore."
"Same," Seris said. "But at least it has taste."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
She raised a brow. "Look who it picked."
My face warmed again. Lira shook her head, but there was a tiny amused curve to her lips.
The conversation drifted after that. We talked about smaller things—the first spell we'd each ever cast, the worst mistakes we'd made, the teachers we feared and the ones we respected. The fire burned low, turning from bright flame to a bed of orange embers.
At some point, I realized I wasn't cold anymore, even though the night air had grown sharp. The warmth wasn't only from the fire. It was from us—three points in a circle, connected by something none of us had asked for but all of us were slowly accepting.
The lights above the shrine kept turning.
Watching.
Waiting.
---
Later, when Lira dozed lightly against the trunk of a tree, her head tilted to one side, and Seris lay on her back staring up at the stars, I found myself listening to their breathing without meaning to. The bond hummed in a low, steady chord—no longer three separate notes, but something almost harmonious.
Almost.
"Arin?" Seris said suddenly, eyes still on the sky.
"Yeah?"
"You're scared, aren't you?"
I looked into the darkness beyond the fire. "Of what?"
"This bond thing. Whatever's happening with us. Those lights." She paused. "Everything."
"Yes," I said honestly. "I am."
She turned her head slightly, just enough to see me. "Me too."
That admission surprised me more than any joke could have.
"You don't show it," I said.
"That's the point," she replied with a small smile. "Somebody has to keep the mood from sinking."
She looked at Lira. "She's strong. Stronger than she knows. But she carries too much alone." Then she looked at me. "And you… you keep blaming yourself for things you couldn't control."
I swallowed. "How do you know that?"
She tapped her temple. "I pay attention."
Silence settled again, deeper now. The fire had dropped to glowing coals; shadows stretched longer around us.
"I don't know where this is going," I said softly. "With the bond. With us. Any of it."
"Good," she said.
"Good?"
"Yeah," she murmured. "If you knew everything already, there'd be no reason to walk the road."
She shifted closer—not too close, just enough that our shoulders almost touched.
"I'm not asking you to promise anything, Arin," she said. "Not to me. Not to her. Just… don't shut us out. Whatever happens, let us be there."
I looked at her. The firelight caught in her eyes, softening the usual sharpness.
"I won't," I said.
Her smile then was small and real. "Good answer."
On my other side, Lira stirred, eyes half-opening.
"Did I miss something important?" she murmured.
"Just Seris being dramatic," I said.
Seris gasped in mock offense. "Rude."
Lira smiled sleepily. "As long as you didn't decide to run off and leave me with the shrine, I think I'm fine."
"Not a chance," I said.
She relaxed again, eyes closing fully this time. As she sank back into sleep, the bond pulsed once more, enveloping all three of us in a steady, gentle warmth.
Above the trees, the floating lights flickered, then slowly, almost reluctantly, began to drift higher, their pull weakening as the night deepened.
They weren't gone.
But they were no longer reaching for us with the same desperate intensity.
Maybe, for now, they'd accepted that we weren't ready.
Or maybe… they'd recognized that we were already part of something else.
---
I don't remember exactly when sleep took me. Only that my last waking thoughts were of the two figures beside me—Lira's calm strength, Seris's restless energy—and the fragile, impossible bond threading between us.
Not a chain.
Not a cage.
A connection.
Messy. Uncertain. Real.
And somewhere beyond the broken shrine, something watched, waiting for the day we'd come back ready to face it.