Lira spent the rest of the day walking through Ashthorne like a ghost.
Not literally—
but close enough.
She saw things she hadn't noticed before.
Not because they were new.
Because she was.
Hallways she'd walked all week seemed thinner now, more brittle. The air felt sharper. Conversations felt heavier. Every sound seemed too loud or too quiet.
She passed students who stared at her with wide eyes.
She passed whispering clusters who flinched whenever she looked in their direction.
She passed nobles who stepped aside not because of her, but because they knew who she was with.
Order shifted around her like she was standing in the eye of a storm.
She hated it.
She hated how small it made her feel.
How breakable.
But beneath all that—
something else pulsed.
Her chest.
The bond.
A soft thread humming like a heartbeat under her own.
It didn't push her.
It didn't pull her.
It just waited.
And the waiting was worse.
The Academy Pretends Nothing Changed
Classes went on.
Not normally.
Nothing about this was normal.
But Ashthorne pretended.
Students sat in rows. Instructors droned. Sigil formations flickered. Training dummies were smashed. Spell arrays hissed and burned.
Everything appeared exactly as it was yesterday—
except for the way everyone reacted when Caelum entered a room.
In Combat Division, silence fell so fast Lira felt the air choke.
In Support Division, students shuffled behind tables like they expected him to tear the building down.
Even in the Strategy Hall—
where intellect was prized more than brute strength—
upper-year nobles stiffened when Caelum passed.
He wasn't loud.
He wasn't angry.
He didn't even look at them.
But they felt it.
The anomaly designation.
The council confrontation.
The bond that refused to break.
The threads that flickered around him
even when he didn't make them visible.
He wasn't a monster stalking the halls.
He was something worse—
a mystery.
And in Ashthorne, mysteries were what people feared most.
Lira Watches Him Too Closely
She knew she shouldn't stare.
She did anyway.
In every class, every hallway, every lunch table—
her eyes found him.
She watched the way he analyzed every room.
The way he adjusted his posture to avoid drawing unnecessary attention—
even when attention followed him anyway.
The way his Thread-Sense flickered faintly at random, registering things she couldn't see.
The way he sometimes paused, brows slightly furrowed, as if listening to something far below.
The entity.
The Stitching.
The academy's bones.
She watched him because she couldn't not watch him.
He didn't lean on her.
He didn't ask her opinion.
He didn't tug the bond.
He didn't try to influence her choice.
He simply existed beside her—
calm
focused
quiet
constant
like a fixed star in a sky she had never learned to navigate.
It filled her with relief.
and dread.
Marenne Forces a Break (Against Caelum's Will)
"Alright," Marenne announced during lunch, slamming her notebook shut. "You two. Outside. Now."
Caelum raised a brow. "Why?"
"Because Lira has to think," Marenne said.
"I'm not hindering her."
"You're standing near her," Marenne said. "That's hindrance enough."
Lira choked on her water.
"I'm not— he's not— Marenne what are you—"
"Jalen," Marenne snapped. "Block Caelum."
"What? I can't block— he'll kill me—"
"He won't kill you," she said.
"…Probably."
Jalen whimpered.
Caelum calmly took another bite of his food.
"If you wish to speak with Lira privately," he said, "you can request it. You don't need theatrics."
"Oh," Marenne said sweetly. "Is that permission?"
"No," Caelum said. "It's a suggestion."
"Good," she said. "Because I wasn't asking."
She grabbed Lira's sleeve.
"You," she hissed. "With me."
Lira blinked at Caelum—
and he nodded once.
Not controlling.
Not approving.
Just acknowledging.
She let Marenne drag her away.
Even when she left the cafeteria, she could feel the bond like a tether behind her—
not pulling her back
not pushing her forward
just there
like a pulse
like a truth she couldn't ignore.
Marenne's Interrogation
They ended up in the abandoned east balcony near the library.
Cold stone underfoot.
Wind brushing hair across their cheeks.
The distant sound of training shouts echoing below.
Marenne crossed her arms.
"Talk," she said. "Now."
Lira stared.
"About what?"
"Your choice," Marenne said. "Obviously. Unless you've forgotten the tiny matter of picking the future path of your entire life."
"I didn't… forget."
"Then why do you look like someone asked you to choose between drowning or burning?"
"Because that's exactly what it feels like."
Marenne sighed.
She sank onto the stone bench beside Lira.
"Lira," she said. "I'm going to say something that sounds mean, but you need to hear it."
Lira braced herself.
"You're scared because you're still thinking of yourself as background noise."
Lira froze.
"That's not—"
"Yes it is," Marenne said. "You think you're small. Weak. Replaceable. Someone who doesn't get big choices because big choices happen to other people."
Lira swallowed hard.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
"No," Marenne said. "It's true."
Lira looked away.
She hated how much it hurt because it was right.
"You keep thinking this bond is dragging you," Marenne said. "But it's not. It's following you. You have more influence on him than you think."
"That's— I don't— I'm not—"
"Caelum's dangerous," Marenne said. "But he's not blind. He listens to you. More than he listens to anyone else."
Lira blinked rapidly.
"Listen to me, Lira," Marenne said softly. "Your choice here isn't about danger. Danger is everywhere in this academy. It's about who you want to become. And you need to stop treating yourself like you don't get to answer that."
Lira's hands curled into her skirt.
"Marenne…" she whispered.
"You're scared of being dragged into his world," Marenne said. "Good. Only idiots aren't scared of that."
Lira laughed through a tremble.
"But," Marenne continued, nudging her shoulder, "you're also scared of being left behind. Which means deep down, you already know which choice matters."
Lira closed her eyes.
She did.
And that was the scariest part.
Jalen Gives the Worst Advice Imaginable
Jalen burst onto the balcony at a dead sprint.
"Lira!" he gasped. "Don't do it!"
She blinked. "What?"
"Don't follow Caelum!" he wheezed. "You'll die! Or go insane! Or both! Or worse!"
"What's worse than dying?" Lira asked weakly.
"Being alive but involved in whatever Caelum is involved in," he said immediately.
Marenne facepalmed.
"Jalen," she groaned, "stop being a wet blanket."
"I'm not a wet blanket," he said indignantly. "I'm a survival blanket."
"Wrong," Marenne said. "You're a panic blanket."
He pointed at Lira.
"Lira, listen to me. I've seen the way Caelum looks at problems. He doesn't fix them. He ends them. Entirely. Permanently. Usually violently."
Lira winced. "That's… not reassuring."
"I know!" Jalen cried. "So don't go with him! Stay normal! Stay in Support Division!"
Marenne glared.
"Do you WANT her to be murdered by nobles?" she asked.
Jalen paused.
"Oh," he said softly. "Right. That."
Lira groaned into her hands.
"This is not helping," she said.
"It's honesty," Jalen said.
"It's chaos," Marenne corrected.
"It's both," Lira whispered.
Jalen nodded vigorously.
"Lira, staying with Caelum is dangerous. But so is leaving him. And so is breathing in Ashthorne. And eating Ashthorne food. And touching Ashthorne walls. Do you see the pattern?"
Marenne patted his shoulder dryly.
"What he's trying to say," she said, "is that danger is not optional here. But choosing the right danger is."
Lira stared at her shoes.
"I just… I don't want to make the wrong one."
Marenne's voice softened.
"There isn't a right one," she said. "Only the one you can live with."
Caelum Waits
Caelum didn't pace.
He didn't fidget.
He didn't look anxious or impatient.
But he stayed in the same hallway for exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes.
Which, for Caelum, was the behavioral equivalent of pacing until the floor cracked.
Every student who passed him gave him a wide berth.
Two instructors walked by and pretended they didn't see him.
A Dominion agent nodded at him with the wary politeness one might give a sleeping tiger who might or might not be tired.
He ignored all of them.
He didn't need Thread-Sense to locate Lira.
He felt her.
A soft, constant hum.
Marenne was with her.
Jalen was with them.
Lira was distressed.
He did nothing.
She had to choose.
Not because he couldn't influence her—
but because influencing her would make the bond something he didn't want it to be.
Chains.
He didn't want that.
Anchors didn't function well as chains.
And Lira…
He exhaled.
She was trembling with indecision.
The bond pulsed faintly.
He waited.
The Walk Back
Lira came to him at dusk.
The sky was bruised purple, clouds streaking low across the towers. Sigil lamps lit one by one, casting pale blue and silver light over the courtyard.
Her footsteps were soft.
He sensed her long before she turned the corner.
She stopped three paces in front of him.
Her hands shook.
Her breath came unsteady.
The bond vibrated like a plucked string between them.
He didn't speak.
She did.
"…I made my decision."
His pulse didn't change.
His expression didn't shift.
But the world seemed to hold its breath.
He waited.
She swallowed.
And her voice came out small, breaking, but unshakably certain.
"I'm going with you."
The bond flared.
Not painfully.
Not violently.
Just—warm.
Alive.
Strong.
Certain.
Caelum's lashes lowered.
Then lifted.
He stepped closer.
One pace.
Just one.
Enough that she felt the temperature of his presence shift, enough that her breath stuttered.
"Lira," he said quietly.
She froze.
His voice was not cold.
Not calculating.
Not clinical.
It was something else.
A weight she didn't have a word for.
"You choose this," he said.
"Yes."
"You understand what it means."
"Yes."
"You understand what you're walking into."
"No," she whispered. "Not fully. But I know enough."
"And you still choose it."
"I choose you," she said.
The bond thrummed so loudly she felt it in her teeth.
He wasn't breathing.
She wasn't either.
He raised a hand—
slowly
deliberately
—and placed two fingers beneath her chin.
Not possessive.
Not claiming.
Just guiding her head up so she met his eyes.
"Then," he said softly, "I will not let you drown."
Her eyes burned.
"I mean it," she whispered. "I want this."
A beat.
Then his voice darkened.
Not cruel.
Not dangerous.
Just… true.
"Then I will show you everything," he said. "Even the parts you will learn to fear."
Her pulse hammered.
"I already fear them."
"Good," he murmured. "Fear keeps you alive."
She stared at him.
He stared back.
The bond stood between them—
not a chain
not a cage
but a bridge
and they both stepped onto it.
She exhaled shakily.
He lowered his hand.
"Then tomorrow," Caelum said, "we begin."
"…Begin what?" she asked.
He turned toward the darkening academy grounds.
"Your real education," he said.
And the sky flickered—
a ripple of threadlight flashing through the clouds
like the academy itself
was reacting to her choice.
Far below, the entity laughed again.
"…anchor chosen…
…bearer bound…
…the Stitching trembles…"
Lira shivered.
Caelum walked forward.
She followed.
There was no turning back now.