The Academy did not sleep.
Even past midnight, mana currents flowed through its halls with disciplined precision, like a living organism refusing to rest. I stood alone in my dorm room, the glow of ward lines casting long shadows across the walls.
The pull from below hadn't faded.
If anything, it had grown more deliberate.
[Archive resonance: Stable but escalating.]
"They're losing control," I murmured.
Not today. Not tomorrow.
But soon.
I closed my eyes and focused inward, past the noise of the Academy, past the observation wards, down to the fractured rune bound to my core.
The Authority Fragment answered.
Warm. Heavy. Awake.
[Condition met.]
[Authority Fragment synchronization complete.]
[Spell Memory System ready for upgrade.]
I stiffened.
"Upgrade?" I whispered.
The system had been quiet about progression—too quiet.
[Trigger: Repeated exposure to forgotten magic without activation.]
[Risk accepted by Host.]
That explained the headaches.
The stabilizations.
The restraint.
All of it had been feeding the system in a different way.
I sat cross-legged on the floor, steadying my breathing.
"Proceed," I said softly.
The world dimmed.
Not vanished—narrowed.
My awareness collapsed inward, and I found myself standing in a familiar void.
The Spell Archive.
It looked different now.
Where once there had been endless darkness and distant runes, shelves had begun to form—vast, curved structures made of light and shadow. Most were empty, their titles burned away.
One shelf, however, was no longer blank.
A single inscription glowed faintly.
Ember of Oblivion — Restricted Access
And beneath it—
A new entry.
Unnamed Spell — Fragmentary Record
My pulse quickened.
"What are you?" I asked.
The system answered by unfolding a translucent panel.
Spell Memory System — Update Complete
Authority Level: 1.5
Active Spell Slots: 2
Unlocked Functions:
Spell Preview (Enhanced)
Memory Anchor (Intermediate)
Archive Echo Reading
Passive Erasure Detection
Restriction Update:
Automatic suppression of lethal erasure within populated zones
I exhaled slowly.
"This thing is evolving on its own."
[Correction.]
[System evolves in response to Guardian behavior.]
So my restraint mattered.
The unnamed spell pulsed softly.
I approached it carefully.
[Spell Preview available.]
"Show me," I said.
The void shifted.
I saw a memory—not of destruction, but of separation.
A battlefield frozen in time. Two forces locked mid-strike. A Guardian standing between them, hands raised.
Reality split—not erased.
The two sides were moved apart, folded into separate layers of existence.
Spell Function: Partition
Classification: Forgotten Utility Spell
Risk: Moderate
Cost: Memory strain proportional to scale
I staggered back.
"This is… safer."
Not harmless—but not final.
A spell designed to prevent catastrophe without erasing anything.
A spell the world had chosen to forget.
[Spell Name unresolved.]
[Authority required for full restoration.]
I let out a shaky breath.
"For the first time," I murmured, "I have an option."
Not destroy.
Not seal forever.
But separate.
The void receded, and I found myself back in my dorm room, the wards humming quietly.
[Spell Memory Upgrade successful.]
I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the steady pulse of the fragment.
"Thank you," I whispered—to the system, or to myself.
Outside, far below the Academy, something shifted.
The Archive Below responded—not with aggression, but with recognition.
The Guardian was growing.
Not stronger in raw power—
But in choice.
And for the first time since my rebirth, I felt something dangerously close to hope.