The Academy returned to routine.
At least on the surface.
Classes resumed. Bells rang. Students laughed again in corridors. Training grounds echoed with clashing mana and shouted commands.
But Aerion could feel the difference.
The world no longer pressed against him.
It… hesitated.
He walked through the western garden slowly, hands in his pockets, letting the morning light warm his face. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
"Still walking like you're expecting the sky to fall," Nyxa said, appearing beside him without warning.
Aerion didn't flinch this time. "Old habit."
She glanced at him sideways. "Infinity hasn't blinked again?"
"No," Aerion replied. "It's behaving."
Nyxa grimaced. "That's worse."
They walked in silence for a while.
For once, Nyxa didn't crack a joke.
"That thing you did," she said eventually. "When the Apostle cut you off."
Aerion waited.
"You didn't replace infinity with something else," she continued. "You just… stood there."
Aerion nodded slowly. "I didn't feel strong."
Nyxa stopped walking.
"That's what scares me."
Inside the main lecture hall, Seris watched from the back as Aerion took his seat among the first-years.
No special treatment.
No isolation.
Just another student.
"Status?" Seris asked quietly.
Elowen stood beside him, eyes unfocused. "…Causality stable. Subject influence minimal."
Seris exhaled. "Good."
Elowen hesitated. "…But probability divergence remains elevated."
Seris smiled faintly. "It always will."
The lecture was on Foundational Mana Ethics.
Normally boring.
Today, Aerion listened carefully.
"Power," the instructor droned, "exists to serve structure. Without structure, power destroys itself."
Aerion's pen paused.
Or refuses to obey.
He glanced around the hall.
Most students scribbled notes mindlessly.
Lyria, seated two rows ahead, listened intently.
She always did.
I won't drag you into this, Aerion thought. No matter what.
When the lecture ended, Lyria waited for him outside.
"You look better," she said. "Less… distant."
Aerion smiled. "Guess I caught up on sleep."
She didn't buy it—but she let it go.
"Walk with me?" she asked.
They strolled through the courtyard slowly.
"I'm thinking of joining the external research division," Lyria said casually. "Less combat. More theory."
Aerion's heart tightened.
"That's dangerous too," he said before thinking.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk."
He sighed. "Just… be careful."
She softened. "You too."
For a moment, everything felt normal.
And that terrified him more than any Apostle.
That night, Aerion sat alone in his room.
The infinity mark rested quietly.
No whispers.
No pressure.
He focused inward.
Not searching for power.
Just listening.
Something responded.
Not a voice.
A presence.
You're quieter, the silver-haired woman said, appearing near the window.
Aerion didn't jump anymore.
"I'm trying to be," he replied.
She studied him. "Infinity is still watching."
"I know."
"You've become interesting to it," she said. "Not as a weapon. As a question."
Aerion leaned back against the desk. "I never wanted that."
She smiled faintly. "Neither did I."
He looked at her. "You said you were my anchor."
She nodded. "I was the reason you didn't disappear completely."
"And now?"
She hesitated.
"Now… I'm the reason you still hesitate."
Aerion frowned. "That sounds bad."
She shook her head. "It's human."
Silence stretched between them.
"Do you regret it?" Aerion asked quietly. "Saving me?"
She met his eyes.
"Never."
Days passed.
No attacks.
No tests.
No signs.
The Continuum Watch pulled back—visibly.
Nyxa stopped hovering as much.
Seris reduced surveillance.
Even Elowen observed from farther away.
"It's like they're giving you space," Nyxa muttered one afternoon.
"They're waiting," Aerion replied.
"For what?" she asked.
Aerion didn't answer immediately.
"For me to make a mistake."
Deep beneath the Academy, Myrienne stood before the sealed chamber again.
The mural had cracked further.
The figure at its center—half erased, half defined.
"So you chose humanity," she whispered.
The seals trembled faintly.
Somewhere far beyond—
Infinity adjusted nothing.
It simply watched.
That evening, Aerion visited the old garden again.
Alone.
He sat on the stone bench, breathing slowly.
For the first time since his rebirth, his thoughts weren't racing.
He wasn't calculating survival.
He wasn't preparing for war.
He was just… existing.
The air shifted.
Not violently.
Subtly.
Aerion's eyes opened.
Someone stood at the edge of the garden.
A student.
First-year uniform.
Unfamiliar.
Too still.
They met Aerion's gaze—and smiled.
Not friendly.
Not hostile.
Knowing.
Aerion stood slowly.
The student bowed slightly.
"Sorry," they said politely. "Am I interrupting?"
Aerion's instincts screamed—not danger, but wrongness.
"Who are you?" Aerion asked calmly.
The student tilted their head. "Just someone curious."
They stepped closer.
"With how long a contradiction can remain quiet."
Aerion's heart slowed.
"Infinity?" he asked.
The student laughed softly.
"No."
That was worse.
"I'm what comes after observation," the student continued. "When patience runs out."
Aerion clenched his fists.
"Tell Seris," the student said, backing away, "that the experiment phase won't last forever."
They turned.
Paused.
"And Aerion?"
"Yes."
The student glanced back, eyes briefly reflecting something vast.
"Don't mistake silence for mercy."
Then they were gone.
No trace.
No disturbance.
Just absence.
Aerion stood there long after.
The garden rustled softly.
Life continued.
But somewhere, a new variable had entered the board.
Not an Apostle.
Not infinity.
Something quieter.
More dangerous.
Something that didn't want to erase Aerion—
But to see what he'd become.
Aerion exhaled slowly.
"So," he whispered to the night,
"that's how it starts."
The infinity mark pulsed once.
Not in warning.
In acknowledgement.