Sanctum's first bell didn't ring—it resonated.
A low, deep pulse that echoed across the sky-dome of the floating academy isle, reverberating through the bones of every student and leaving behind a taste of sigil-dust on the tongue.
Ari Solen sat up from his cot in the ground-tier dormitory, eyes blinking open before the sound even faded. His system prompt glitched for a heartbeat.
System Sync: 97%
Thread Signature: Unreadable
Status: Echo Mode / Passive
He flexed his fingers, half-expecting power to ripple through them.
Nothing. Still blocked.
Still… caged.
The lecture hall was larger than most villages back home. Floating script-disks hovered above each desk, cycling through lessons in real time. The instructor—Magister Caldrim, a Thread-Tier IV with a Luxthread aura—spoke in precise rhythm, as though reciting from a living spell.
"Your Thread is your identity," Caldrim intoned. "A tether to your origin—physical, metaphysical, ancestral. It dictates your limits."
Ari listened. Quiet. Focused.
But at every mention of limits, his jaw clenched tighter.
He sat in the far back, near the other low-borns and merchant-favored students. Whispers trailed him like shadow threads.
"That's him. The one with no Thread…"
"How'd he even get in? They say Aetherrose sponsored him herself."
"Just wait—someone's going to crack him open and see what he really is."
Cerys didn't sit with Ari.
She couldn't—not openly. The politics of her House wouldn't allow it. But she watched from the front row, flanked by the other elite heirs.
And when the light hit her violet eyes, Ari caught something underneath:
Worry.
No, not worry—expectation.
By the fourth period, Ari's desk had been hex-looped three times.
Once with a Glyphburn trap. Once with a Rot-Weave tag. And finally, a folded note slid across the surface from a smirking noble in black and gold.
"First Duel. Dusklight Arena. Come or crawl."
Signed: Coren Vastelune.
House Vastelune. Luxthread elite.
Known for using radiant magic to overload and expose enemy Threads.
Ari crumpled the note. "...So this is how you say hello here."
The arena shimmered like a bowl of mirrors under the lowering sun. Floating platforms rotated around a central glyphcore that pulsed with containment magic.
Coren stood waiting, his armor-robe glowing with layered shields. Behind him, noble students gathered like hawks—ready for blood.
Ari stepped into the ring with no robe. No wand. Just his patched boots and unreadable gaze.
"I won't kill you," Coren said, activating his staff. "But I'll erase the mistake of letting you in."
The duel runes locked into place.
System Alert: Combat Engagement Detected
Do you wish to activate [ECHO MEMORY]?
> Y / N
Ari whispered. "…Yes."
Coren launched a radiant burst. Ari moved—not with power, but timing. He shifted, ducked, and brushed past each attack with a dancer's grace.
Not skill. Not training.
Then it happened.
Ari raised his hand, mimicking a spell he'd seen in class—one the system told him he couldn't cast.
Signum: [AERIS.PULSE.FOUR]
Thread Affinity: Air / Denied
Override using: Echo Memory?
> Accessing spectrogram…
A glowing glyph formed over his palm.
"Threadless cannot cast."
"Then call me something else."
He released the spell.
A compressed gust exploded outward—not as refined as a noble's, but raw and volatile, sending Coren flying into a kinetic barrier.
Gasps erupted from the stands.
"He… he doesn't have a Thread—how did he cast?!"
System Trait [ECHO MIMIC] Unlocked.
You may now replicate non-origin spells with reduced efficiency.
Cerys was the first to reach him.
"Are you insane?"
"I didn't lose," Ari said calmly.
"You weren't supposed to survive, let alone win."
He shrugged. "I'm getting tired of what I'm 'supposed' to be."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then:
"You've started a war. That boy's House will retaliate. You're on a board now, Ari."
"And every piece is already in motion."