The moment Zephryn crossed the threshold, the air changed.

Not colder. Not warmer.

Just… thicker. Like the room itself carried breath.

The entry hall of the Harmonic Lyceum rose like a cathedral—columns laced with glyphlight, curved ceilings carved from resonance-smooth stone, and stained-glass windows that shimmered with changing tones as students walked beneath them.

He looked up.

One of the windows flickered faint blue.

The shape wasn’t clear—but it felt familiar. Like a cliff, or a fall, or a hum that never left.

Selka stood just behind him. Still. Silent.

But her eyes moved the entire time.

Kaelen brushed past, cloak loose around his shoulders.

“We sit high left. Nima saved us spots.”

Yolti gave a low whistle. “How does she always beat us here?”

Zephryn followed the others up the spiral stairs into the main chamber.

The classroom wasn’t a classroom.

It was an arena of focus—circular, steeped in layers like a pulse-stage. Rows upon rows of crystal-bonded seating wrapped around a central floor of pale stone.

Floating glyphs drifted overhead—slow, orbiting like thought itself.

The walls were lined with glowing scripts that bent away from view when stared at too long.

No desks. No boards. No instructor in sight.

And yet—learning was already happening.

Zephryn felt it in his spine. The way the glyphs shifted slightly when he moved. The hum in the seat when he sat down beside Selka. The pressure in the air that made his heartbeat slow… and then sync.

Kaelen leaned in.

“First lectures always start without warning. The Lyceum scans for stillness.”

Yolti raised a brow. “So it knows when you shut up long enough to be taught?”

Kaelen smirked. “Exactly.”

Zephryn looked across the room.

Nima waved from two rows up.

She smiled wide, eyes bright, fingers twirling a tiny leaf-shaped pulse wisp she’d woven in her palm.

He almost smiled back.

Almost.

Then he felt it.

A tremor. Not physical—intentional.

Someone in the room had pulsed toward him.

Not by accident. Not curiosity.

Recognition.

His hand brushed the pendant around his neck. It didn’t react.

But his gut did.

Selka’s eyes flicked sideways.

“I felt it too,” she said, softly.

Yolti frowned, suddenly alert. “What?”

Kaelen sat up straighter.

Across the room, far upper balcony—three students in charcoal black uniforms sat in a line.

One wore a half-mask.

And though they didn’t speak—they never broke eye contact.