It was subtle at first.
The way the halls paused when I passed.
The way a parchment would crinkle when I touched it, even before I turned the page.
The way students turned away too fast. Not out of fear.
Out of warning.
By the third day after the Mirror Path, I could feel it.
Eyes that didn't blink. Rooms that remembered me.
Someone—or something—was watching.
⸻
I didn't go back to the Mirror Path.
Not because I was afraid.
But because the vision hadn't left me.
Every time I looked in a mirror now—even the ones spelled to dull reflection—I saw him. The version of me who burned under a black sun. Who stood over nine corpses and whispered, "I chose."
And I believed him.
I believed me.
Which was worse.
⸻
Caidros showed up the morning after Ysara's visit.
He didn't knock. Just barged in like he owned the place, eyes sharp, jaw set. He didn't wear armor that day—just dark linen and a single rune around his neck, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
"Why weren't you at sparring?" he asked, shutting the door behind him.
"I wasn't feeling like being stabbed today," I replied, deadpan.
He didn't smile.
He crossed the room, stopped at the edge of the frostmark rug, and stared at me for a beat too long.
"You smell different," he muttered.
"Thanks," I said. "That's exactly the tone of conversation I was hoping for."
But he didn't budge.
"You went somewhere. Deep. Where?"
"Do you always interrogate people before breakfast, or am I special?"
"Ael."
The way he said my name—it wasn't commanding. It wasn't even cold. It was protective.
And I hated that it made me want to answer.
"I followed the tower," I said at last. "It led me to the Mirror Path."
Caidros' expression didn't change. But the rune on his neck pulsed once. Harder.
"Gods," he whispered. "You really don't care about rules."
"No," I said. "I care about truths."
He exhaled slowly. Walked to the window and stared out, arms folded. The wind outside bit at the glass.
"They're going to test you now," he said after a pause. "Not openly. Subtly. They'll start with misdirection. Misinformation. Minor spells placed in the wrong textbooks. Enchanted ink in your food. They'll try to see if you're obedient enough to suffer quietly."
"I'm not."
"I know," he said, without turning. "And that's the problem."
⸻
Later that day, I found a new parchment on my desk.
Unmarked. No seal. No spell signature.
Just one sentence:
Come alone. Midnight. The Courtyard of Eyes.
The parchment dissolved after I read it.
⸻
The Courtyard of Eyes isn't on any of the maps.
It's a whisper. A rumor. The kind of place students dare each other to find, but never actually do.
It lies behind the western sculpture gardens, past a wall with no gate. You have to turn around, take twelve steps backward, then close your eyes.
If the tower likes you, it opens.
If it doesn't, it swallows you.
It opened for me.
⸻
The courtyard was circular, surrounded by statues. Each one shaped like a figure with its face missing.
Not cracked. Not broken.
Just… removed.
In the center, a pool of water reflected the sky, even though no stars shone above.
I stepped closer.
A figure emerged from behind one of the statues.
Female. Clad in layered black. Her voice was distorted, like it was trying not to echo.
"I expected someone taller."
"You'll be disappointed often, then," I said.
She stepped closer. A mask covered her face—white porcelain, no features except for a vertical line down the center.
"I speak for the Silent Quorum," she said. "We watch those who are watched."
I said nothing.
She gestured to the pool. "Look."
I did.
And I saw myself.
Sleeping. In my bed. In my tower.
But in the corner of the room, in the shadows—something moved.
A form, crouched. Watching.
"You're being surveilled," the masked woman said. "Not by the academy. By something older."
I didn't ask why she was showing me.
She answered anyway.
"Because if they find you first… we'll all burn."
⸻
She left before I could ask more.
I tried to follow, but the courtyard collapsed into mist behind her.
⸻
When I returned to my room, I searched every corner. Every ward. Every inch of stone and shadow.
I found nothing.
But I felt it.
A breath where there shouldn't be one. A pause in the air just behind me. The echo of a step that didn't match mine.
The Fallen in me stirred.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
Something familiar was watching me.
⸻
The next day, I went to Seravin.
He was teaching a private lecture on soul-bindings. Only six students were allowed in. I sat in the back.
Halfway through, he stopped mid-sentence.
"Ael," he said. "Stay behind."
The others filed out. Some glanced back. Most didn't.
He waited until we were alone. Then he turned, eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood.
"You found the Mirror Path," he said.
I didn't deny it.
"You saw yourself."
"I saw a lot of myself," I replied. "Not all of them sane."
He didn't smile. He rarely did.
"That path is older than this academy. Older than this kingdom. It shows potential, yes—but it also summons it. You've invited attention."
"I noticed."
He walked toward the blackboard, tapped it once. Symbols flared into view—diagrams of wings, of swords, of flame.
"Do you know why we study monsters here?" he asked.
"Because we're afraid of becoming them?"
"No," he said. "Because we already are."
He turned to me.
"You are not here to learn. You're here to wake up. And something, someone, is trying to wake you faster than you're ready."
I looked him in the eye.
"Then teach me how to be ready."
That was the first time I saw him hesitate.
Just for a breath.
Then he nodded.
"Come to the Hollow Room. Midnight. No questions."
⸻
I didn't sleep that night.
Not because I couldn't.
But because the thing in the corner of my room never left.
It didn't move. Didn't breathe.
It only watched.
And for the first time since arriving at Obsidian Academy…
I watched back.