Chapter 17- Three Days Of Ghost Silence

Velrenmar Academy — Next Morning After the judgement

The world had kept moving.

But one name had gone… silent.

Three days.

Seren hadn't spoken a word to anyone.

And that alone was enough to make Lio concerned.

The boy wasn't exactly social, but he wasn't absent. Not like this. No contact, no sightings,

Something felt wrong.

Lio made his way through the older side of campus — where vines coiled over abandoned lecture halls and the air always smelled like forgotten parchment and stone dust.

He'd been here before. Not often.

Only once, when he followed Seren back after midnight. That was when he first learned his friend stayed in the East Tower Annex — a dorm so outdated, even the ghosts had probably moved out for better housing.

He turned the corner — just as another familiar voice called out.

"Well well, if it isn't Velrenmar's glorious number one."

Lio blinked as Milo Rhask hopped down from the stone ledge near the path, landing with a lazy grin and a half-eaten peach.

"Didn't think you'd wander this far east unless someone was dying or offering free coffee."

Lio exhaled

Milo's tone was still playful. But there was a flicker in his eyes — something not quite matching the smirk.

"Three days."

"No serenade from Seren. No edgy rooftop monologues. Not even a cryptic glance across the courtyard."

He leaned closer.

"Do you think he's dead?"

Lio narrowed his eyes. "Don't joke."

Milo held up both hands in surrender, juice from the peach trailing down one thumb.

"Kidding. Mostly."

"But seriously — he didn't even show up when the arena broadcasted the tribunal. I figured he'd want to see the factions flailing like wet birds."

Lio said nothing.

Milo's grin finally dimmed.

"You're really worried, huh."

"…I just want to check."

They walked together now. The path narrowed — old steps cracked by moss, stone pillars leaning inward like crumbling sentinels. The East Tower Annex loomed in the distance, cloaked in ivy and silence.

Milo glanced up.

"Place looks cursed. You sure he's not a ghost?"

"He'd be the least dramatic ghost I've ever met."

Milo grinned. "Exactly. Ghost that just reads in the corner and judges you without saying a word."

The smile didn't last long. Because as they reached the old archway of the annex, both of them paused.

The door was ajar.

And faint scorch marks — barely visible — curled across the frame.

Lio's eyes narrowed.

Milo whispered, voice lower now.

"…Okay, maybe I was half-right."

The door creaked as Lio knocked once.

Twice.

Then again — louder.

Nothing.

Milo gave him a look.

"Well, either he's dead, sleeping, or plotting something that involves blood rituals."

Lio sighed. "I'm going in."

"We are going in," Milo corrected, slipping past the threshold like he owned the place.

The dorm was dim.

Dust danced in the air like a held breath. The curtains were drawn, the lamps half-lit, and scrolls were scattered across the old stone desk. Everything smelled like old parchment, dried herbs… and burnt fabric.

They stepped further.

Then froze.

A figure stood near the far wall — motionless.

Wrapped in bandages from neck to waist, shadows swallowing half his face. His hair was tangled. His right arm hung awkwardly. And his eye — the one that wasn't hidden behind the cracked lens — gleamed faintly in the gloom.

He wasn't blinking.

He wasn't moving.

He looked dead.

Milo made a noise that was halfway between a scream and a squeak.

"GHOST! I KNEW IT—"

Seren blinked.

Then spoke.

"You entered without permission."

Lio flinched.

Milo stumbled backward into a chair.

"Okay. Okay. See, that's even worse than a ghost. You're awake and still look like you died three times."

Seren didn't reply.

He turned slowly, one hand pressing to his ribs — still stiff, still healing — and shuffled toward the desk like some forgotten spirit cursed to alphabetize scrolls for eternity.

Lio stepped forward, jaw tight.

"You haven't answered for three days, Seren."

Seren didn't look at him.

"I was recovering."

Milo blinked.

"Recovering? From what — a dragon duel and a building collapse?"

Seren said nothing.

He sat down slowly, carefully, wincing beneath the bandages.

Lio finally sighed, shoulders lowering.

"You look like you fell down a stairwell, fought the stairwell, lost, then set the stairwell on fire just for spite."

"He might've," Milo muttered. "Knowing him."

Seren leaned back in the chair, finally glancing at them — and despite the bruises, the cuts, the half-glowing eye… he looked calm.

Lio stepped closer.

"You okay?"

"…I'm alive."

"That's not what I asked."

Seren closed his eye.

Didn't answer.

Milo finally plopped down on the bed across from him.

"Well, good news: everyone thinks the coma kid is to blame for the ruin incident. You're off the hook."

"Also bad news: apparently the factions think 'coma blame' is an actual legal strategy."

The room was too still.

The kind of stillness that made every breath feel too loud.

Seren's voice came again — brittle, dry, barely above a whisper.

"They're blaming Rhael Moren?"

Milo, still sitting, blinked.

"Uh… yeah. Full sweep. Coma boy's now public enemy number one. It's honestly kind of brilliant."

He paused.

Something shifted behind his usual grin.

"Wait—"

"Wait."

He looked up sharply.

"Why are you asking that?"

Lio turned too, slowly, brows furrowing.

Seren didn't look at either of them. His eyes were locked on the old glass of water on his desk.

Still. Unmoved.

"You already know why."

His voice cracked on the edge of the words. Not from emotion.

From damage.

From breath that hadn't fully returned. From lungs that still hurt to expand.

Milo went still.

The air changed around him. Jokes drained from his face like ink from a torn page.

"No…"

He stood up slowly.

"You were in the ruin."

Seren didn't nod. Didn't confirm.

He didn't need to.

The bruises spoke louder than words. The fresh stitching across his collarbone. The broken arm, still bound and braced. The purple blooming beneath his skin.

"You fought him?" Milo's voice was quiet now, almost uncertain.

Still — Seren said nothing.

Just the faintest nod. Barely a motion.

Lio stepped forward again. He wasn't panicking, but he looked like something was finally clicking into place.

Seren exhaled slowly — a thin, dry rasp.

Then, at last, he looked at them both.

His eye — pale, silver, moonlit — flickered.

"Enough."

"He did enough."

Neither Lio nor Milo spoke.

The silence wasn't awkward.

It was understanding.

It was the kind of quiet reserved for people who didn't need details to know something had changed.

Milo broke it first — his voice softer than either had heard in months.

"You could've died."

Seren didn't reply.

Didn't deny it.

Because he had.

Almost.

Lio blinked.

He hadn't seen it before. Not clearly.

Not with all the bruises, the bandages, the haze of blood and magic that had cloaked Seren since the day he was dragged back from the forest.

But now — in the stillness of the room — with the lamplight soft and flickering across..

He saw it.

Seren turned slightly, just enough for the glow to catch.

And Lio froze.

"Wait—"

He leaned closer, squinting.

"Your eye…"

Seren tilted his head, not understanding.

"What?"

Lio just stared.

"It's not brown."

Milo, mid-sip of a stale energy tonic he found on the shelf, paused.

"Wait, really? What color is it—oh. Ohhh."

"You didn't knew about it?"

Seren blinked.

Then sighed softly.

"…Forgot the lens cracked. I should keep spares"

Lio didn't respond right away.

He wasn't even processing the words.

Just… looking.

That pale-silver hue — not dull, not grey. It shimmered faintly like moonlight over deep water. Like starlight caught in a mirror.

It wasn't just rare.

It was strange. Unnatural.

Beautiful, even.

"You've always had that?" Lio asked quietly.

Seren nodded once.

"Since birth. Covered it since I was nine." He didn't hesitate to lie.

"Why?"

A pause.

"Because people stare."

Milo nudged Lio, grinning again.

"You okay? You've been looking at his face like he's a painting."

Lio blinked and stepped back.

"I just— I didn't expect it. That's all."

"...It suits you."

Seren didn't reply.

But something shifted in his expression — not quite a smile, but not far.

The silver eye caught the light again.

His voice was rasped — half air, half steel.

"I heard you got first."

Lio blinked.

"What?"

"In the first trial." Seren's gaze lifted, faintly amused.

"You beat all other academies."

Lio looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It wasn't clean. I barely pulled ahead. They'll probably—"

"You did it."

The tone wasn't congratulatory.

It was simple.

Undeniable.

Lio paused, letting that settle.

Milo perked up.

"Hey—wait, hold on. What about me?"

Seren turned slowly.

One eyebrow rose.

"How the fuck did you get tenth?"

Milo raised both hands in mock surrender.

"Hey, hey, let's not act like miracles don't happen! Sometimes talent wears a dumb hat and trips into success."

Lio coughed.

"You accidentally disarmed your mirror clone with your sleeve."

"That was strategy."

"You panicked."

"Which is still strategy!"

Seren gave the faintest smile.

"Whatever it was… people liked it."

Milo grinned.

"Obviously. I'm delightful."

Then—

Seren shifted his weight forward.

Bandages rustled.

Ribs protested.

His breath hitched, barely noticeable.

And then, quietly,

"I'm entering the second trial."

The room froze.

Milo's grin dropped.

Lio straightened.

"What."

Seren looked at both of them.

"Three days."

"That's when the second trial is."

"I'll be there."

Lio stepped forward instantly.

"You can't even walk straight!"

Milo raised a hand.

"You're literally held together by spite and gauze."

Seren didn't flinch.

"And?"

Lio stared.

Milo opened his mouth.

And then—

Lio sighed and sat down.

"Gods. You're serious."

Seren looked at him.

"I missed the first trial."

"I'm not missing another."

Silence again.

And this time, Milo didn't laugh.

Velrenmar Academy — Headmaster Office, Dusk 

The room was quiet, save for the faint scratching of quills in the distance and the wind tapping gently against stained-glass windows.

Asteran Vaile stood by the high balcony, the city's silhouette spread out beneath a bleeding sky. Behind him, the Headmaster of Velrenmar paced slowly, arms folded, brow furrowed deeper than usual.

"He didn't press the damn button."

"I'm aware."

"He could've. I gave him that out. He was meant to observe, not fight a deranged monster in a ruin. And he knew that."

"Yes."

"He broke three ribs, dislocated a shoulder, tore half the muscles in his arm, and fractured two bones through the skin. That's not bravery, Asteran. That's recklessness wrapped in adrenaline."

Asteran didn't turn around.

"He survived."

"Barely." the Headmaster muttered. "And not because of planning. Because of fury. Impulse." He stopped pacing. "He's reckless."

Asteran said nothing.

Then, Headmaster sighed and finally moved to the window, standing beside the Chancellor.

"You saw what he looked like. Half-dead. Bones held together by sheer will and bad decisions.. And now he says he'll enter the second trial."

"In three days," Asteran murmured. "He'll barely be able to breathe."

"This isn't like the mirror trial," the Headmaster said grimly. "The second trial is… entirely different."

"I know."

The Chancellor finally turned. His eyes were heavy with thought.

"Do you think he can pass it?"

A long pause.

Then the Headmaster exhaled.

"No. Not as he is now."

Another pause.

"But that kid might surprise us."

Asteran turned, watching him more carefully now.

"You're hiding something."

The Headmaster didn't answer right away. He walked to the wide desk, fingers tapping the sealed crystal record that contained the ruin's sensor logs.

"I wasn't planning to explore the Moonfen site. Not yet."

"Why?"

"If Velrenmar had officially sanctioned that excavation… its existence would've gone public."

Asteran's eyes narrowed.

"And the world would've come knocking."

The Headmaster nodded grimly.

"You think the Seven Factions are relentless? Wait till a power-hungry state hears about a dormant artekarna site."

Asteran looked thoughtful now. Grave.

"Artekarna of that kind hasn't been seen in generations. Not since the Osheian Collapse."

"Exactly. Which is why I buried all records of that site beneath six layers of state encryption. It was meant to stay buried until we had the strength — or allies — to defend it."

"And now?"

"Now it's too late."

The Headmaster stared out across the training grounds. The wind carried the sound of sparring students — oblivious to the shifting undercurrents below their feet.

"Asteran… you do realize Velrenmar was never just a neutral state."

The Chancellor didn't turn.

"I know."

"We sit on one of the richest veins of natural etherium in the known world. The forests hide remnants from a forgotten age. Every time a new scholar digs deep enough, we find things that should've stayed buried."

A pause.

"And we have no armies. No noble alliances. No formal ties to the Seven factions."

Asteran's voice was quiet, but edged with steel.

"We have something more dangerous."

The Headmaster raised a brow.

"Curiosity?"

"Freedom," Asteran said. "And a tendency to make others nervous when we refuse to bow."

The Chancellor walked back to the window, arms behind his back.

"They saw too much."

The Headmaster glanced at him. "You think they'll come again?"

A long silence.

Then the Headmaster muttered,

"they won't fail next time."

"No," Asteran said quietly. "Next time, they won't bring a reckless recruit with delusions of grandeur."

He looked back at the crystal footage. It shimmered with the silent image of multiple people of Velranmar, some in academy and some in farms and some in street begging.

"They'll bring a war."