Chapter 4: Page Sigil

The morning fog curled like parchment flames across Arcanum Academy's eastern grounds. Students walked with haste, clutching books and steaming mugs, too distracted by fresh rumors to notice the chill—or the shadows that clung too long to certain corners.

Lucien Drex walked slowly.

Not out of arrogance. Not for attention.

Simply because he could.

Let the whispers grow. Let the accusations bloom. Let the fearful minds of classmates invent monsters in his silhouette.

Fear was efficient.

And fear did the work of a thousand spells.

---

Seraphina watched from the balcony of the upper dueling tier. Her notes fluttered in her hand, untouched. Below, Lucien moved with deliberate disinterest. Calm. Focused. Unreadable.

She didn't understand him.

And it was driving her mad.

"I heard the Disciplinary Council cleared him," said a voice beside her. A girl from House Ventus. "They said the duel was Marcus's fault."

Seraphina nodded without looking. "Of course it was."

But her thoughts were elsewhere.

Why is he walking that way? Why now? Why alone?

Her fingers tapped the guardrail as Lucien entered the shadowed corridor near the abandoned south study halls.

She stood up.

Time to follow.

---

Lucien didn't look behind him as he passed the long-sealed Arithmancy rooms. His footsteps were soundless—enchanted boots, lightstep enchantment active. But the glyphs at his side whispered softly.

Two faint glows. Surveillance spells. Both minor. Both old.

He let them see him.

He wanted them to.

At the final arch, a parchment lay folded atop an iron stand. Yellowed, curling. A strange choice for such a hidden place.

Lucien reached for it—

—and the air folded.

Not collapsed. Not shattered.

Folded.

He blinked once.

The corridor melted away like burning wax.

He stood now in a different space—quiet, floating, dreamlike. Dark parchment stretched across the ceiling like a library eaten by starlight. Symbols drifted in midair, and in front of him stood a figure in a deep plum cloak, face concealed by a white mask painted with a single black sigil: a circle, broken in two.

"Lucien Drex," the masked voice said, calm and cold. "We see you."

Lucien didn't flinch. "Then you're smarter than most."

"You've walked past our glyphs without triggering them."

"They were never mine to trigger."

"You turned a duel into a political weapon."

Lucien tilted his head. "Only because it was already a sword. I just pointed it."

The masked figure held out a parchment.

Lucien didn't take it. Not yet.

"Invitation?" he asked.

"No," said the figure. "Acknowledgment."

Lucien's eyes flicked over the parchment. It wasn't enchanted. It wasn't even sealed.

Just a list. Names. Symbols. Ranks.

Many crossed out.

And at the bottom, written in black sigil ink:

— Page: Drex, Lucien. Status: Unlisted. Suggested Title: Inkshade.

Lucien let the silence stretch.

"Why now?"

"Because we believe you're one of us."

Lucien almost smiled.

"I'm not."

"You could be."

"I don't follow sigils."

The mask tilted. "You wear one. Every day. You just draw it differently."

Lucien looked down at the parchment again. Let its presence linger.

Then he stepped forward, took it, folded it, and pocketed it.

"I'll think about it," he said.

The world folded again—

—and he was standing in the corridor. Alone.

No sigils. No masked figure.

Just a whisper of magic still lingering on the air.

And Seraphina, frozen at the far end of the hallway.

---

She had followed him. She had seen him vanish. Then reappear.

She didn't speak.

Lucien walked toward her slowly.

She opened her mouth.

"Don't," he said.

"Where did you go?" she demanded.

"Somewhere you don't belong."

"Is that a threat?"

Lucien walked past her. "A fact."

She turned to watch him go. "They gave you something."

Lucien paused.

"Was it worth it?" she asked.

He didn't answer. But as he vanished into the shifting shadows, his voice drifted back:

"Depends who watches me next."

---

Later that night, Lucien unrolled the parchment again. This time, under a dome of silence.

He traced the list of names.

Three were circled. One was underlined. And one was blank.

His.

They thought they were watching him.

But every invitation was just another sigil to flip.

And Lucien Drex never signed contracts he hadn't already rewritten.

Behind him, a book flipped open by itself. The page turned to one that wasn't there before.

"Inkshade Protocol: Preliminary Access Granted."

Lucien smiled.

The game was widening.

And he wasn't even out of bed yet.