Chapter 7: The Sigil’s Mask

Lucien Drex wasn't trying to infiltrate the Pale Sigil.

He was just too lazy to stop them from thinking he already had.

---

The week began with a summons he ignored.

Then two more he didn't read.

By the fourth scroll, Renn taped it to Lucien's pillow.

Lucien sighed.

"That's not even my good pillow."

Renn blinked. "They'll expel you if you skip another summons."

Lucien adjusted his blanket. "Not if I'm already beneath their expectations."

"You—what?"

"I'm studying the art of non-presence. It's advanced."

"Lucien. They put a seal on your door."

"I know. It's cute. I named it Seymour."

Renn opened his mouth.

Lucien was already asleep.

---

He showed up three days later.

Uninvited.

To the wrong room.

During a lecture on historical magical ethics.

The room fell silent as he stepped in, dropped a crumpled parchment on Professor Kaelen's desk, and yawned.

"Wrong class?" he asked.

Kaelen stared. "This is not the Disciplinary Council."

Lucien looked around.

"Oh. That explains why no one's bleeding."

He left without another word.

But the parchment remained.

Kaelen unfolded it. A single symbol.

The Pale Sigil's glyph. Drawn backwards. In ink that couldn't be copied.

---

That night, someone knocked on Lucien's window.

He didn't get up.

The knock came again.

Lucien tossed a book. Missed.

The window opened by itself. Cold wind swirled in.

A masked figure floated outside — plain silver robe, face hidden.

Lucien groaned. "Do you people ever use doors?"

"You missed three summons."

"I missed breakfast too. Didn't cry about it."

"You're to come with me."

"Hmm. Nah."

Silence.

The masked figure leaned forward. "Refusal means removal."

Lucien finally sat up.

"You mean to say if I don't go with you, I get kicked out of your secret cult?"

"…yes."

Lucien stood slowly. "That was easier than I expected."

He walked toward the window. Paused.

"You're really committed to the whole 'ominous stranger' thing, huh?"

"Do you have questions?"

"Just one." He pointed at the mask. "Do you wear that to bed?"

The figure didn't answer.

Lucien followed anyway.

---

They didn't teleport.

They folded.

Reality crinkled like paper, edges curling until the stars themselves blurred. Lucien found himself standing in an impossibly vast underground chamber — a library, a temple, a war room all at once.

Figures in varying robes stood in shadowed alcoves, each holding a quill dipped in darkness. Glyphs glowed on every surface.

A single voice echoed:

"You've been watched."

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Kinky."

"You've proven dangerous."

He yawned. "I'm also a terrible student. You gonna list all my crimes?"

"You've triggered five warded glyphs. Rewritten one. Your dream-sigil infected a Prefect."

"Technically, he walked into it."

"You are not an initiate."

Lucien looked around. "No, but I'm starting to feel like your mascot."

The air shimmered. A new figure emerged — more ornate mask, lined in gold. Voice smooth like ink.

"You toy with fire, Mr. Drex."

Lucien folded his arms. "I thought I was toying with paper."

The figure raised a sigil etched in midair.

"Join us. Formally. Take your mark."

Lucien walked forward, inspected the glyph, sniffed.

"…Cinnamon?"

No one answered.

"I'm allergic to conformity," Lucien said. "Might break out in competence."

"You insult us."

Lucien tilted his head. "No, I just don't take you seriously yet."

Gasps. Whispers. One of the robed figures raised a spell.

Lucien lifted a lazy hand.

The air warped. The glyph turned inside out. The caster flinched.

Lucien stepped into the circle, looked directly at the gold-masked figure.

"Let's make a deal."

The figure didn't move.

"I'll play your game. Drop some names. Read your fancy forbidden books. Maybe even smile."

"What do you want in return?"

Lucien leaned closer.

"Access. Nothing more."

A pause.

"Denied."

Lucien shrugged. "Then I'll just keep taking it."

He stepped back. The sigils on the wall dimmed. The air folded again.

Lucien vanished.

---

Back in his dorm, Renn was mid-panic.

"WHERE WERE YOU?!"

Lucien flopped into bed. "Book club."

"Book club doesn't exist!"

Lucien pointed at his head. "Only if you lack imagination."

---

Elsewhere, Seraphina decoded a fragment of Lucien's discarded trap sigil.

It translated as: "Mask the mask."

She didn't understand it.

Not yet.

But something inside her twisted. A gut feeling that Lucien wasn't being recruited.

He was recruiting back.

---

Far below the academy, a final masked figure whispered:

"He refused the mark. But took the room."

Another voice answered: "Then he doesn't want power."

The masked one shook his head.

"No. He wants leverage."