The Vaulted Class

Not all tests are taken in daylight.

Some are written in silence.

In blood.

And in memories too dangerous to remember.

---

Lyle didn't expect to be summoned alone.

A scroll bearing the academy seal appeared at his bedside before dawn, written in violet ink:

> "Report to Sub-Level 4, Arcanum Wing. Glyph-Crafting Extension Class. Instructor: S. Halden."

He recognized neither the name nor the course.

Which meant it wasn't on record.

---

Muka raised an eyebrow as he packed his satchel.

"Another secret lesson?"

"I guess so."

"Need backup?"

He hesitated, then shook his head. "Not yet."

She let it go—but not before tucking a glyph marker into his belt. "If it goes sideways, crush that. I'll come running."

Lyle gave a small nod and left.

---

Sub-Level 4 of the Arcanum Wing didn't feel like part of the academy.

The stone changed here—older, veined with deep blue aether cracks and symbols even the Codex hesitated to interpret.

The hallway narrowed to a single arch etched with a phrase in looping vampire script.

> Truth wears a mask until the soul sees clearly.

He stepped through.

---

The room beyond was vast, circular, and windowless.

Eight students stood in silence—some in uniform, others clearly not from Blackstone at all. At the center was a raised dais of etched obsidian.

And behind it…

A man in tattered robes, bald, with skin almost paper-thin. His eyes glowed not with light, but absence.

Void.

"Instructor Halden," he rasped. "Welcome, Mr. Greenbottle."

The door sealed behind Lyle.

Halden gestured to the center ring.

"You are here because your system is not singular."

Lyle didn't respond.

"You are here," the instructor continued, "because you're part of a failed design."

That made Lyle's chest tighten.

"What failed design?"

Halden raised a hand. The glyphs on the dais flared to life.

> [Codex Disruption Detected – Interface Lockout Engaged]

"You will not be able to rely on your systems here," he said. "Only your memory. Your instincts. And what your mind has buried to protect you."

Lyle stepped onto the ring.

The air grew thick.

Then—

Darkness.

---

He wasn't in the chamber anymore.

He stood in a place that looked like Blackstone—but wrong.

Warped.

Burned.

The halls were cracked and torn. Fires raged through corridors. Shadows darted behind pillars.

> "You saw this before," a voice said.

The Bone Claw.

> "You weren't meant to survive it. But you did. And your system erased it."

Memories came flooding in.

He had seen this.

When he was younger.

Before he'd ever touched the Codex.

Before the ring.

Before he knew what systems even were.

A day when the academy burned, long before it should have. When men in cloaks tore through students, searching for someone.

Searching for him.

He saw a younger version of himself—barely ten—cowering under a collapsed pillar.

A hooded figure approached him.

And placed something in his hand.

A black shard.

The same material now fused with the Bone Claw's core.

> "Who was that?" Lyle whispered.

> "A former king," the Bone Claw murmured. "One who gave you his fate."

The memory pulsed once more—

Then shattered.

---

Lyle collapsed back into the chamber, gasping for air.

Halden didn't move.

"You remember now," he said.

Lyle shook, sweat pouring from his temples. "Why?"

"Because your path is not about power," Halden said. "It's about burden. You carry the remnant of an older war. And it's waking again."

Then he stepped off the dais.

"You may leave."

---

That night, Lyle returned to his dorm, drained beyond exhaustion.

Muka was already there, pacing.

"You're late."

"Had a lesson."

She stepped closer, placed a hand to his cheek. "You're cold."

"It was... heavy."

He looked into her eyes.

And for once—no mask. No barrier. Just her.

"Stay," he whispered.

She didn't answer.

She just closed the door behind her.

---

Later that night, two souls tangled between dreams.

And in the morning…

The sheets were twisted.

The clothes were gone.

And when Lyle blinked awake, Muka was already sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at her hand like it wasn't hers.

"Tell me that was a dream," she said, voice dry.

He sat up, blanket slipping down his bare chest.

"I don't think it was."

They stared at each other.

And for once—

No one moved to apologize.