The integration chambers were located in the high-altitude spires of the Academy, where the air was thin and the ambient mana-flow was undisturbed by the noise of the lower districts. These rooms were circular, lined with sound-dampening velvet and silver-etched mirrors that reflected the mana-flow of the occupants back onto themselves.
Alaric sat in the center of the chamber, his legs crossed and his eyes closed. Around his wrist, the six obsidian needles of the Hexad performed their slow, hypnotic orbit. Each needle hummed at a slightly different pitch—a choir of silent, gravitational pull.
Observation: The synchronization is currently at eighty-two percent. The needles aren't just reacting to my telekinesis; they are anticipating the spatial displacement before I even initiate the thought.
As Alaric deepened his focus, trying to push the synchronization to the next decimal point, the nature of the hum changed. It was no longer just a sound in his head; it was a sensory layer added to his vision. He could see the mana-signatures of the walls, the steady pulse of the Academy's core, and, more intriguingly, the spectral echoes left behind by the people in the room.
He realized the Hexad was acting as a high-frequency receiver. Because the needles were anchored to the fundamental force of gravity, they were sensitive to the weight a soul left behind on the world.
He focused his intent on the far corner where his squad stood, waiting for their turn.
First, he tuned the Hexad to Leo. The boy's signature was like a deep, rhythmic thrum—sturdy, unmoving, and honest. There was no shadow there, only the simple, heavy weight of a boy trying to keep his footing.
Then, Alaric shifted the frequency toward Caspian.
The needles hissed. In Alaric's mind, Caspian's mana-signature was a jagged, volcanic mess, but beneath it lay something else. It was a shadow—a dark, recursive echo of a scream that hadn't happened yet. It felt like a recording of a world that had been pulverized.
Fascinating, Alaric thought, his brow furrowing. Caspian's mana possesses a temporal static. It's as if his soul is trying to exist in two places at once. One here, and one... elsewhere. A localized temporal displacement? No, that's logically impossible. And yet, the Hexad records it as a fact.
He turned the receiver toward Seraphina.
Her shadow was even more pronounced. It wasn't a scream; it was a prayer. A thousands-deep chant of a girl watching a cathedral burn. The weight of her soul was too heavy for her body, as if she were carrying the memories of an entire lifetime of grief.
Two subjects with identical mana-anomalies, Alaric noted, his internal processor working at maximum speed. Both exhibit signs of recursive trauma that pre-dates their biological experiences. The probability of this being a coincidence is less than zero point zero one percent.
Finally, Alaric turned his focus toward Elara.
He expected another shadow—perhaps one as clear as Caspian's or as sorrowful as Seraphina's. After all, she was the strongest of them; her soul should leave the deepest footprint.
But the Hexad didn't hiss. It didn't thrum.
Instead, the six needles began to vibrate so violently they blurred into a solid violet ring. In Alaric's mind, Elara's signature was a blinding, white-hot noise. It wasn't a single shadow; it was a million shadows overlapping, all speaking at once. It was a cacophony of truths—thousands of timelines, thousands of deaths, thousands of versions of Alaric and her, all stacked on top of each other until they became a singular, incomprehensible frequency.
It was too loud to hear. It was a static of absolute devotion.
A resonance failure, Alaric concluded, his mind recoiling from the sensory overload. Her mana-output is so high it's saturating the Hexad's receivers. She isn't an anomaly like the others; she is simply the sun, and the sun blinds those who look too closely.
He cut the connection, the obsidian needles dropping into a quiet orbit once more. He opened his eyes, breathing hard.
"Alaric?" Elara was at his side instantly. She didn't touch him, but she leaned in, her eyes searching his face with that familiar, steady calm. "You pushed the synchronization too far. Your pulse is up twenty percent."
"I was testing the Hexad's sensory range," Alaric said, his voice a bit raspy. He looked at Caspian and Seraphina, who were watching him with renewed suspicion. "It seems the Relic has a way of interpreting the mana-shadows of those around it. It's... a lot of data to process."
Caspian stepped forward, his slab of iron leaning against his shoulder. "Mana-shadows? What the hell are you talking about, Thorne?"
"Every soul leaves a footprint on the gravity of the world," Alaric explained, regaining his composure. "I can hear the weight of your experiences, Caspian. Yours is quite... heavy. You should perhaps work on your internal stability."
Caspian went deathly still. He looked at Seraphina, who had gone as white as a sheet.
"Don't go digging in my head, Thorne," Caspian warned, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "You might not like what you find in the dark."
"I don't look for things I like, Caspian. I look for things that are true," Alaric replied, standing up.
He turned to Elara. "And yours, Elara... I couldn't hear yours at all. There was too much interference. It seems your Sovereign Heart is even more protective than we thought. It blocks even my needles from seeing your center."
Elara smiled—a soft, perfect expression that didn't reach the depth of the million shadows Alaric had almost seen. "My center is yours, Alaric. There is nothing there for a Relic to find that you don't already know."
Alaric nodded, satisfied with the explanation. It was logical. A Sovereign Relic would naturally be immune to the gravitational prying of a lower-tier focus.
But as they left the chamber, Alaric's mind returned to the data he had gathered.
Caspian and Seraphina are not just 'traumatized'. They are carrying data from a non-existent timeline. They are 'Returners'.
He felt a cold thrill of discovery. He didn't know how it had happened, or why they viewed him with such terror. But he had the first piece of the puzzle. He wasn't the only brilliant mind in the room; he was just the only one who didn't know the ending of the story.
And if they know the ending, Alaric thought, glancing at the golden locket around Elara's neck, then I need to find out why they're so afraid of the man I'm supposed to become.
He didn't suspect Elara. To him, her silence was just a side effect of her greatness. She was the one variable he didn't need to solve, because she was the only one who had always been on his side.
The next step, Alaric decided, is to find a way to access Caspian's shadow without him knowing. I need to see the 'end' he's so afraid of.