The infirmary door slid open without a sound.

  Ray froze. Elaine Avery stepped inside as if the room—and perhaps the entire wing of the academy—belonged to her. Her posture was a masterclass in noble discipline, her blue eyes cutting through the white curtain dividers like twin surgical blades. The faint scent of ink and cold metal drifted with her, the signature aroma of an Engraver who lived among the runes.

  She didn’t knock. She didn’t announce herself. She simply arrived.

  The attending nurse stiffened immediately, dropping into a deep, panicked bow. “L-Lady Elaine—”

  Elaine raised a single hand. The nurse went silent instantly, scurrying away as if dismissed by royalty. Her gaze drifted across the room until it locked onto Ray.

  He sat up straighter, clutching his thin hospital blanket like a shield. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no—why is she here?

  She walked toward him with quiet, deliberate steps—the kind of walk that made the floorboards feel nervous about creaking. When she reached his bedside, she didn't speak. She just looked at him. For the first time in three years, Ray felt the world narrow down to those sharp blue eyes. He felt like a specimen under a microscope.

  “…You caused quite a scene,” she said softly.

  Ray’s throat was a desert. “I—I didn’t mean to.”

  Her gaze lowered to his hands, then drifted to the faint, dying embers still flickering along his forearms from the breakthrough. She studied the marks with a terrifying, surgical curiosity.

  “…Your connection was a forced one,” she murmured. “Unexpected. Unusual.”

  Ray forced a weak, shaky laugh. “That’s me. Mr. Unusual. Classic protagonist moment, right?”

  Elaine didn’t laugh. Instead, she reached out and placed two fingers to his back.

  Ray went rigid. Her touch was cool and precise—less like a human hand and more like a calibrated instrument. Her brows furrowed just slightly, as if she were listening to a frequency only she could hear. Her fingers were tracing gently on his back. Ray couldn't help but get shivers. The last time she did this was during his twelfth birthday party.

  Beneath her fingertips, the skin wasn't smooth. It was etched with a mark that felt more like a brand than ink—a complex, sprawling sigil centered between his shoulder blades. At its heart was a perfect, hollow circle, its edges jagged like a crowning sun, but the "rays" didn't beam outward with light. Instead, they curdled into ashen swirls of smoke.

  The linework was paradoxical: the central sun was drawn with mathematical, geometric precision, while the surrounding smoke trails were chaotic and organic, coiling up toward his neck like rising soot. As Elaine traced the perimeter, the ink seemed to possess a dull, rhythmic heat, as if the sun were smoldering beneath the surface and the smoke was only just beginning to choke out the light. It wasn't just a design; it was a warning written in a language Ray still didn't know how to read.

  “…Your Origin Vein is stable,” she noted. “No distortion. No spiritual tearing. No feedback. You’re… normal.”

  Ray let out a massive sigh of relief—until she added:

  “Which makes what happened today even stranger.”

  His relief died in his throat. Elaine leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that felt like cold silk. “What did you see when you broke through, Ray?”

  Ray’s mouth went dry. The smoke. The storm. The purple horizon. The thing that stared back. “I… don’t remember,” he lied.

  Elaine’s eyes narrowed. She didn't believe him for a second, but she didn't push. She simply straightened, the inquisitive sharpness fading back beneath her usual composed veneer.

  Ray looked at her then—really looked at her—and the realization hit him like a physical blow. The childhood roundness was gone. Her features had sharpened into a refined, icy beauty. Her midnight-black hair framed a face that looked more like a statue than a fourteen-year-old girl.

  When did she grow into… this?

  The awe lasted barely a second before the memory of the Prince crashed into his mind. Ray’s face instantly scrunched into a pout so dramatic it bordered on a caricature. He couldn't help it. With her raven hair and river-blue eyes, Elaine looked like the perfect matched set for the Prince’s platinum hair and silver-gray gaze. Together, they looked less like teenagers and more like a curated celebrity couple.

  Elaine blinked, her composure momentarily broken. “Why are you pouting?”

  Ray jabbed a finger at the empty air between them. “You haven’t talked to me in years, and now you’re just—just swan-diving back into my life as the sidekick to some K-pop idol prince?!”

  Elaine’s eyebrow rose—that elegant, skeptical arch she usually reserved for questionable science or failed logic. “What is a ‘K-pop idol’? And… are you referring to Prince Cassian?”

  Her tone was so neutral it felt like a personal attack.

  “It's a term for a handsome guy who can have anyone he wants because the ladies adore him! And yes, I’m talking about the Prince!” Ray deflated, his shoulders sagging as he crossed his arms over the sigil on his back.

  “Ray,” she said slowly, “the Prince is the heir to the Imperial line. Are you suggesting that a Duke’s daughter should ignore him?”

  “W-well—not ignore,” he muttered, his indignation leaking out like a popped balloon. “Just… acknowledge me too, maybe?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I did acknowledge you.”

  “When?!”

  “Just now,” she answered, perfectly serious.

  Ray made a strangled noise of frustration. Elaine continued, undisturbed. “I have responsibilities, Ray. Political, academic. The Prince requires etiquette. Why are you being so… difficult? Is being my fiancé not enough?”

  “NO,” he barked. Ray pointed at her with the righteous fury of a man citing sacred scripture. “Childhood friends are supposed to be close, Elaine! Osananajimi tropes are supposed to be unbeatable! Hidden affection! Mutual pining! A destined connection from youth! You disappeared for three years like it was a seasonal allergy!”

  Elaine blinked, looking genuinely baffled. “…Osana…najimi?”

  “Just—just pretend it makes sense,” Ray mumbled, his face turning red.

  “You believe,” she said slowly, “that because we met in childhood, we are meant to share… a protective emotional dependency? Ray, that sounds extremely inefficient.”

  Ray nearly screamed. He looked into her eyes, and the "closeness" he was demanding felt miles away. He’d watched other girls—they were warm, flawed, human.

  Elaine wasn't.

  Behind her soft voice and perfect noble composure, Ray felt a creeping coldness. It wasn't malice; it was worse. It was as if she were measuring him, running a silent algorithm to decide exactly which social response would keep him stable.

  “…Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.

  His jaw tightened. “I… I don’t know. It’s just—other girls are different.”

  “Different how?”

  Girls are supposed to be… I don't know, soft, he thought, the words trapped behind his teeth. They’re supposed to be cute, or loud, or even mean. They aren't supposed to be like you. He looked at her, really looked at her, and felt that familiar shiver. He couldn't tell her the truth: that she didn't talk to him so much as she "read" him. That every time she looked at him, he felt less like a friend and more like a specimen—like he was one wrong word away from being pinned to a board and dissected.

  Instead, he muttered, “You’re… not normal.”

  Elaine’s brows lifted a millimeter. “Ray,” she said softly, “I’m an Avery. We were never meant to be normal.”

  It was the perfect response. Perfectly true, perfectly evasive, and perfectly meaningless.

  Ray’s stomach tightened. Beneath the silk voice and the faint, noble smile, that impossible coldness flickered again. He found himself wondering, not for the first time: Just how human is Elaine Avery, really?

  Elaine let out a tiny breath—not quite a sigh, but the soft exhale of someone recalibrating their expectations.

  “Ray,” she said finally, her gaze softening just a fraction. “I didn’t ignore you. I was simply… not ready to talk to you yet.”

  Ray’s heart tripped over itself. “…Huh?”

  She didn't explain. She just stepped closer, her blue eyes assessing him in a way that made him feel seen down to the marrow. “Now,” she whispered, “I am.”

  She didn't wait for his response. She simply turned, her cloak swirling around her ankles. She paused at the door, looking back one last time. Not with curiosity or skepticism, but with something almost like… recognition.

  “…You did well,” she said quietly.

  The door clicked shut, leaving Ray staring at the wood as if it had just grown wings. His heart was racing, his face was burning, and his brain had officially turned to soup.

  “…I’m gonna die,” he whispered into the sheets. But even as he said it, he smiled. For the first time in three years, Elaine Avery had truly looked at him again.

  The infirmary door didn't just open; it burst inward with the subtlety of a boulder rolling downhill.

  “HE’S ALIVE!” Calen declared, his voice echoing off the sterile walls.

  “Barely,” Harel added, shaking his head with exaggerated pity.

  Ray groaned, pulling the blanket over his face. “Can you guys not announce it like I’m the sole survivor of a national disaster?”

  Rian, deadpan as ever, folded his arms. “Ray, this is your third time in the infirmary in three years. At this point, the school should just put your name on a plaque: The Ray Melborne Memorial Bed.”

  “It’s not a memorial bed!” Ray snapped, sitting up.

  “Yet,” Calen corrected helpfully, flopping into the chair beside him. “Invalids shouldn’t strain themselves. You need to conserve your strength for the next time you accidentally explode.”

  “WHY ARE YOU ALL LIKE THIS—”

  The teasing died down as the three roommates leaned in, their expressions shifting to a sharp, conspiratorial gleam. Calen lowered his voice to a whisper.

  “…So. Lucien’s lightning.”

  Harel shivered, his eyes still wide. “I’ve never even seen a lightning user before. He activated his sigil so fast—it was like pure instinct.”

  “He’s in our year,” Rian added thoughtfully, his brow furrowed. “I can't believe he’s already mastered activation. Most people our age are lucky if their ink even twitches.”

  Calen leaned in, his voice dropping to a cautious whisper. “Do you think your fiancée was the one who engraved it? He did say no one, but her, is allowed to touch his skin.”

  The group went silent as they looked at Ray. His face soured instantly, a dark cloud crossing his expression. Sensing the mounting discomfort, Harel quickly pivoted. “But when he walked toward you, Ray… I could’ve sworn he was about to kill you. The air was literally humming.”

  Ray unconsciously rubbed his shoulder. It still tingled faintly, the lightning leaving invisible, jagged fingerprints beneath his skin. “He wouldn’t do that in a room full of people,” Ray muttered, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. “…Right?”

  The three boys exchanged a silent, heavy look. Calen finally voiced what they were all thinking: “I don’t think someone like Lucien D’Roselle cares who’s watching. That guy isn't a student. He's a storm in a school uniform.”

  The room fell quiet, the weight of the "Anomaly" hanging over them. But then Harel grinned—a wide, mischievous, and feral expression.

  “But forget all that!” Harel’s eyes shone with excitement. “We finally get to the good part.”

  Rian finished the thought, his voice calm but his eyes sharp: “Combat training.”

  Calen punched the air. “The real stuff. No more etiquette, no more breathing exercises, and no more grueling, boring exercise or sparring. Actual, high-output combat. The instructors said they’re starting with Veil-combat fundamentals: sparring and elemental conditioning.”

  He leaned closer to Ray, a wicked spark in his eyes. “And the best part? The Knights fight first.”

  A chill ran down Ray’s spine—not of fear, but of anticipation. He clenched his fist, feeling the low-frequency hum of the Ash Circuit thrumming in his veins. Finally, something he understood. Finally, a chance to move his body instead of just his mind.

  “…Good,” Ray whispered. “I’m ready.”

  Calen raised a brow. “Ready for what?”

  Ray smiled wider, his eyes reflecting the new fire inside him. “My main character training arc.”

  All three roommates groaned in perfect unison. “HE SAID IT AGAIN—”

  But Ray didn't care. As he lay back, he felt the resonance of the Foundation Vein clicking into place. Combat training was coming. And for the first time in years, he felt like he could actually win.