Aeryn's first month at Aetherion Academy had been anything but pleasant.
She'd known, from the moment her feet touched academy grounds, that things would be challenging. Being sorted into the Ascendent Tier—Class 1, no less—meant scrutiny, expectation, pressure.
None of that frightened her. She had Sylra. She had confidence, focus, determination. She could endure a little discomfort, a few curious glances.
But she hadn't been prepared for everything that would follow.
Her trouble began barely hours into orientation, when Sylra was suddenly and inexplicably absorbed by the Library of Beginnings—vanishing before her eyes, leaving nothing but stunned silence and lingering disbelief.
In that instant, the academy had gone from feeling like a grand new beginning to an overwhelming, labyrinthine prison. The faint connection she still felt, that thread linking her to Sylra, was all that reassured her Sylra wasn't gone entirely. But day by day, the presence weakened, thinning like a string worn taut, until it became nothing more than a whisper, barely distinguishable from the ache of loss itself.
The days following Sylra's disappearance were marked by sleepless nights and silent mornings. Every evening, Aeryn lay awake staring at the ceiling, reaching inward, desperately trying to strengthen that fragile connection. And every morning, she awoke to emptiness, an absence as tangible as the bed beneath her.
She had always preferred solitude—but this wasn't solitude. This was loneliness. An ache deep enough that no amount of strength or pride could fully suppress it.
And then, when she thought things couldn't possibly get worse, he arrived.
Varek Thorne.
On her first day of classes, still raw from Sylra's absence, she'd stumbled across him bullying another student—mercilessly beating a boy already on his knees, ignoring the rules of surrender. She'd stepped in instinctively, conjuring vines to separate them, hoping it would be a simple matter of right and wrong.
Instead, it had turned into a war.
In the aftermath, her reputation had surged. Students across tiers whispered her name with admiration—she was the girl who stood up to Varek Thorne, the untouchable bully from an influential family.
Her name briefly carried respect, admiration, even awe.
For a fleeting instant, she'd felt something other than loss and loneliness.
But then Varek pushed again, publicly testing her strength and patience in the academy courtyard. She'd reacted swiftly, raising a spiraling pillar of vines, trapping him as he hurled insults and threats.
The students watching had laughed, scattering only when she turned away, expressionless and unbothered.
It had been the height of her brief popularity, the moment her reputation peaked.
It had also marked the beginning of her social exile.
The following days saw a rapid shift. Students who'd once smiled warmly now looked away. Invitations to lunch tables vanished, replaced by empty chairs and silent glances. Conversations stopped before she reached earshot, leaving only awkward silence as she walked past.
Varek hadn't taken kindly to humiliation. He made sure everyone knew that aligning with Aeryn was risky, a social death sentence. His whispers found their way into ears throughout the Ascendent dormitory, echoing down hallways until they reached her doorstep—reminders that she had embarrassed him, and that he never forgot.
Before long, the academy felt alien to her, an environment she navigated alone, always on edge, always wary. Meals became uncomfortable silences, classes became tense isolation, and hallways became corridors filled with whispered judgments and distant laughter.
Eventually, the only students who made a point of speaking to her were Varek and his followers—and their words were never kind.
She bore it silently. Aeryn wasn't someone who showed weakness. But her silence was a heavy armor she wore at all times, each whispered insult and casual rejection adding to its weight.
As days turned to weeks, she felt exhaustion deeper than any training session could induce—an exhaustion of the spirit, a numbness that threatened to erode the strength she clung to.
She didn't cry. Didn't break. She simply grew more distant, colder, building walls higher with every passing day.
And through it all, Sylra remained locked away, unreachable and silent.
Her absence had only grown sharper. Aeryn was accustomed to the constant, quiet presence of her spirit—the calming influence Sylra provided, the soft reassurance of companionship that made even solitary moments feel shared. With Sylra gone, every quiet moment became a reminder of her loneliness.
At times, Aeryn thought she saw Sylra's faint glow out of the corner of her eye, or heard her quiet whisper on the edge of sleep. She'd turn eagerly, hopeful, only to find emptiness, a cruel trick of the mind.
She rarely slept now. Even dreams betrayed her, returning her to the twisted labyrinthine corridors of the academy wrapped in vines—Sylra trapped within, unreachable, always fading just as Aeryn reached out.
Aeryn stood at the window in her dorm room, watching the distant flicker of lamps outside, the academy sprawling before her, vast and indifferent.
The silence felt particularly heavy tonight.
Her thoughts circled restlessly, lingering on questions she couldn't answer: Was Sylra safe? Could spirits feel fear? Did Sylra know that Aeryn hadn't given up?
A soft knock at the door broke her reverie.
She hesitated for a moment, half-expecting it to be another cruel joke, but then the knock came again, polite and measured.
Slowly, she stepped toward the door, opening it to find one of the academy attendants—a neutral-faced older man—holding out an envelope sealed with the distinctive emblem of Headmaster Caelus Darion.
"Miss Aeryn," the attendant said respectfully, offering her the letter. "From the Headmaster himself."
She took it cautiously, eyeing him. "Do you know what it's about?"
He shook his head gently. "I was only told to assure you that you aren't in trouble."
With a quiet nod, she closed the door behind him and turned the envelope in her hands, staring at the seal before breaking it.
Inside was a single note, written in precise, elegant handwriting:
Miss Aeryn, If you are available this evening, please meet me in my office. We have something important to discuss—regarding Sylra.
– Caelus Darion
Her breath caught in her throat.
It was the first official acknowledgment she'd received since Sylra's disappearance, the first hint that anyone cared enough to investigate or intervene. Her pulse quickened, the thread connecting her to Sylra feeling stronger—though perhaps it was only hope that made it seem so.
She folded the letter carefully, her hands trembling slightly with a rush of emotion she hadn't allowed herself to feel for weeks.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Aeryn stood taller. The weight on her shoulders lifted, just a fraction, just enough to remind her that she wasn't truly alone. Someone had finally heard her silent pleas for help.
Taking a slow, steady breath, she reached for her coat.
If there was even the slightest chance to get Sylra back, she'd take it.