The Echo Sanctum was not a place found on any campus map.
Toji and the other six were led there at dawn by Lysara herself, down through corridors the color of silence and stairs that folded in on themselves like spiraled bone. They passed through a gate of light veiled by shadow—contradictions that made sense only once crossed.
The moment they entered, the world changed.
The air pressed down. Their senses fractured.
And the room wasn't a room.
It was a reflection of thought. A plane born from resonance. What they called the Echo Sanctum—where tether met tether, stripped of illusion, in their rawest form.
Toji didn't speak. Neither did the others.
Kaela stood beside him, eyes narrowed, hair drawn into a tight braid.
Roth flanked the opposite side, stone-eyed and unmoving.
Niko stood apart, fingers twitching slightly—not fear, but anticipation. And then there were the four unknowns: two boys and two girls, all Echo-bound, all bearing faint traces of Arcane heraldry and reforged uniforms.
They were all bound to something.
And now, they were going to be unraveled.
Lysara stepped forward, her echo—an enormous serpentine wolf of starlight and gold—coiling silently above her shoulders.
"The Sanctum is alive," she said. "Not with magic. Not with machines. But with memory. With will."
She raised a hand, and the room responded.
The mirrored floor pulsed, and six arenas unfolded from within, each separated by light-barriers, their interiors sculpted from fragments of the wielders' own echoes.
"You will enter the field with one partner," Lysara continued. "You will not fight them. You will fight with them."
Some brows raised.
Lysara nodded once.
"Your tether will resonate with your partner's. You will either synchronize—or shatter."
"To what end?" Roth finally asked.
Lysara turned toward him.
"To understand how unstable you really are."
Toji let his eyes drift toward the others, watching the shifts in posture, in breath.
Kaela met his gaze once.
He knew immediately they wouldn't be paired.
She needed someone else.
So did he.
And the Sanctum knew it.
The pairings etched themselves into the light wall behind Lysara:
• Toji Fushigoro & Eira Veldt (Unknown Girl #1)
• Kaela Thorn & Roth Emberholt
• Niko Velin & Dren Silvra (Unknown Boy #1)
• Lira Kaen & Osric Vane (the final pair)
Eira stepped forward.
She was shorter than Kaela, hair a silver-burnt blonde tied up in a crest, her armor light but etched with silver glyphs. Her Echo—a soft, flickering edge of fire and frost—followed just behind her shoulder like an elemental wisp.
She didn't smile. But she bowed her head once to Toji.
"Toji," she said. "I've read about you."
"Nothing worth remembering," he said.
"Guess we'll find out."
They stepped into their arena.
And the world blinked.
Their field transformed—unlike the stone of the Sanctum or the marble of the school. This one was a forest of still shadows, trees drawn from glass and ironwood, glowing with violet resonance. The sky above wasn't sky—it was a spiraling eye, echoing his own, ringed with red memory marks.
Eira's breath hitched.
Toji simply adjusted his stance.
The first projection stepped out.
Not a monster. Not a wraith.
But a memory.
A copy of his father.
Fully formed, armed with a blade that shimmered with pressure—like a reality-wound in motion.
Toji inhaled slowly.
Eira turned to him, unsure.
"That's…"
"Not real," Toji said. "But dangerous anyway."
The projection charged.
And the fight began.
Toji moved first—no sword yet, only movement. He baited the projection to him, letting it slash, watching for delays or echoes of hesitation. But there were none.
This was not a shadow.
It was a perfected fear.
Eira launched a barrage of frost-needles that halted midair—redirected by the echo-field itself. The Sanctum didn't just reflect memory. It tested how memory warped reality.
Toji called Kareth.
The jackal-form erupted from his shadow, now armed with two forearm blades, each a mirror-cut of the Phantom Edge.
He didn't direct it. He let it move.
And it moved perfectly.
Eira followed the rhythm, launching twin arc spells—fire spiral then frost snap—timed between Kareth's movement and the projection's guard.
They synced.
And the resonance spiked.
The projection staggered.
Kareth seized the moment—slashing its blade through the figure's torso. Light and shadow dispersed.
And silence fell.
Above them, the spiral eye opened again—one band wider.
Lysara's voice echoed faintly.
"Synchronization: 86%."
Eira turned to him.
"You don't even flinch."
"I've seen worse."
"Worse than your own father?"
Toji didn't respond.
But the Eye spun once behind him.
Whispering nothing.
Because it didn't need to.
What came next would not be a memory.
It would be a warning.
Toji felt it rising—a new ripple.
Not from the Sanctum.
But from the box left in his dorm.
The Pale Flame's message had begun to burn.
Even here.
And soon… it would arrive.
——
The spiral above dissolved into sparks.
Toji and Eira were still in the echo-field when the world buckled. Not from magic. From intrusion.
He felt it in his teeth first—vibration like a whispered scream trapped in bone.
Then the silence broke.
A vertical seam opened in the mirrored air beyond their boundary.
Not summoned.
Not sanctioned.
Something stepped through.
Lysara's voice cut across the Sanctum: "Everyone—freeze."
But the thing that entered didn't care.
It was masked—fully armored in jagged plates like scorched lacquer, burnt red and violet-black. Not Echo-bound. Not familiar.
Not human.
Roth drew his blade instantly; Kaela raised a ripple field. Niko fell to a crouch, murmuring to his tether.
But Toji didn't move.
Because he recognized it.
Not the person. But the power.
It smelled like the same flame that had left the box in his room. The one that didn't burn—only erased.
The Pale Flame.
Eira backed against him. "What is that?"
Toji's eye turned, iris flickering with tether-light.
"Uninvited."
The intruder's voice was synthesized—layered like a voice echoing inside iron.
"Candidate 991. Recognized: Fushigoro, Toji."
More whisper-rustle came from behind the mask. Then:
"Commencing resonance integrity breach."
A lance appeared in its hand.
The light in the Sanctum flickered—not like a power cut, but like memory itself was being overwritten.
Lysara appeared beside them a moment later, her Echo snarling behind her, her expression sharper than ever.
"You are not sanctioned. You are not welcome," she said coldly.
But the Pale Flame figure didn't even look at her.
Its attention was locked on Toji.
And that attention… felt like weight.
Lysara whispered to Toji, "This isn't part of the test. But it's testing you."
"Should I hold back?"
"No," she said, stepping away. "Hold nothing."
The Eye behind Toji spiraled again.
The tether flared.
And Kareth returned—this time with wings.
Toji surged forward.
He met the lance mid-sprint, unsheathing Phantom Edge at the last second. The blade sang with a harsh echo—no longer mere steel, but half-spirit, half-thought. A katana-odachi hybrid, long enough to sever reach, light enough to redirect weight.
Sparks danced between their weapons as they clashed.
Toji ducked under the lance's reverse sweep and flicked his blade up, slicing through the wrist joint—but it wasn't bone. The limb detached and reformed instantly with flickering flame-sigil matter.
Not human.
Not spirit.
Something else.
Kareth mirrored him, leaping with a crack of shadowlight, slicing through the figure's midsection.
This time it staggered.
But not from pain.
From recognition.
Toji's blade hadn't cut it.
It had marked it.
Phantom Edge left a burn—a deep, rune-like scar that shimmered with echo-cursed symbols.
Eira yelled something, launching a frost eruption to freeze its feet—but again the Pale Flame intruder blinked the space out of time, stepping forward as if rewinding one second into another.
"You're not from this plane," Toji murmured.
The voice returned: "Correct. Yet you are."
The lance now split into two—twinned rods of unraveling heat.
Toji's Eye pulsed, and the glyph inside flared: Mnemo-Lock.
The trial had escalated.
And so did he.
He invoked Layer Two.
A ripple of shadow burst from his spine, eyes glowing like submerged stars. The second tether activated—the Mnemo-Eye widened, and now images bled out of it into reality: ghosts of his past trials, mimic shadows of himself, moving around him in tandem.
Four of them.
Toji, past versions, synchronized.
"Synchronizing echo-tether with fractal memory. Layer Two: Mnemo-Weft."
He surged again.
This time he didn't move alone.
He struck in quintet.
Each version of him struck from a different angle—past stances, altered footwork, remembered flaws corrected in live combat.
The Pale Flame blocked three.
But not the fourth.
Or the fifth.
The lances clattered to the mirrored floor. One fractured.
Toji's main self landed, sword pressed to the figure's throat.
It didn't resist.
Instead, it whispered something.
"Toji Fushigoro. Found."
A final mark burned into the air—only he could see it. A sigil, old as any language, forming behind the intruder's head like a fractured halo.
Then it vanished.
So did the figure.
Gone—not in a flash, but as if it had never arrived.
No scorch marks. No sound.
Only silence.
Only echo.
Lysara stepped forward slowly. Her echo no longer flared.
"That… was not part of any test," she said.
Toji nodded once.
"I know."
Niko walked forward now, eyes wide.
"You fought like five of yourself."
"Not quite," Toji said. "Just echoes."
"Of yourself?"
"Of who I had to be."
Eira said nothing. She hadn't moved since the figure disappeared.
Roth was the one who said what no one else wanted to admit.
"They were here for him."
Lysara didn't deny it.
She looked Toji dead in the eye.
"I'll speak to the Headmaster," she said. "But this is no longer just training."
Toji folded Phantom Edge.
The blade vanished.
The Eye pulsed softly behind his back.
"They're coming," he said.
"For me."
No one argued.
Because they all knew it was true.
——
When the dust had settled and the mirrored walls faded back to their dormant hue, the echo-forge deactivated with a groan that trembled the marrow. Lysara called the session early—an unheard-of break in her rigid routine—and the rest of Class C was sent back in a staggered line of stunned silence.
Only Toji remained.
He stood in the fading echoes of the Sanctum, the Mnemo-Eye pulsing dimly behind his shoulder, a ghostly star blinking in and out of visibility. Even now, its layers hummed with residual data, glyphs crawling like runes remembering their origins.
Kareth reformed beside him, kneeling, expression unreadable.
"You're no longer beneath the surface," the jackal-Echo said. "They will now send things to see if you should rise or fall."
Toji didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes.
He felt it again—the split second where everything had clicked. Not just his blade, not just the fivefold memory assault, but the way time and space had bended around him. He had bent it.
He had done something real.
Something irreversible.
And others had noticed.
⸻
Lysara stood on the other side of the Sanctum, her hands crossed behind her back, her eyes watching him as if for the first time.
"You were Echo-bound before Valemont," she said. "That was obvious."
Toji tilted his head but said nothing.
She continued, her voice firm, but quieter than usual.
"But this… what you just did… it's not tether-memory. It's evolution. You took fragments and reconstructed action with decision, not instinct. You aren't bound by your echo. You are becoming one."
"Toji," she said after a moment, "do you know what the Echo Council calls a wielder who exceeds the boundaries of their original binding?"
He raised an eyebrow. "No."
"They call it Reclamation."
He blinked once.
"You've started down that path," she said. "Be aware. It never ends gently."
He turned to her fully then, his expression unchanged.
"I'm not looking for gentle."
Her mouth twitched.
"Good."
⸻
The day passed in a strange hush. Rumors tried to sprout, but no one could get a clear account of what had happened in the Sanctum. The veil of containment spells Lysara deployed kept observers locked out, and only vague echoes of sound had filtered through.
But the council had seen. And word would spread. That was inevitable.
By evening, Toji sat on the roof of Dorm C's east wing, watching the horizon peel apart in sunset orange.
The Eye hovered beside him again, not speaking this time.
Only reflecting.
Below, the fountain square bustled with students, most unaware of what had occurred. A few glanced up. Some knew. Others suspected.
Toji didn't care.
His hand rested lightly on the edge of Phantom Edge's sealed handle, currently bound in its compact sheath form—a black disc inscribed with layered lock-rings. A flick would unfold it. But for now, it remained still.
He exhaled slowly.
Footsteps approached.
Kaela again.
She didn't speak, just sat next to him, pulling her knees to her chest.
"I heard Lysara had to shut the Sanctum down."
"Yeah."
"They said the walls remembered you."
He gave her a sidelong look. "That a metaphor?"
"No," she replied. "One of the second-year mentors said Sanctums are semi-sentient. When someone breaks the ritual pattern hard enough, the forge doesn't forget."
Toji smirked faintly.
"So I scarred the classroom."
"You scarred the world a little," she said quietly.
Then: "Are you okay?"
He didn't answer right away.
"Not yet," he said finally. "But I'm becoming."
Her eyes softened.
He didn't mean to say that. It had slipped out like instinct. Something from the Eye, or maybe from the part of him he hadn't defined yet.
Kaela leaned back, her expression unreadable now.
"The Trials are over. At least… officially."
"To Valemont."
She nodded.
"But there's a second event. Informal. The Factions set it up. They call it 'Veins Beyond'—a follow-up for selected participants."
"Combat?"
She smiled. "Exploration. But you'll fight. Trust me."
"When?"
"Two days."
He nodded. "I'll be ready."
"I know."
⸻
Later that night, Lysara gathered the six remaining students in the south observatory. The wide dome shimmered with veil-runes to keep prying eyes out. The rest of Class C had been released for the week—this was no longer about the Trials.
It was about what came next.
Only Niko and Roth remained from the original Veins of Valor Trials. The other four were newcomers—second- or third-year transfers pulled from the extended Class C roster, now reconvened for Veins Beyond.
Toji noted each one silently.
First was Arven, a tall boy with copper-gray hair braided in angular knots. His Echo shimmered behind him like a twisting loom of wires—an architecture spirit, it seemed, perhaps utility-based but deeply complex.
Second was Elene, barely five feet, with glowing thread tattoos winding across her forearms. Her Echo took the form of three glass hounds, each made of refracting illusion.
Third was a quiet girl named Sorei, dressed all in moss-black cloth, with a hood over one eye and a serpent-like Echo wrapping around her ankles like smoke.
Fourth, a lean boy named Cedric, gold-eyed, his echo a massive skeletal bird that loomed behind him like judgment made wing.
Roth, arms crossed, gave Toji a brief nod.
Niko gave him a thumbs up. "Knew you wouldn't break."
Lysara entered then, bringing silence with her.
"This is no longer classroom evaluation," she began. "This is interest. Observation. Invitation. Some of you will be noticed. Some of you have already been marked."
She glanced at Toji.
"No illusions anymore."
She stepped aside. A map unfolded in the air—a topographical layout of an ancient ruin buried beneath the western forest range. Glyphs labeled several danger zones: Echo-density fields, memory spires, tether-fracture hollows.
"Tomorrow," she said, "you'll be entering what remains of the Lurean Vault. A pre-Collapse dungeon site recently uncovered. You'll be joined by members of Class B and a few provisional scouts from House Ventros."
That name caught attention. Even Elene twitched.
"Ventros?" Roth echoed. "They're sending nobles?"
"Not just nobles," Lysara replied. "Heirs. Watching. Judging."
Toji said nothing, but the Eye behind him pulsed once.
He could feel it now—momentum. Not from ambition. From certainty.
This was the next fracture in the mirror.
And he was ready to break through.
⸻
That night, in the highest tower of Valemont, three figures stood in silent conference, watching the shadow recording of the Sanctum incident.
The first figure, clad in the white of the Echo Council, traced a finger through the sigil burned into the air by the Pale Flame.
"Not just residuals," he murmured. "That was a branding."
The second, a woman with opalescent skin and crystalline tattoos, nodded once.
"The Pale Flame never burns for sport. They've marked him. Which means…"
The third figure, taller, robed in dusk-cloak black, completed the thought.
"He's no longer optional."
The others fell silent.
Below them, Toji slept, unaware of the full scale of what he'd stepped into.
But his Eye twitched once in his dream.
And the sigil burned again—this time inside the pupil.