The hexagonal badge burned cold in Root's palm.
Not literally—but something about it carried a pressure. A weight. Like it wasn't just a key, but a piece of something older than the Academy itself.
"This badge is more than access," Fex said. "It's proof. They can't erase you without admitting you exist."
"And if I lose it?" Root asked.
"Then you're just another ghost who wandered too deep."
Root pocketed it.
"Fine. Show me."
Fex didn't nod. He just turned—coat sweeping through the dust—and moved toward the wall behind the summoning cage. With a casual flick of his hand, the entire surface peeled back like paper.
Behind it: a spiral staircase descending into absolute black.
Veyr hovered beside Root.
"Nothing says 'safety' like an invisible door behind an ossified ribcage," he whispered. "Shall I prepare a eulogy or a theme song?"
"Walk," Root muttered.
They descended.
There were no lights. No system guidance. Only the faint glow of Root's hollow sigil, and the occasional flicker from Veyr's floating presence.
And then… stone.
Real stone.
Not synthetic slabs.
Uneven. Wet. Cold.
"This place existed before the Academy," Fex said without turning. "Before the Crown. Before ranks and summon trees and simulations. This is where they first tested the boundaries."
"Of summoning?"
"No. Of control."
The stairs ended in a narrow tunnel. Carvings lined the walls—some so old they were indecipherable. Others looked like attempts to record rituals… or warnings.
Veyr paused, eyes narrowed beneath his mask.
"That symbol," he muttered. "That's not Crownscript."
"What is it?" Root asked.
"Old Null," Veyr said softly. "And badly translated. Someone down here tried to steal power they didn't understand."
Root reached out, brushing the sigil. For a moment, the stone beneath his fingers pulsed—then flaked away like ash.
The tunnel opened suddenly into a chamber.
And in the center of that chamber…
A throne.
Not gold. Not light.
But black stone carved into something primal. It didn't radiate power.
It drained it.
And behind it, barely visible—caged in floating sigils—was a summon.
Chained.
Breathing.
Watching.
And not human.
The summon behind the throne didn't move.
Not fully.
Just… shifted. Like fog reassembling into the shape of something once-living. Its limbs were too long. Its head too small. Its eyes—if those were eyes—shimmered between solid and smoke, like they couldn't decide whether to reflect light or consume it.
"What is that?" Root asked.
Fex Hollowmire didn't answer immediately. He walked past Root and knelt at the edge of the binding circle, fingers brushing the glowing sigils.
"It doesn't have a name anymore," he said. "Not one we're allowed to say. They called it the First Misbound."
"It's a summon?"
"Technically. But not like yours. This one was pulled too far. The caster died halfway through the bond, and the system couldn't finish sealing it."
Veyr hovered behind Root, unnervingly still.
"That's not incomplete," he said. "That's half-merged."
"Exactly," Fex murmured. "What you're looking at… is the result of a ritual gone wrong—and a system that chose to bury the failure rather than fix it."
Root stepped closer.
The creature's head tilted.
And for one brief moment, Root felt it.
Recognition.
Not language.
Not emotion.
Just the feeling of being seen—by something that had no business seeing him.
"It knows me."
"It knows your bond," Fex corrected. "It knows Veyr."
"Why?"
"Because it was meant to be the first null-type. But it wasn't compatible. The void it tried to claim… devoured its anchor. Yours didn't."
Root felt the memory flicker—his throne trial, the deletion wave, the moment his body should have unraveled.
And Veyr… standing in front of it all, mask unbroken, holding the line.
"So what now?" Root asked. "You brought me here to show me a caged mistake?"
Fex stood and turned, face unreadable.
"No. I brought you here to make you a choice. That throne behind you? That's not decorative. It's a bridge. A conduit. Sit on it, and you'll see what he saw."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you keep walking blind."
Veyr finally moved.
He drifted beside the throne, tilting his head.
"Don't sit for answers," he whispered. "Sit because they don't want you to."
Root walked forward slowly.
No Crownlight here.
No ranks.
Just stone, shadow, and a creature that had once failed to finish its bond… and was still waiting for someone who could.
He sat.
The moment Root sat, the world broke.
Not violently.
Not with noise.
It broke the way a mirror fogs—quiet, gradual, until you realize you're no longer seeing your own reflection.
Everything shifted.
The chamber blurred. The air thickened. The sigils around the Misbound flickered once—then froze.
Time stopped listening.
Root wasn't falling. He was being peeled.
Layer by layer, his senses stripped until all that remained was silence.
And then—vision.
Not his.
Someone else's.
A boy knelt in the middle of a crownless summoning chamber. Shackles on his wrists. System nodes embedded in his chest, flashing red.
He wasn't Root.
But he was.
He looked older. Or maybe younger. The face was unclear. Fluid. Glitching between versions.
Surrounding him were figures in white—faceless faculty with glowing hands and surgical grace.
"Initiate summon trial: Class Null."
"Warning: compatibility threshold unstable."
"Proceed anyway."
The circle flared.
Something answered.
But not from the Summonlayer.
Not from the Rift.
From beneath.
From a place the system couldn't name.
And what came through wasn't a beast.
It was a being.
Silent. Perfectly still. Wearing a suit and mask, with a sigil glowing in its chest.
The same one sitting behind Root now.
Veyr.
But not his Veyr.
This one didn't speak.
It didn't offer power.
It simply stepped forward—and placed one hand on the boy's face.
"You don't survive this," one of the whitecoats said. "Not without the Crown."
"Who said I wanted to?" the boy replied.
Then—
collapse.
The room shattered.
The whitecoats screamed.
And Veyr—the old version—looked straight through the vision and into Root's eyes.
"Not the first time," he whispered. "Not the last."
Root gasped.
He was back in the chamber.
Back on the throne.
Sweating. Shaking. Every system window closed. Every light around the Misbound flickering in error.
Fex watched him carefully.
"You saw it."
"I saw… before."
"Good," Fex said. "Then maybe you're ready."
Root stood slowly.
Veyr was quiet.
For once.
And the Misbound?
It bowed its head.
Not to Fex.
Not to the Crown.
To Root.