Chapter Four – Shatter Noodles Never Closed
Part Two – Class Passed Normally. That Wasn't Normal.
They all said he looked better now.
That his hair, though strangely silver, suited him. That his posture had sharpened, his eyes more alert. That he was "adjusting well."
He heard it whispered in corners. From Echo. From Recon. From Liraen once, offhanded, as if it were a compliment to recover from collapse.
But in truth, he didn't feel better.
He felt calibrated.
The Lyceum's morning flow resumed with quiet steps and sharper routines. After lecture, squads were assigned to practicals—low-pulse drills in the outer field, nothing aggressive. Just resonance tracing, Veilmark alignment, and baseline containment tests.
Zephryn's glyph didn't flicker once.
Not during the tracing formation.
Not when Kaelen called a group rotation.
Not even when the chantstone activated in his direction.
It glowed faintly—sure, obedient—but nothing flared.
Nothing surged.
Nothing… remembered.
And that made him feel worse.
"I broke once. Now they think I'm fixed. But they never saw the pieces."
He performed with precision. His posture was stable, his grip on the Veilmark pulse steady, almost clinical. Instructor Liraen made no note of him—not even a sideways glance. She gave praise to Selka for her pulse loop accuracy. To Yolti for her glyph stance. To Kaelen for his synchronization with environmental pressure.
Zephryn received nothing.
And somehow, that made the ache in his chest crawl deeper into his spine.
The field buzzed with quiet drills.
Students chanted. Glyphs bloomed and vanished.
And Zephryn began to feel like he was watching it all through water.
Like the version of him standing on the grass, rotating positions, nodding when spoken to—that version was a puppet of rhythm.
Something else was humming behind his thoughts.
Watching through his eyes.
Just like in the Memory Nexus.
"Not real," he told himself. "It wasn't real."
But the image of it still cracked into him.
Walking down corridors that weren't stone.
Seeing versions of his friends that weren't quite right.
Standing before the Hollow Choir—not with fear, but with stillness, as they echoed things into him.
"You're not dangerous," one had said.
"You're forgotten. We simply chose what you forgot."
And then: darkness, warmth, and silence like silk wrapped around the soul.
By midday, drills ended.
Kaelen wiped his neck with his collar and gave Zephryn a quiet nod.
Yolti waved half-heartedly before turning toward Medic unit's sector.
Selka said nothing.
He watched her walk away across the garden, her braid bouncing once with each step. She didn't look back. Not even for a second.
"She stopped chasing me," he thought.
"Maybe she thinks I already chose to disappear again."
He didn't blame her.
He barely believed he was really back, either.
Lunch bells rang low.
The courtyard buzzed with muted talk.
Zephryn sat alone beneath the veil tree—a crystalline pine that shimmered without sunlight. Its branches held no leaves, only resonance threads that rippled when people passed.
No one sat beside him.
But that was fine.
He didn't need company.
What he needed…
was clarity.
And there wasn't any here.
The Lyceum felt like a body walking without breath.
Like the instructors and students and even the Pulse Eye orb were waiting for something. Watching.
"They think I came back," he thought.
"But the me they remember never came back. Just the one the Choir let return."
He leaned his head against the cold bark of the veil tree and let the silence press into him. The tree thrummed softly—faint resonance from old memories passed through it.
Sometimes you could hear voices if you pressed your ear close enough.
Not real ones. Just echoes. Ghosts of the Veil.
But this time…
…he heard nothing.
And that was the final sign.
The Pulse didn't recognize him anymore.
He stood. Walked away. Didn't eat.
Didn't plan to leave the grounds.
Didn't mean to step off the training circle path.
Didn't mean to cross the outer corridor.
Didn't mean to pass the eastern threshold past the mossed steps.
But by the time the bells rang the second hour, he was already halfway down the trail.
And the hum?
It was waiting.