Amara’s morning began the same way it always did—with the hum.

It was faint, like a low vibration in her chest, but constant. She’d grown used to ignoring it since arriving at the Citadel, but it never fully went away. Today, however, it seemed sharper, more insistent, as if it were waiting for something.

She stretched, wincing at the soreness left behind from the sparring match. The bruises on her arms felt like badges of survival, even if they weren’t exactly victories. Her muscles ached from the repeated attempts to keep up, but the sensation didn’t bother her as much as it once had. It felt like progress—painful, uneven progress, but progress nonetheless.

Elira’s voice rang out before Amara could lose herself in her thoughts. “Still in bed? You’re not planning to mope, are you?”

Amara groaned, rolling over. “I’m not moping.”

“Really? Because ‘bruised and brooding’ is a great look, but it’s not exactly winning hearts.” Elira appeared in the doorway, balancing two steaming mugs. “Here. You need this.”

Amara accepted the mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. She arched an eyebrow at Elira. “You know this isn’t a café, right?”

“It should be,” Elira said with a grin, flopping onto the chair near the window. “I could make a fortune charging you for my excellent service.”

“And how exactly would that work? You’d need more than one customer,” Amara said, sipping the drink. It was sweeter than she expected, with a faint floral taste.

Elira’s grin widened. “You’d be surprised. My charm is unmatched.”

Amara rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. “You’re insufferable.”

The Citadel’s sprawling halls were quiet this early, sunlight streaming through enchanted windows that shifted their views to reflect distant landscapes.

Jaren walked a few paces ahead, his steady presence keeping the group focused while Elira darted from side to side, pointing out every odd feature she could find.

“Did you know this place is supposed to rearrange itself at night?” Elira said, tapping a rune etched into the stone. “I heard it’s alive or something. Like… breathing.”

Jaren glanced back, one brow raised. “It’s not breathing. The Citadel’s wards shift based on magical energy flows. Basic architecture enchantments.”

Elira pouted. “You ruin everything.”

Amara chuckled, the hum in her mind briefly fading under the weight of their playful exchange. “If it does rearrange itself, that explains why you’re always lost.”

“That’s strategy,” Elira said, grinning. “You can’t get caught if you don’t even know where you are.”

They passed an ornate doorway, its frame carved with intricate symbols that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles. Elira stopped, tilting her head. “Okay, tell me that’s not creepy.”

“That’s just a stabilization ward,” Jaren said dismissively. “It’s meant to keep the older sections intact.”

“Or trap people inside,” Elira muttered. She leaned closer to inspect the carvings. “I heard there was a student who disappeared in the western wing a few decades ago. Some say he’s still wandering the halls, looking for a way out.”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Elira’s grin turned mischievous. “They say the Citadel keeps secrets. Who’s to say it doesn’t keep people, too?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Jaren said, his tone flat but his gaze scanning the hallways cautiously. “The wards are complex, but they’re not malicious.”

“Says the guy who always walks like he’s expecting the walls to close in,” Elira shot back.

Amara smirked, letting their banter wash over her as she took in their surroundings. The hallway seemed to grow quieter the further they walked, the ambient noise of the Citadel fading into an eerie stillness. The air felt different here, heavier, as if they’d stepped into a place not meant to be disturbed.

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“Do you think the founders knew this would happen?” Amara asked suddenly. “The Citadel becoming… alive, in a way?”

Jaren glanced at her. “The founders didn’t design it to be static. They believed in adapting to the needs of the threads. The wards were supposed to reflect that.”

“And now it’s a labyrinth,” Elira added, twirling a strand of her hair. “Honestly, I think they just wanted to mess with us.”

Amara felt the hum grow stronger, and her steps faltered as her gaze landed on a series of faded symbols carved into the walls. The hallway seemed almost untouched by the regular flow of students, its atmosphere quieter and more foreboding.

“What’s this?” she murmured, reaching out instinctively.

Jaren’s attention shifted toward a faint shimmer running along the floor—an almost imperceptible pulse of light that seemed to react to their movement. “This wing isn’t on the regular map,” he said quietly, his tone cautious. “It’s old magic. Enchantments layered over centuries.”

The moment her fingers brushed the stone, a faint glow illuminated the symbols. Her locket grew warm against her skin.

“That’s not creepy at all,” Elira said, leaning in for a closer look. “Do it again!”

Amara frowned, pulling her hand back. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Touching things you don’t understand? Bold move for a Fringe girl,” a new voice cut in, dripping with amusement.

Jaren’s tone was sharp, his posture tense. “Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not here. Move along.”

Coren’s grin widened, his voice easy but laced with something darker. “You think I’m looking for something? Maybe I’m just admiring the view.” His gaze flicked to Amara, lingering just long enough to make her bristle.

“You’re trouble,” Jaren said flatly, stepping closer, his presence like a stone wall.

“And you’re boring.” Coren tilted his head, his grin tilting into a smirk. “But lucky for you, I like boring people. They make excellent distractions.”

Elira snorted, folding her arms. “You’re either insane or stupid.”

“Problem?” Coren’s smirk twisted into something sharper, his dark eyes flicking to Amara’s locket for the briefest moment. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Fringe girl. But don’t worry—answers have a way of finding you.”

He took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Until next time.” With a lazy wave, he disappeared down the corridor, his voice echoing faintly behind him. “Try not to get lost.”

Back in their room, Elira couldn’t stop talking about Coren.

“He’s obnoxious, sure, but you’ve got to admit—he’s got guts,” she said, tossing herself onto her bed dramatically, her arms flung wide like she was reenacting a tragedy.

Jaren leaned against the window, one hand in his pocket as he stared out. “Or no sense of self-preservation,” he said without looking back.

Amara sat cross-legged on her bed, idly toying with a loose thread on her sleeve. “He wasn’t just wandering around aimlessly. He knew something about that hallway.”

Elira propped herself up on her elbows, eyebrows raised. “Maybe he’s been sneaking in for ages. You think he has a secret map or something? Because that would be very exciting.”

Jaren finally turned to face them, his expression flat. “Sneaking into the Citadel isn’t exactly easy. If he’s been here before, someone would’ve noticed.”

“Maybe he’s just really, really good at sneaking,” Elira offered with a grin, flicking an imaginary speck of dust off her sleeve.

Amara shook her head, her voice soft. “Does it matter? He’s gone now, and if he’s smart, he won’t come back.” She looked at Elira, her tone sharpening just slightly. “We should focus on not getting caught ourselves. That senior didn’t exactly look forgiving.”

Elira flopped back onto her bed with a loud sigh. “What’s life without a little risk? Besides,” she added with a wicked smile, “if he does come back, I’d pay good money to see Jaren try to intimidate him again.”

Jaren raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re boring,” Elira quipped, winking at him.

Amara let out a quiet laugh as the banter carried on, her thoughts lingering on Coren’s sharp grin. Still, it wasn’t her problem—at least, not yet.

Later that evening, the Luminal Fringe sector lit up unexpectedly.

The usually quiet halls were now filled with voices, the faint hum of music echoing through the space. Tables were arranged haphazardly, laden with food and drinks. Students mingled in small groups, laughter and chatter blending into a pleasant hum of activity.

In one corner, a group of students had gathered around what looked like a shimmering game board. The board’s surface shifted and glowed with complex magical patterns, and tiny figures moved across it as if alive. Curious, Amara drifted closer, only to hear the rules being explained in rapid, unintelligible jargon.

“Oh no,” Elira said with a grin, nudging Amara forward. “You have to try this.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Amara protested, but Elira was already pushing her into the group.

The game was chaotic. Amara’s attempts to control her pieces were met with laughter as they veered off course, crashing into each other or spontaneously combusting. At one point, a tiny figure on the board threw its hands up and disappeared altogether.

“You’re terrible at this,” one student said, laughing as Amara squealed when her last piece dissolved into glittering sparks.

“I know,” Amara said, laughing despite herself. “I think I broke it.