The suite had gone quiet in a way that didn't feel like silence so much as something missing, the faint hum of the city outside pressing against the glass while the half-finished drink in his hand tasted duller with every swallow.
He sat where she'd left him, elbow on the armrest, fingers loose around the glass, replaying nothing in particular because there was nothing to replay, just the shape of her absence settling into something he couldn't quite ignore.
She never even pretended,
he thought, the realization arriving again without any heat left in it, just a tired kind of certainty that sat heavy in his chest.
The knock came soft, almost apologetic.
"Yeah," Alex said, not looking up.
Austin stepped in, pausing just inside the doorway like he wasn't sure how far to commit. "Evening sir. I was just checking on you. You alright?"
Alex let out a slow breath, tipping the glass once before setting it down on the table beside him. "I'm fine," he said, sharper than he meant to be. "Just tired."
Austin watched him for a second, reading the edges of something Alex wasn't willing to name, then nodded. "Alright. Just… you know. If you need anything."
"I don't," Alex said, already leaning back, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. "I'm good. Really. Just gonna rest."
There was a beat where Austin considered pushing it, then he gave a small nod and stepped back. "Okay. Night, sir."
"Night."
The door clicked shut behind him, the sound clean and final.
Alex stayed where he was, staring up at nothing, the quiet settling back in like it had been waiting just outside, patient and familiar, and after a moment he reached for the glass again even though he already knew it wouldn't help.
***
Adam stood in the underground hall with his hand raised, fingers slightly curled, the faint shimmer of Lumen gathering along his palm without the aid of a staff as Aiva watched him with a small, satisfied smile that made it clear this wasn't new anymore.
"Again," she said, her tone light but precise. "Keep it tight this time, don't let the output flare past your control."
He nodded, pulling a breath in through his nose as he focused, the Lumen tightening from a loose glow into something sharper and more deliberate, and for a brief moment it held its shape cleanly before he released it in a short, controlled burst that struck the far wall with a soft, contained pulse.
"Better," Aiva said.
Chloe leaned against one of the stone pillars, arms folded, watching the exchange with a look she was trying to keep neutral and failing just enough that the strain showed around her eyes.
He just does it, she thought, the irritation sitting under her ribs in a way she couldn't quite smooth over,
no years of drills,no breaking his hands on bad casting habits, just—this is fine, this works, move on.
Adam rolled his shoulder once, a small grin slipping through despite himself. "Okay, that one actually felt right."
"It did," Aiva agreed, closing the grimoire in her hand halfway before opening it again to a marked page. "Which means we can try something more interesting tonight."
Adam straightened a little, interest cutting through the lingering fatigue. "More interesting how?"
Aiva's smile shifted, something a little more intent settling behind it. "A technique. Not just raw casting, but an actual application. I think you're ready to attempt something new, like Mirage."
"Mirage?" he repeated, the word sitting unfamiliar in his mouth.
Chloe's head tilted slightly, her attention sharpening despite herself.
Aiva stepped forward, the soft echo of her boots carrying across the stone floor as she lifted the grimoire, the aged pages catching the low light. "Mirage is a family of deception techniques," she began, her voice taking on that measured cadence she used when she was teaching something that mattered.
"Its most recognizable form is the creation of a self-projection, what most people would simply call a clone, but that's an oversimplification."
She turned a page with careful fingers, then looked back at him. "It isn't physical. There's no mass in the conventional sense, no independent body you're creating. What you're doing is constructing a Lumen-based projection of yourself so precise that, to most observers, it's indistinguishable from the real thing."
Adam frowned slightly, trying to picture it. "Like… a hologram?"
"Closer than a body double," Aiva said. "But far more complex than a simple image. It reacts, it moves, it speaks, and if your control is refined enough, it can even simulate the subtle inconsistencies that make a person feel real. The strength and fidelity of the construct scale directly with your understanding of yourself and your ability to maintain that understanding while channeling Lumen."
Chloe shifted her weight, her arms tightening across her chest.
Of course she gives him this,
she thought, a flicker of something sharper cutting through the earlier irritation,
the hardest entry point, just to see if he can handle it.
Aiva continued, her eyes steady on Adam. "There are easier applications of Mirage. Distortions, partial projections, environmental misdirection. I'm not starting you with those."
"Why not?" Adam asked.
"Because this is the hardest version," Aiva said simply. "It demands two things at once: an exact reading of your own characteristics through Lumen, and a clear, stable sense of who you are. If you can manage both simultaneously, everything else in this technique becomes trivial by comparison."
Adam let out a low breath, a mix of nerves and excitement tightening in his chest. "Okay. That sounds… kind of insane."
"It is," Aiva said, her smile returning. "Which is why I'll show you first."
She closed the grimoire with a soft thud and stepped back, her form stilling for a fraction of a second as the ambient Lumen in the hall seemed to draw toward her without any visible effort.
Then she was gone.
It wasn't a dramatic disappearance, no burst of light or surge of energy, just the subtle unraveling of her presence as if her outline had lost cohesion and slipped apart into nothing, the space she'd occupied left undisturbed in a way that felt wrong a beat after it happened.
Adam blinked, his hand lowering slightly. "Uh… okay."
The hall stayed quiet for a second, the low hum of the place filling the gap where her voice had been.
Then, faintly, from somewhere down the corridor beyond the main chamber, there was the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing.
Adam's head snapped toward the noise, confusion flickering across his face.
A moment later, Aiva walked back in from the far entrance, smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear like nothing unusual had happened. "Sorry," she said casually. "Had to step out for a second."
Adam stared at her, then back at the spot where she'd been standing. "Wait."
She tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Yes?"
"The whole time?" he said, the realization landing in pieces. "That whole explanation was—"
"A construct," Aiva finished for him, her tone light. "You were speaking to a Mirage projection from the moment I started."
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh, running a hand through his hair. "That's… that's ridiculous."
"It's fun too," Aiva corrected gently, lifting the grimoire again. "And it's built on a very simple principle."
She stepped closer, her expression sharpening slightly as she shifted into explanation again. "You are already familiar with the idea of sending a small pulse of Lumen outward, to read an object's mass, volume, and structural characteristics. Hopefully with some training, you'll be able to do it instinctively when you're gauging how much output you can safely apply to a target."
Adam nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's like… a quick scan, right?"
"Exactly," Aiva said. "Mirage turns that process inward. You pulse your own Lumen through yourself, not to affect anything, but to take an exact reading of your own physical and energetic state in that moment. Every detail you can capture becomes part of the blueprint."
She tapped the page lightly. "Then you hold that blueprint in your mind while you channel Lumen externally, shaping it according to that internal reading. The clearer your sense of self, the more stable the projection. The more precise your Lumen control, the more convincing the result."
Chloe exhaled quietly, her gaze fixed on the grimoire.
Years,
she thought, the word sitting heavy and bitter for a moment before she forced it down,
it took me years to even stabilize partial projections, and he's standing here being told to just… do it.
Aiva's eyes flicked to Adam again. "In advanced cases, you can maintain multiple projections at once, each acting independently within the limits of your concentration. But for now, we're focusing on a single construct."
Adam let out a breath, tension coiling in his shoulders. "Right. No pressure."
Aiva flipped the grimoire open to the marked page again, the inked Latin text dense and deliberate. "The incantation will guide the structure, but it's not the hard part. Listen carefully."
She read it once, slow and clear, the syllables carrying a weight that settled into the air around them.
Adam repeated it, stumbling slightly on the rhythm before correcting himself.
"Again," Aiva said.
He repeated it, smoother this time.
"Good," she said. "Now, while you speak, initiate the inward pulse. Don't rush it. You're not forcing anything, just observing."
Adam nodded, lifting his hand again as he drew in a breath, the words forming on his tongue as he let the Lumen gather.
He started the incantation, the Latin flowing more easily now, and as he reached the midpoint he pushed the Lumen inward, a controlled pulse that spread through his body like a ripple.
For a moment, it worked.
He felt the outline of himself in a way he hadn't before, the subtle distribution of weight, the rhythm of his breathing, the faint hum of energy under his skin.
Then he lost it.
The focus slipped, the internal image collapsing as his attention wavered, and the Lumen he'd begun to shape externally flickered and dispersed into nothing.
He exhaled sharply, dropping his hand. "Okay, that— I had it for a second."
"I saw," Aiva said. "You lost the self-reading when you tried to shift your attention outward. Don't separate the two. They happen together."
Adam nodded, rolling his shoulders once as he reset. "Alright. Again."
He started the incantation a second time, the words coming faster now as he tried to hold the rhythm steady, and this time he pushed the inward pulse more deliberately, anchoring his attention on the sensation of it moving through him.
The image formed again, clearer, more defined.
He began to shape the external Lumen, pulling it together just in front of him, a faint outline starting to take form.
Then he flinched.
It was small, barely a twitch, but it broke the concentration just enough that the forming construct warped, the outline distorting before collapsing in on itself with a soft, dissipating shimmer.
Adam let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down his face. "Seriously?"
"You anticipated failure," Aiva said, not unkindly. "That hesitation translates directly into instability. You need to commit to the projection as if it already exists."
Chloe let out a quiet, humorless breath through her nose.
Of course it's that simple,
she thought, her jaw tightening slightly,
just don't hesitate, just know yourself perfectly, just—
"Again," Adam said, a little more stubbornly now.
He went through the incantation a third time, slower, forcing himself to stay steady, the inward pulse smoother as he held onto the sensation of his own form.
The outline formed again, clearer than before, a faint, almost translucent version of himself standing a half-step to the side.
For a fraction of a second, it held.
Then it flickered.
The details blurred, the edges losing definition as his focus strained, and the entire construct collapsed in a soft, fading shimmer that left the space empty again.
Adam lowered his hand slowly, his shoulders dropping. "Okay. Yeah. That's… not happening tonight."
Aiva watched him for a moment, then closed the grimoire gently. "That's enough for now."
He let out a breath, half-laughing. "Yeah, no argument there."
"It's not a failure," she said, her tone calm. "This technique demands a level of internal clarity that takes time to develop. We'll try something else tomorrow."
Chloe shifted off the pillar, uncrossing her arms as she stepped closer, her expression settling into something sharper. "Even if you do eventually get it," she said, her accent tightening slightly around the edges of her words, "you would still be bad with it."
Adam blinked at her. "Excuse me?"
"A technique is only as good as the person using it," Chloe continued, her tone matter-of-fact but edged. "You can make ten clones, twenty clones, it doesn't matter if you don't know what to do with them."
He frowned, a flicker of defensiveness rising. "I'd figure it out."
She tilted her head, unimpressed. "Oh yeah? So then tell me. Right now. You are in a fight. You make Mirage clone. What do you do next?"
Adam opened his mouth, then hesitated. "I mean… confuse them? Make them attack the wrong one?"
Chloe's expression didn't change. "How?"
He gestured vaguely. "I don't know, just— move them around, make it hard to tell which one's real."
"That is not a plan," she said flatly. "That is a vague idea. If opponent has any experience, they test. They look for inconsistency. They force reaction. If you don't know how to respond, your Mirage is useless, just a waist of Lumen that'd be better spent running away."
Adam's jaw tightened slightly. "Okay, but that's the point of training, right? I'll get there."
Chloe exhaled, a short, sharp sound. "You are starting from zero in something that punishes hesitation. It's not a good combination for someone like you."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration creeping in. "Alright, I get it, I'm not amazing at everything immediately."
"I didn't say that," she replied, though her tone didn't soften much. "I am saying you rely too much on things coming easily. This does not."
Adam looked at her for a second, then let out a breath, the tension easing just a fraction. "Okay. Fair. Still feels like you're enjoying this a little too much."
Chloe's lips pressed together, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she looked away.
Maybe a little,
she admitted silently, the thought quieter than the earlier irritation.
Adam shook his head, a tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Whatever. Let's just call it a tonight. We can pick this up tomorrow."
Chloe looked back at him, one brow lifting slightly. "You should go to bed," she said.
He frowned. "What?"
"I am already in bed," she added.
As the words left her mouth, her form began to unravel.
It started at the edges, a soft thinning of her outline as if the air around her had grown too light to hold her shape, then the effect spread inward, her features losing definition as her body broke apart into a fine, drifting mist that dispersed into the surrounding space without resistance.
Adam stared at the spot where she'd been, his brain taking a second too long to catch up.
"...nah," he said slowly, the disbelief settling in as the realization hit. "Don't tell me."
Aiva let out a small, unmistakable giggle.
He turned toward her, eyes narrowing.
"Mirage does have a lot of applications," she said, her tone bright with amusement.
Then she vanished the same way, her form dissolving into that same soft, dispersing fog, leaving behind only the faintest disturbance in the air and the grimoire she'd been holding, which dropped to the stone floor with a solid, echoing thud exactly where she'd been standing.
The sound carried through the hall, grounding the moment in something undeniably real.
Adam stood there for a second, staring at the empty space, the silence settling around him in a way that felt very different now.
You've got to be kidding me, he thought, the mix of irritation and reluctant amusement pulling at his expression.
He let out a long sigh, the tension draining out of his shoulders as he stepped forward and bent down, picking up the grimoire from the floor, the worn cover cool against his palm.
"Yeah," he muttered to himself, glancing once more at the empty hall. "That's fair."
He turned, walking back to the shelf and sliding the book into its place with a quiet, practiced motion, then rubbed the back of his neck as he headed toward the exit, the faint echo of his footsteps following him out.
The hall fell silent behind him, the lingering trace of Lumen fading as if nothing had happened at all, and Adam shook his head once as he stepped into the corridor, already feeling the weight of the night catching up to him.
"Tomorrow," he said under his breath, not entirely sure if he meant the training or the inevitable payback.
Then he kept walking, leaving the underground hall empty once more.