Aiden was summoned before lunch.
The notice arrived without ceremony, no seal, no signature. Just a thin strip of parchment slipped beneath his door, the ink already dry.
REPORT TO THE OBSERVATORY OFFICE. IMMEDIATELY.
He stood in the corridor for a long moment after reading it, the paper trembling slightly between his fingers.
Seraphine had warned him.
Be careful.
The Observatory sat at the highest point of Sanctum Academy, a narrow tower threaded with stairs that curved too tightly and windows that showed too much sky.
As Aiden climbed, the sounds of the academy faded, voices dissolving into echoes, footsteps swallowed by stone.
By the time he reached the top, it felt like he'd stepped outside the world.
The door was already open.
Inside, the room was circular, lined with tall shelves and instruments that blurred the line between devotion and surveillance, astrolabes etched with scripture, lenses framed in gold, charts mapping constellations that didn't exist anymore.
A man stood by the window.
He was not Father Lucien.
Younger. Sharper. Dressed in Sanctum gray, the color reserved for those who answered to no single order.
His hands were folded behind his back, posture perfect, as if he'd been waiting long before Aiden was born.
"Come in," the man said pleasantly, without turning. "You're punctual. That's good."
Aiden stepped inside. The door closed on its own.
"My name is Prefect Calder," the man continued. "I oversee… anomalies."
Aiden's jaw tightened. "I don't think I belong here."
Calder finally turned.
His smile was polite. Almost kind.
"Most don't," he said. "At first."
He gestured toward a chair.
Aiden did not sit.
"No matter," Calder said lightly. "You were in the Lower Sanctum last night."
"That place is locked," Aiden replied.
Calder nodded. "It is."
Silence stretched.
"Locks," Calder added, "are invitations to certain kinds of people."
Aiden felt the familiar pressure behind his head, the phantom ache, the almost-memory. He forced himself to breathe evenly.
"I was disoriented," he said. "Stress. Sleepwalking."
Calder hummed, as if considering a theory he'd already dismissed.
"Do you know why we call it the Divine Disorder?" he asked.
Aiden didn't answer.
"Because divinity," Calder continued, "does not like to be remembered by the wrong minds."
He moved closer now, boots clicking softly against stone.
"Some students hear things," Calder said. "Others see. A rare few begin to feel."
His gaze flicked, briefly, precisely, to Aiden's shoulder.
"And those," he said quietly, "are the ones who break things."
Aiden's pulse spiked. "Is that a threat?"
Calder smiled wider.
"A reassurance," he said. "Sanctum exists to prevent unnecessary falls."
The word landed like a stone dropped into deep water.
"You're being monitored," Calder went on casually. "Nothing invasive. Just… observation. If you feel lightheaded, hear singing, experience dreams involving fire or wings"
"I report it," Aiden finished.
"Yes." Calder's eyes gleamed. "Immediately."
He stepped back, returning to the window.
"You're free to go," he said. "For now."
Aiden turned toward the door.
"One more thing," Calder added.
Aiden paused.
"If the Choir calls again," Calder said gently, "do not answer."
A beat.
"Next time," he continued, "we won't be able to bring you back alone."
The door opened.
Aiden left without another word, his heart hammering, his thoughts colliding.
As he descended the tower, one truth burned through the fear:
They weren't trying to cure him.
They were trying to contain him.
And somewhere deep within Sanctum Academy, the Choir was listening.