Chapter 90: Kaelan's Wall

*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*

The rain hadn't stopped since dawn. It drummed endlessly against the training yard's glass dome, a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in Aris's chest.

Match fifty-one. His opponent: Kaelan.

The beastkin students whispered bets in the corners. The fae smirked behind elegant hands. The humans cheered faintly, knowing what would happen before it began. Kaelan was not just another classmate. He was a mountain in motion. A wall of muscle, reflex, and confidence, wrapped in the kind of brutality that made the instructors proud.

Rathvoss's booming voice carried across the drenched field, echoing off stone walls.

"Aris Orvellis versus Kaelan Torcher! Begin when ready."

Kaelan stepped forward, shield in hand. A massive round plate etched with divine runes that glowed faintly. His wooden sword rested casually on his shoulder. His golden eyes gleamed with certainty.

"I won't go easy on you because you're human," he said, smirking. "Or go hard on you because you left our club. Good luck, ex-roommate."

Aris didn't reply. He was too busy downing every potion he'd crafted over the past week. Stamina tonics that tasted like copper. Agility draughts that burned going down. Minor strength enhancers that made his hands tingle. His veins felt like they were singing, his heartbeat like thunder. He muttered under his breath: "If I can't use the Witness Stone... then this will have to do."

"Match start!"

Kaelan moved like a hammer falling from the sky. His first shield bash nearly took Aris off his feet, the shock reverberating through his bones. The impact drove the air from his lungs.

Aris rolled aside, snapping his hand out. Radiant Mark. A glowing sigil flared across Kaelan's chest, pulsing with golden light. He followed it up with Radiant Convergence, the orb manifesting above his palm. He sent Light Missiles. Five, six, seven bursts of radiant energy slamming into the boy's torso. Each impact flashed brilliantly, light exploding like miniature suns.

But when the light faded, Kaelan still stood. His body shimmered with a protective aura, absorbing the blows like they were sparks on metal.

"Nice trick," Kaelan said, voice steady and unbothered. "But light doesn't burn me."

He charged again, shield leading. The ground shook with each step. Aris dodged right, then left, rolling across the slick floor. He sent a Solar Flare from his orb to blind him. The explosion of white light filled the arena, earning him a second's reprieve.

But Kaelan was already swinging, shield-first, striking through the glare with uncanny instinct. The boy fought like he could see through walls.

Aris blocked with his light barrier, magic solidifying into translucent gold. But the impact sent him flying backward. His ribs screamed in protest. Pain lanced through his chest.

He tried to rise, to reestablish distance, but Kaelan was relentless. Each step thundered across the arena floor. Each strike cracked through Aris's weakened shield like hammers through glass.

"Aris!" Rathvoss barked from the sidelines. "Are you giving up already?"

Aris spat blood, the taste metallic and bitter. He forced himself upright. "Never!"

Kaelan slammed into him again. This time Aris felt his arm twist under the pressure. There was a crack, a burst of pain so sharp it made the world go white. He hit the floor hard, gasping, his broken arm limp beside him. Useless.

"Stop! That's enough!" Rathvoss roared.

Kaelan halted, breathing hard, staring down at him. "You should know when to quit," he said quietly. "I didn't want to do that."

Rathvoss stepped forward, voice firm. "Winner: Kaelan Torcher."

The watching students muttered among themselves. The fae contingent smirked with smug satisfaction.

"Idiot," one of them said, loud enough to carry. "He's all potions and no brains."

Aris didn't answer. He couldn't. His body trembled. Not from pain, but fury. Not at Kaelan. At himself. At Lyra, for bringing him to this theocracy. At Demir, for pulling him into this world. At himself for not being enough.

Rathvoss sighed, disappointment clear in his expression. "Orric, get him to the infirmary. He can't fight like that. I'll have to mark your next matches as losses, Aris."

Orric hesitated. "Sir, I have my own..."

"Go," Rathvoss barked.

Aris forced a smile through the pain. "It's fine. I can walk."

But as he turned to leave, clutching his broken arm, Sliver stepped forward. His old rival. Her silvery hair glinted under the torchlight, perfect and untouchable.

"I can help my fellow classmate," she said sweetly, voice dripping with false concern.

Aris hissed through gritted teeth, "No thanks."

"Suit yourself," she said, smirking. "We'll see each other at the last match. Maybe more... later."

"Are you in love with me? Is that it?" The question came out sharper than he intended, revealing her ugly side.

"You wish?" she cursed, face twisting.

Aris limped away, clutching his arm. Fox trailed behind, tail low and ears flat.

"That's five automatic losses," the fox muttered. "You really don't know when to quit."

Aris chuckled bitterly, the sound hollow. "I was trying to study Kaelan's enhancement spell. Wanted to see how his body moved under it. The muscle response, the energy flow."

"And?"

"It's not for me," Aris said grimly. "I don't need to hit harder. I need to hit smarter. From a distance."

"At least rest. No more blood potions, Aris. I mean it."

At the infirmary, Healer Keyra greeted him with calm professionalism. Her silver robes glowed faintly with wardlight, runes embroidered along the hem. "Broken radius, bruised ribs, exhaustion. You templar types always overdo it."

"I'm not even a templar yet," Aris mumbled, slumping into the chair.

Keyra smiled faintly. "Then stop pretending you are." Her hands hovered over his arm, golden light spilling from her palms like liquid sun. Bones reknit, tendons mended. Warmth spread through the injury. "Two days rest. Minimum. No fighting until then."

Two days. Five forfeited matches. His rank dropped from 29 to 40 by the time he returned to class.

Still, he refused to sulk. He sparred when he could, brewed when he couldn't. The academy had turned colder, quieter. More instructors vanished overnight, their rooms sealed. Kurgodan's armored patrols doubled, boots echoing through empty corridors. Students whispered of inquisitions and trials.

But what haunted Aris most was the empty library.

No Lyra. No answers. Only the faint scorch mark of the Eye of the Theocracy still burned into the door.

Then, one gray afternoon, she returned.

He almost didn't recognize her at first. Her once-silver fae hair was trimmed to a harsh buzz cut, exposing the pale curve of her skull. Her fae disguise, the same mild librarian form she'd used for months, was immaculate. No visible wounds. No scars. Only the faintest emptiness in her eyes.

Aris froze mid-step. "Lyra?"

She turned slowly, blinking at him like he was a stranger. "Yes, student? How can I help you?"

It was her voice. The same tone, the same cadence. But there was nothing behind it. Like listening to an echo in an empty room.

"I... I'm glad you're alive," Aris said cautiously. "You were gone so long, I thought..."

She tilted her head politely, expression pleasant but vacant. "I was reassigned briefly. My memory isn't what it used to be. Sorry, I don't recall your name."

Fox's ears shot up. "Wait, what? You don't remember us?"

Lyra smiled faintly, looking at the fox with mild interest. "Oh, what a clever familiar. You can talk. That's very rare. It must have cost a fortune?"

Fox blinked, stunned. "You... you used to call me 'dog.' You said..."

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else," Lyra said gently, returning to her stack of scrolls. Her movements were precise, mechanical.

Aris stared, the room spinning. The same woman stood before him, same voice, same hands. But she wasn't there. Something was missing. Something had been taken.

He stepped forward. "Lyra, what did they do to you?"

She paused, brow furrowing slightly. "You're mistaken, student. No one made me anything."

Aris's stomach twisted. There were no scars on her neck, but he could feel the invisible weight of memory theft. Experiments written in absence.

Fox whispered, "They scrubbed her, Aris. Wiped her clean."

Lyra smiled politely again. "If you'd like to study, the lower stacks are open. Please keep your voice down."

Aris couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. He felt the weight of a hundred bottled lights pressing on his chest.

Finally, he forced a nod. "Thank you... librarian."

He turned to leave, his jaw tight, his fists trembling.

Outside, the wind howled against the stone courtyard. Rain lashed across his face, cold and sharp.

Fox looked up at him. "She's gone, Aris. They hollowed her out."

Aris didn't answer. He just stared toward the academy's great spire, where the sigil of the Eye still glowed faintly in the stormlight.

"I know," he whispered. "But if they took her memories..." He clenched his fists. "Wait. Didn't she say she was gonna do something?"

Fox sighed. "What do you mean?"

"What if she knew they were gonna drill her, so she removed us and passed the test?"

"What?"

"If she wasn't able to pass their interrogation, she would be dead. Like the High Priestess did to the previous builder."

"Then she must have used her relic. She used that."

"Exactly. Where is it?"

"I don't know."

"She must have hidden it. If we find it, we can use it to give her memories back."

He turned back toward the dorms, rain dripping from his hair. Inside, his cauldrons still waited. Unfinished brews, incomplete formulas.

But now, he had a new mission. Find the relic. Restore Lyra. Whatever it took.