What had just happened? Who was Thalen? A close relative? What had happened to him?
Caelan was once again left with a mountain of questions. Not that it particularly mattered. His main focus was still finding out the nature of his mark.
He thought for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Judging by her reaction, Thalen must have been close to her. Either he had been badly injured or he was dead, and she was hallucinating.
And those books. The foreign language. The strange symbols and figures. What were they trying to hide?
There was more to this world than met the eye. That much was certain. Caelan had to pay attention to every detail if he wanted to uncover its secrets.
He had to complete his punishment without causing any trouble. He could not afford another mistake.
Over the next few days, Caelan attended his classes as usual.
On one particular day, a pale executor visited them. She bore a spiral mark around her right eye. The closer one looked, the deeper it seemed to sink into her skin, spiralling endlessly inward.
The woman had long black hair, dark eyes, and deep brown skin. She gave off a strange feeling, as if she looked familiar, though Caelan could not place why.
She spoke about serving the Dominion with obedience and honour.
"Justice prevails above all."
"Order is truth."
The class was called Ocular Pact Studies. It was immensely fascinating.
In this class, students learned the theory behind binding entities from the recursion realm through the eye.
These entities were described as living laws of nature. They were not animals, but manifestations of reality itself made conscious.
They possessed immense intelligence and incomprehensible power. When a pact was formed, they granted that power to their host.
The entity resided in the human’s left eye, observing them like a silent guardian.
Scholars believed countless entities existed in the recursion realm, though only a finite number could enter the human world.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Fewer than ten had ever been documented. Of those, one resided within the Ember Pale Executor, known as the Ember King.
The students stared at her in awe. Everyone dreamed of becoming a pale executor. For most, it was impossible.
There were seven pale executors, one for each mark, chosen directly by the emperor. Or so people believed.
In truth, no one had ever even seen the emperor’s face.
It had to be more than strength alone.
Society accepted whatever narrative it was given. Like cattle, they obeyed in exchange for comfort and safety.
Time passed.
Caelan met Ilyen again. They locked eyes, but neither spoke of what had happened.
He continued his duties in silence. Organising shelves. Cleaning classrooms. Scrubbing floors. Moving equipment.
Ilyen remained distant. She spoke little, and when she did, it was brief.
She carried pain behind her blank expression. Trauma he could not see, but could feel.
The week neared its end.
His final task was to assist with maintaining the Pattern Well beneath the academy.
It was smaller than the ones that sustained entire sectors. This one existed solely for the academy.
Caelan had never seen a Pattern Well before.
They were repeating geometric structures said to dissolve anomalies. Anomalies believed to be caused by humanity’s sins against the gods.
The Lord of Recursion.
Even within the academy, students prayed twice a day around a wheel structure dedicated to him.
They were taught of five lords.
The Lord of Recursion
The Lord of Pattern
The Lord of Causality
The Lord of Dissolution
The Lord of Continuance
Only the supreme being was worshipped openly.
It was the night of maintenance. His final day of punishment. He wanted it over.
Caelan descended to the academy’s lowest level.
Ilyen waited by the elevator. Their eyes met.
"When we enter, do not touch anything. Do nothing unless I tell you to," she said firmly.
Caelan nodded.
They entered the elevator and descended deeper underground.
A massive metal door stood before them.
The air changed first. It grew heavy and cold. Each breath felt filtered through something unseen.
Stone walls surrounded them. Lights hung at intervals. The surfaces were layered, etched with spiralling geometric grooves.
The lines resembled veins carved into stone.
Caelan stared, entranced.
They pushed open the door.
Inside lay the chamber.
The Pattern Well stood at its centre. A colossal circular basin sunk into the ground.
Four massive supports extended outward, reaching the chamber walls.
Caelan stepped closer. His boots echoed softly.
He peered inside.
Stone rings descended inward. Each tier was carved with interlocking symbols that rotated endlessly, never aligning the same way twice.
At the bottom, there was no visible source of light. Yet a faint white glow pulsed from the depths, slow and rhythmic, like a heartbeat.
It was vast. Majestic.
The light surged upward, vanished into the ceiling, then returned again.
With each pulse, the chamber tightened and relaxed, like a living organism breathing.
"Have you looked enough?" Ilyen’s voice echoed.
Caelan stepped back.
She stood behind him, watching.
"If you are done, can we begin our work?"
He nodded.
"Yes. Sorry for the delay."
As he turned away, he felt it.
The well was watching him.
