Nathan woke with a sharp gasp, the remnants of yet another dream still thrumming in his chest. Early morning light trickled through the dorm window, illuminating a swirl of dust motes. For a moment, he lay still, heart pounding, listening for the faint music that had haunted his sleep. It faded slowly, as if retreating just beyond his awareness. He rubbed his eyes, groaning softly.

  From across the room, Lissandre stirred in her bed, mumbling half-coherent protests at the sun. Outside on the balcony, Noctisolar dozed with its starlit wings folded, tail gently curved around the railing. The dragon lifted its head when it sensed Nathan was awake, golden eyes opening in a slow, silent greeting.

  In the hush, Nathan exhaled, trying to calm the persistent flutter in his pulse. He had dreamt of twisting hallways again, corridors he couldn’t name, lit by flickering sconces, each turn leading to a doorway humming with an odd, half-heard chord. Whenever he followed the music, he caught glimpses of a figure ahead, silver-eyed and out of phase, as though existing half in his reality and half in another. When he neared, the figure always vanished.

  And there was more: this time, the chord hadn’t disappeared at waking. Even now, in the early morning quiet, he caught stray notes, tiny harmonic pulses, whenever he blinked too quickly or turned his head just so.

  He shook off the lingering dream and rose, quietly dressing to avoid disturbing Lissandre.

  She snored gently, oblivious. Out on the balcony, Noctisolar uncoiled and nudged him, a warm swirl of starlight shimmering across its scales. Nathan patted the dragon’s neck, grateful for the wordless support.

  Nathan slipped out of the dorm, weaving through the winding halls toward the breakfast hall. The caretaker staff wandered here and there, though not as thickly as usual, perhaps occupied by an early patrol deeper in the campus. A few students passed by, offering polite nods or curious stares at Noctisolar, who padded calmly at Nathan’s side.

  Halfway to the dining hall, he heard it: a soft melodic chord fluttering at the edge of his hearing. It was faint, like a harp string plucked somewhere in the distance. He paused, frowning, scanning the corridor. This hallway was empty. A caretaker had just walked by, but nothing else seemed unusual.

  Yet the chord lingered, quiet but distinct, as though the very stones were resonating. He stepped forward, and the note abruptly dissolved. He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Am I imagining this?” he muttered. Noctisolar tilted its head, as though listening.

  He continued. Twice more, he heard short bursts of music, bright little tones, but only for a heartbeat. Once, it happened as he walked past a closed storeroom door. Another time when he passed two students whispering, he couldn’t quite catch their words, but one of them laughed nervously, clearly lying about something. The chord flared the instant the lie was told, fading just as fast.

  By the time Nathan reached the dining hall, his mind spun with questions. Was this a new side effect of his Sun affinity? A reaction to hearing untruths or illusions? Whatever it was, it unsettled him deeply.

  Over breakfast, Krit and Lissandre chattered about their morning classes while Roremand ate in studious silence at a neighboring table. Nathan tried to focus on the conversation, but the memory of those chords pulled his thoughts away. He caught stray notes even now, a half-step chord somewhere behind him, barely audible. When he turned, it vanished.

  “You look like you’re drifting off into another dimension again,” she teased, flicking a grape at his forehead. “I swear, if Phil sees free real estate in your brain, he’ll build a tiny flaming condo and refuse to pay rent.”

  If only she knew how literal that felt, he thought.

  After finishing, they split for separate classes. Nathan trudged to Runes with Varis. He had to keep his head in the lesson. Yet halfway through Varis’s lecture on advanced rune calligraphy, a new pulse of music tugged at him from nowhere. Distracted, he looked to the classroom’s open doorway, nothing.

  Varis caught him staring. “Is there a problem, Nathan?”

  He started. “No, sorry, professor.”

  Varis’s brow furrowed. “Then let us proceed. Your lines must be precise.”

  Nathan forced himself to face the rune board. But in the corner of his vision, he saw movement, a figure crossing the hallway, someone wearing his face. His breath hitched. The reflection’s eyes were white, empty. Out of phase with reality, stepping past the threshold as if gliding through air.

  Nathan lurched to his feet, nearly knocking his stylus to the floor. “Prof...”

  Varis turned swiftly. “What is it?”

  “I...” Nathan’s gaze darted to the doorway. The corridor was empty, no sign of the phantom. Heart pounding, he forced himself to breathe. “I thought I saw someone.”

  Varis’s gaze sharpened. “Seen illusions again?”

  Nathan’s cheeks burned. “Not illusions, exactly. Probably just my imagination.”

  Varis didn’t press, though worry flickered across his features. “Sit, then. Focus on your runes. We’ll talk later.”

  Nathan obeyed, pulse unsteady. From the desk behind him, he felt Roremand’s quiet scrutiny. He didn’t dare turn to meet that gaze.

  Once class ended, Nathan lingered, hoping to corner Varis about what he’d witnessed. But Varis was already striding out. “Come with me,” the professor ordered, not unkindly.

  They ended up in a small side chamber off the main corridor, a modest practice room with neutral wards to contain minor magical surges. Nathan stood near the center, hands clenched, while Varis pressed a palm to a faint glyph near the wall. The door sealed.

  “Speak,” Varis said. “What exactly happened?”

  Nathan hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. He settled for partial truth. “I keep… hearing bits of music. Tiny chords. And earlier, I saw a version of myself outside the doorway, with white eyes, like a ghost or something. Then it vanished.”

  Varis’s expression tightened. “Have you been casting anything unusual?”

  Nathan shook his head firmly. He’d been careful not to let the caretaker staff or professors see his merges. “No. I’ve done nothing. It just happens.”

  Varis studied him, eyes narrowing. “Such phenomena sometimes occur with high-tier channelers when they surpass their mental capacity. We call it over-channeling, moments when your aura’s boundaries slip, letting illusions or echos slip in. If you’re seeing reflections of yourself, that might be a sign your magic’s crossing internal lines.”

  Nathan bit his lip. “So I’m just… seeing illusions? Because my mind is overloaded?”

  “That’s the usual explanation. Over-channeling can produce random illusions, auditory phenomena, even momentary out-of-body glimpses.” Varis paused, brow furrowing. “But something about your expression suggests you’re not convinced.”

  Nathan swallowed. “I don’t think these are random illusions. It feels different. The notes are always there, constantly buzzing in my ear. And the white-eyed figure, I swear it was me, or part of me. Not some random hallucination.”

  Varis pressed his lips together. “Powerful, unstructured magic often seeks expression. If not illusions, then ephemeral echoes. Possibly your own psyche shaping stray energy.” He studied Nathan carefully. “Keep watch on these episodes. If they worsen or become more tangible, we may need to restrict your casting further until we’re certain you’re stable.”

  Nathan’s shoulders tensed. “I’m stable enough.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Varis said gently but firmly. “Over-channeling can be dangerous. We want to protect you, and those around you.”

  Nathan bristled but nodded. “I understand.”

  Varis exhaled. “Go to your next class. Don’t push. And if you see that apparition again, or the chords become overwhelming, come to me immediately.”

  Nathan left the side chamber feeling rattled. Over-channeling? Maybe that explained it. But deep in his gut, he knew something else was at work. The chords felt purposeful, not random. The vision of himself with white eyes felt like a reflection of something real, not a trick of overworked magic.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  As he wandered the hallways between classes, Noctisolar glided overhead, silent as a ghost. Students parted to give them space, though many craned their necks in curiosity. A caretaker staff member approached them once, checking for meltdown surges, but found nothing unusual.

  At midday, Nathan slipped into a quiet alcove near the library’s back corridor, hoping for a moment of peace. Noctisolar perched behind him, coiling gracefully on a ledge. “What’s happening to me?” he whispered, voice trembling. “I keep seeing that figure. Hearing those chords. Professor Varis thinks it’s just illusions.”

  Noctisolar rumbled softly, pressing its muzzle near his shoulder. Warmth flooded him, a silent reassurance. Then, in the hush of that lonely corridor, Nathan heard words—not quite external, not quite internal, but a shimmering presence at the edge of his thoughts:

  “The veil between you and your echoes is thinning.”

  Nathan jolted upright, heart pounding. “What...” He spun to look at Noctisolar, eyes wide. The dragon stared back calmly, and though its mouth never moved, he felt the resonance of that sentence in his bones—like the dragon’s voice bypassed normal speech, pressing directly into his mind.

  “You…” he stammered, mind reeling. “You can talk?”

  Noctisolar blinked. Another wave of reassurance, gilded with gentle sadness, brushed across him, along with the same phrase repeating in a melodic echo:

  “The veil is thinning.”

  Nathan swallowed, tears pricking at his eyes. “What do I do?”

  A flicker of gentle starlight shimmered along the dragon’s scales, then faded. No more words came, only silence, a sense of watchful empathy. Nathan sank onto a bench, chest heaving in confusion. The caretaker staff had never recorded the dragon speaking. Possibly it never had, until now. Or maybe only Nathan could hear it.

  He pressed a hand to his temple. “If the veil is thinning… does that mean these echoes are real? Another version of me?”

  Noctisolar offered no direct answer, merely pressed closer, a comforting warmth in a corridor that felt suddenly too cold.

  That afternoon, in a half-empty classroom during a routine rune theory lesson, it happened again. The hum started quietly at first, a faint, harmonic chord that only Nathan seemed to notice. He froze, halfway through scribing the Air glyph on his practice tablet.

  At the front, the professor droned on about historical runic expansions. Students scribbled notes or yawned behind textbooks. No one else reacted. But the chord grew, intensifying. Nathan’s vision blurred at the edges.

  Suddenly, everything shifted. He blinked, and found himself not in the classroom, but in a dim hallway of black stone lit by flickering torches. The floor under his feet felt cold. He recognized it from his dreams.

  White-eyed Nathan stood at the far end, features half-lost in shadow. Slowly, the figure turned, meeting his gaze. Without speaking, it lifted a hand, beckoning.

  “Nathan?” A distant voice tugged at him, someone in the real classroom. The illusions overlapped in his mind, two worlds existing at once. He felt a surge of panic.

  He stepped back. The hallway flickered. White-eyed Nathan whispered something, silent lips forming words he couldn’t decipher. Then he vanished, the corridor dissolving into swirling dark.

  Reality snapped into focus. He was back in the classroom, stylus in hand. The professor’s voice droned on. A few students glanced at him curiously, his half-raised arm must have looked odd. He realized he was breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead.

  He swallowed shakily, resuming his seat, hoping no one noticed. But the professor paused mid-sentence. “Nathan Quinn. Are you unwell?”

  Nathan forced a smile. “I… I’m fine, just… headache.”

  “Get some air, then. Don’t disrupt the lesson.”

  Nodding gratefully, Nathan rose, slipping out. None of the caretaker staff loomed outside, fortunately. He found a quiet corner in the hallway and sank to the floor, heart hammering.

  That was no simple illusion. He had existed in two places at once: a normal lecture, and a black stone corridor with a warped reflection of himself. Over-channeling? Or was the dragon right about the veil between him and his echoes? The memory of Noctisolar’s silent voice made him shiver.

  Krit appeared from around the corner, footsteps light. Their eyes flicked to him, immediate concern in their gaze. “Nathan? You look pale.”

  He swallowed hard, forcing steady breath. “I just saw something again. That version of me with white eyes, in a dark hallway. It felt so real. I couldn’t tell what was happening.”

  Krit knelt beside him. “It’s happening more often?”

  Nathan nodded. “Yes. And I keep hearing chords. Like music that triggers whenever magic is cast or something is off; when someone lies, or near certain doors.” He hesitated. “It’s not random. It’s… connected to me somehow.”

  Krit’s expression was solemn. “If the illusions intensify, it might be a sign your magic is bridging realms within you. The caretaker staff would label it over-channeling.”

  Nathan shook his head, voice trembling. “But I know it’s more. The illusions feel… purposeful. The dragon says the veil between me and my echoes is thinning.”

  Krit’s eyes widened slightly. “The dragon spoke?”

  Nathan nodded. “Not out loud. I heard it in my mind. It said exactly that: ‘The veil is thinning.’ I have no idea what it means.”

  Krit placed a steady hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Maybe it means your Sun affinity is evolving faster than you realize. Echoes might be aspects of yourself—things you’ve buried. Or reflections from a realm we don’t understand.”

  Nathan closed his eyes, fighting the wave of panic. “Then how do I fix it? I can’t keep phasing out mid-class.”

  Krit exhaled. “If it’s truly an internal veil, you may not fix it in the normal sense. You might have to integrate it. Acknowledging the illusions, letting them show you… whatever they want. That’s a path to wholeness. But it’s not easy, or risk-free.”

  Nathan bit his lip. “If I tell the professors, they’ll clamp down, restrict my casting more. Varis already warned me.”

  Krit frowned. “Then be cautious. But don’t ignore these signs. If the illusions escalate, you’ll endanger yourself. Confide in someone you trust—maybe Roremand, if you’re forging some mutual understanding. Or Lissandre. You shouldn’t face this alone.”

  Nathan nodded slowly, feeling a swirl of gratitude and fear. “I’ll think about it.”

  That night, after Lissandre fell asleep, Nathan took Noctisolar and slipped into the quiet hallways, searching for answers. The caretaker staff presence was minimal, most having retired or patrolling other wings. He followed an inexplicable pull, the faint chord tapping the edges of his hearing.

  Soft lamplight cast dancing shadows along the corridor walls, making everything feel dreamlike. Twice, he paused near a locked storeroom door, certain he heard the chord ring out. But the door was sealed. He pressed his ear against it, hearing only silence and his own ragged breathing.

  Noctisolar pressed close, a wave of courage washing over him. “Alright,” Nathan whispered. “Lead me, if you can.”

  The dragon stared with unwavering gold eyes. Then it turned, walking with slow grace down a side hallway rarely used. Nathan followed. At the far end, the corridor took a sharp turn and ended in a small antechamber he barely recognized. It was empty except for a single large mirror mounted on the wall, tarnished with age.

  Nathan’s pulse raced. The chord rose, quiet but urgent. He stepped closer to the mirror. No reflection stared back, just darkness. Heart pounding, he lifted a hand, touching the glass.

  Suddenly, the glass rippled like water. A figure blinked into view: white-eyed Nathan, face inches from his own. The reflection pressed a hand from the other side, matching his.

  “You…” Nathan breathed, voice shaking. “Who are you?”

  The figure’s lips moved silently, no sound escaping. But in Nathan’s mind, the chord rang out, forming words without voice: “An echo. A possibility. You’re unraveling what was hidden.”

  Nathan trembled. “Why? Why do I see you?”

  In answer, the reflection parted its lips, revealing pure white eyes swirling with faint gold flecks. The corridor around them grew dim. Noctisolar let out a low, distressed hum.

  The reflection whispered into Nathan’s thoughts: “Because you are ready to remember. And I am ready to return.”

  Nathan jerked his hand back. The mirror turned normal again, showing only his real reflection, wide-eyed and terrified. He gasped for air, adrenaline surging. Noctisolar bumped against him, emitting anxious warmth.

  He staggered away from the mirror, heart hammering. The chord dissipated slowly, leaving a faint echo pounding in his temples.

  Breath ragged, Nathan sank to the floor, back against the wall. Noctisolar hovered protectively. Once he recovered enough to think, he mustered the courage to ask in a whisper: “What does it want from me? This echo—this possibility?”

  He felt that same empathic whisper inside his head: “A lost half, seeking wholeness. The veil is thinning.”

  Nathan closed his eyes, tears burning. “I’m afraid,” he admitted. “What if I lose myself?”

  Noctisolar rumbled gently, pressing its forehead to him, a silent vow that it would not let that happen. In that quiet contact, Nathan realized the illusions might not be illusions at all but glimpses of another aspect of his magic or soul. The white-eyed reflection was no random phantasm. It was a piece of him—maybe an older identity, or a future path he hadn’t fully stepped into.

  He inhaled, letting Noctisolar’s warmth flow through him, feeling the chord fade to a gentle hush. A realization struck: Over-channeling or not, he had to integrate these glimpses. Fight them, and he might spiral into meltdown. Accept them, and maybe he’d find the synergy he’d been missing.

  Steeling himself, he rose from the floor. He pressed a hand gently to the mirror’s surface again. This time, no echo appeared. Just his own reflection, eyes normal, trembling but alive. “I won’t run,” he whispered. “If you’re part of me, I’ll face you.”

  Noctisolar hummed softly, satisfied. The chord vanished, replaced by a steady hush of unity.

  Though fear still churned in his gut, Nathan felt a small surge of resolve. He would keep the truth hidden from the professors for now—Varis’s approach to over-channeling didn’t match what he’d seen. But he would confide in those he trusted: Lissandre, Krit, perhaps even Roremand. If these echoes wanted something, he’d figure it out with the help of friends.

  Quietly, he and Noctisolar retreated from the hall, leaving the old mirror to reflect an empty corridor behind them. The caretaker staff never knew they’d been there.That night, back in his dorm room, Nathan sank into bed, mind heavy with unanswered questions. Yet, for the first time since the illusions began, he felt a flicker of hope. The white-eyed figure wasn’t a random specter but a sign: something within him sought unity or release.

  He curled under the covers, staring at the shadowy shape of Noctisolar curled near the window. The dragon dozed, starlit scales glowing faintly, as if dreaming of cosmic rivers. A faint chord lingered on the edges of his hearing—less menacing now, more a lullaby.

  He closed his eyes. In the drifting space before sleep, he heard the echo once more, a single, sustained note as though plucked from deep within his soul. Not a threat, but an invitation.

  A part of him.

  A reflection.

  A possibility.

  The veil between you and your echoes is thinning, Noctisolar had said. For better or worse, Nathan would discover what lay beyond that veil. And this time, he wouldn’t face it alone.

  He exhaled softly, letting the chord carry him into uneasy dreams. The hallway awaited. The white-eyed reflection waited. But Nathan went willingly, prepared, at least a little, to listen.