Clayton didn't show up to his Pioneer tower's elevtive which was scheduled today, or to any other class as well. Neither did Asher.
They weren't the type to skip class—but they also weren't the type to sit still while strange, unclean illusion cards showed up at their doorsteps. Whatever this was, it ran deeper than faction politics. And Clayton had a gnawing sense that every hour they wasted playing student was another hour someone else took control of their fate.
So instead of class, they found themselves crouched around a wide table in the Mirror hall, a quiet chamber sealed off from the rest of the academy's main archive halls. This was a hall most students came to discuss matters that are sensitive or deals that are not legal, simply an official place for shady dealings. And it was perfect for two people chasing shadows.
"I went through every seal pattern used by licensed cardsmiths on the eastern circuit," Clayton muttered, flipping through pages of traced sigils. "Nothing matches Mirage Cascade."
Asher leaned over. "Same with Phantom Bloom. Clean edges. Balanced mana symmetry. But not a single mark identifying a guild or craftsman. It's... too clean."
"That's the problem," Clayton said. "No record. No cleansing seal. And yet somehow it's stable. Which means whoever made it knows what they're doing—and did it on purpose."
Asher tapped the edge of the table. "That's not rogue work. It's strategic."
Clayton nodded. "It smells like the Black Veil."
Asher didn't immediately respond.
But he didn't deny it either.
There were always rumors about the Black Veil faction—how they controlled information flows, used advanced illusionism, and specialized in psychological pressure. A perfect breeding ground for cards like Mirage Cascade: beautiful on the outside, weaponized on the inside.
"We're not going to get answers from professors," Asher finally said. "Even the faculty that aren't involved… they'd rather smother this quietly than stir faction tension."
"Then we go to someone who's been watching longer than we have," Clayton said. "Eric Ashford."
Asher gave a faint grin. "The cold bastard. Smart call."
Eric Ashford wasn't an Adept, but he might as well have been. Rank 2, like them, and sharper than most who wore battle robes. He didn't speak much in lectures, didn't duel for attention, but if there was a pulse in the academy worth tracking, he already had it mapped. More importantly, Eric's father was President of the Warwick Union—one of the most politically independent arcane coalitions on the continent.
Clayton thought
Besides, Eric was one of the best arcane engineers even at 17 and tracked the entire academy through his shady means; in the novel, he was the only main character who was always informed about everyone.
If anyone knew what strings the Black Veil pulled, Eric would.
They found him on the upper east terrace, leaning on a stone railing, watching clouds flicker against the academy's illusion barrier.
Eric noticed them before they even said a word.
"I was wondering which of you would show up first," he said, not turning. "Turns out it's both."
Clayton stepped forward. "You know?"
"I know someone left you an unmarked card. I also know that three other students have received similar gifts—each more unstable than the last."
Asher crossed his arms. "And you're just watching?"
Eric finally turned, sharp gray eyes flicking between them. "I'm not in the business of intervention. But I am in the business of consequences. and information, the more rare cards I see without faction signatures, the more nervous or excited I get."
Clayton raised an eyebrow. "You think it's Black Veil?"
Eric's gaze didn't shift. "I think it's a splinter group. Maybe faction-sanctioned. Maybe not. But someone's experimenting with psychic resonance triggers, and illusion cards are the cleanest vector for testing loyalty shifts."
"So we were targets," Asher said quietly.
Eric gave a shallow nod. "Or candidates. Hard to say which is worse."
Clayton's fists clenched at his side. "We need to know how far this goes."
"You're asking the right questions," Eric said. "But here's a better one: how many students have already used the cards?"
Clayton froze. "...How many?"
"Two that I know of," Eric said. "One dropped from classes last week. The other's showing erratic behavioral shifts—personality fractures, paranoia spikes. You've seen him. Marcus Greaves. He was in your Tactical Adaptation elective."
Marcus. The quiet kid with the twitchy eye. Always staring at shadows like they were whispering.
"He used the card," Clayton muttered.
Eric nodded. "And now, he's part illusion himself. Fragments leaking out during class. He tried to open a ripple gate during breakfast yesterday."
"But how did academy officials not know this if the incident was this big?" how is there not even a murmur about it?" Clayton asked,
"Who said they did not know and about murmurs, let's just say every murmur can be controlled with a good price; you should know this, Antigonus." Eric replied,
Asher cursed softly.
"They're not just testing loyalty," he said. "They're testing stability."
Eric's face hardened. "That's why you two need to be careful. The moment you use those cards—even once—they bind. Not just to your arcane network. To your mental patterning. You won't know what's yours and what's seeded."
Clayton didn't speak.
He looked down at the containment box in his satchel, where Mirage Cascade still sat. Dormant. Unbinded.
But not forgotten.
"They want to shape how you think," Eric said, his voice low now. "And with enough imprints, they don't have to recruit you. You'll recruit yourself."
A silence stretched between them.
Then Asher asked, "Why are you helping us?"
Eric looked back toward the horizon, a gust of wind past the edge of the railing making him looked even more dramatic
"Let's just say I'm in this for the world peace," he said with a smile
"Or rather, conquering," Clayton and Asher both said together
"Ok, you to will owe me a favor" Eric finally said his price
He turned to Clayton. "You're not just students anymore. Not to them. You're proof that unbound agents can be manipulated. If they succeed with you, they'll start doing this to dozens—hundreds."
Clayton swallowed.
"And what do you suggest we do?" he asked.
Eric gave a thin smile. "Simple. Don't play their game. Trace the backdoors. Track who's already been compromised. Then find the anchor point. Every illusion has a source."
Clayton looked at Asher.
And Asher, for once, looked serious.
"Let's unravel it," Clayton said.