Prologue

IN this world, no one ever truly disappears. Or so the ancient sorcerers believed. There is a belief that every life they live will always leave a trace—on a doorknob, footsteps on a stone floor, a sound that once filled a room, even a memory long buried deep within a person's mind—all of it will leave a small echo in an invisible world.

They call it The Veil.

The Veil is not a realm separate from the reality of the present world, but rather a hidden layer that holds the traces of everything that has ever existed.

Most humans cannot sense the Veil's existence. They simply walk through streets and places that have held tens or even hundreds of thousands of years of stories, yet they never truly realize that traces of the past are stored within them.

Those who possess Resonance within themselves can sense the Veil's presence, as this ability serves as a bridge between the individual and the hidden layer of the world. Magic does not simply appear out of nowhere, nor is it conjured from nothing, because the Resonance that manifests possesses distinct characteristics for each individual.

Those born with Resonance must be able to harmonize the energy they possess, for no two spells are truly alike. Two different wizards may cast the same spell, yet the desired outcome will form distinct patterns that reveal their true selves.

Magic is shaped by the user's experiences, intentions, emotions, and personality.

"Magic remembers its maker"

That is what the ancient wizards often said.

Every Form (the result of magic) that is created leaves a trace of Resonance from the hands of its creator. The wizard's mark will always be preserved in every rune and artifact; even houses will always recognize those who were once part of their history.

No matter how much time passes: the Veil still remembers.

Seraphine exhaled slowly as she closed the book that had been resting on her lap. She had never truly understood how a spell could remember its creator. She had spent a great deal of time poring over the ancient records, theories, and intricate diagrams that filled the book’s pages until the twilight began to fade over Veyl Academy.

Without realizing it, one of her hands reached out to touch the messy black hair resting on her lap, gently stroking it, smoothing out a few strands that had been blown by the wind and had fallen to cover the face of the man sleeping there.

Unlike usual, Lysander’s mischievous face looked much calmer. Especially since there was no longer any mocking tone coming from him—the kind that always made Seraphine want to roll her eyes whenever Lysander’s confidence suddenly surfaced.

Without realizing it, a smile slowly spread across Seraphine’s face as she gazed at Lysander’s face for a moment. It felt strange to think that members of two different Houses could spend time together on the shores of Black Lake, enjoying the sunset that was slowly setting in—as if time itself slowed down whenever they were there

“Are you done staring at me?”

Still with his eyes closed, Lysander said it with the mocking tone he always used, as if he’d already won the conversation even before his opponent answered. The corners of his lips turned up into a small, satisfied smile when he felt the hand that had been stroking his hair stop moving.

Seraphine looked down at him, slightly surprised that he wasn’t actually asleep after all.

“You’re not asleep yet?” she asked flatly.

“Not entirely.” Lysander still didn’t open his eyes. “I’m just enjoying the fact that someone who spends hours reading a book on magic theory is actually more interested in looking at my face than at the contents of the book itself.”

Seraphine immediately pulled her hand away from his hair.

“I wasn’t staring at you.”

Her answer was too quick.

And that made Lysander’s smile grow even wider.

“Oh?” he murmured. “So the fact that my hand feels lighter now—because you stopped running your fingers through my hair—isn’t because you felt caught?”

Seraphine let out a small sigh, trying to open her book again as if the conversation didn’t matter.

“I was just making sure your hair wasn’t blocking your face.”

“Ah, of course.” Lysander nodded slowly, his eyes still closed. “A very reasonable explanation.”

“It is a reasonable explanation.”

“Of course.” His smile grew wider. “And I’m sure you do the same thing to everyone who falls asleep in your lap.”

Seraphine glared at him.

“Lysander.”

“I’m just asking.”

“You’re annoying.”

“So they say.” Lysander finally opened one eye, gazing at her with a smug expression, like someone who’d just found a flaw in his opponent’s argument. “But strangely enough, you’re still letting me sleep here.”

Seraphine opened her mouth to reply, but stopped.

What he said was true. Seraphine could have woken him up right away, told him to go find another place to sleep, and said that Black Lake wasn’t the right place to spend the afternoon. But she hadn’t done that, and it annoyed her that Lysander knew it.

“You’re too confident,” Seraphine said finally.

“It’s not overconfidence.” Lysander closed his eyes again, resting his head comfortably once more. “I just know you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then why were you still running your fingers through my hair five minutes ago?

Seraphine fell silent.

Lysander waited a few seconds, savoring his small victory.

“No answer?”

“I’m looking for a reason to shut you up.”

“But you haven’t found one yet.”

“I could shut you up with magic.”

“A threat from a Lumen?” Lysander chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

“You should be scared.”

“Not when the person threatening me is still sitting right there, letting me use her lap as a pillow.”

Seraphine stared at him in disbelief.

“You really have no shame.”

“I do.” Lysander opened his eyes and looked at her. “I just don’t use it when I’m with you.”

For a moment, Seraphine was at a loss for words.

Behind all of Lysander’s taunts and annoying smiles, it was always hard to truly get angry at him. There was always a feeling that everything about Lysander had been a part of her for a long time—a feeling she could never quite explain.

Seraphine finally shook her head slowly and picked up her book again.

“Go to sleep, Lysander.”

“Well, see?” he said smugly. “You’re even telling me to go to sleep gently.”

“I told you to be quiet.”

“That still sounds like you care.”

“Lysander.”

“Okay, okay.” He smiled without opening his eyes. “I’m going to sleep.”

A few seconds passed.

Then his voice sounded again.

“But for the record—you were staring at me.”

Seraphine let out a long sigh.

“And for the record,” she replied, turning a page in her book, “you’re talking way too much for someone who claims to be asleep.”

Lysander’s smile grew even wider.