Sophie followed Cane into his dorm room and waited quietly by the door until he turned to face her.
Cane turned slowly. "Did it go away?"
"Nope. I thought maybe it would fade under the lights, but… it hasn't."
Cane sighed. "I, uh… I have some starmetal in my arm."
"Pardon?"
"Remember that dream I told you about? The one with the couple placing their son into iron?"
Sophie nodded slowly. "Yeah…"
"Well, it changed. A while back. I didn't tell you the rest."
Cane explained—about the infant, the young parents, the thread of mithril inserted in the child's palm. The vision that had come unbidden, more memory than dream.
Sophie's eyes widened. She stepped closer and gently took his wrist, narrowing her gaze. "Here?" She pointed to his forearm.
Cane closed his eyes, reached inward—then shook his head. "No… it's moved again. Upper arm now."
"It's moving?" she asked. "Why? How?"
He gave a helpless shrug. "Not sure. Maybe it's bored."
"This really isn't a joking matter." Sophie stared into his eyes, which shimmered faintly in the dim room.
"I know," Cane admitted. "I may have acted without thinking things through entirely."
"Cane… this is that apple pie all over again."
"Hey, don't hold that over my head."
"I suppose it might not be all bad." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You won't need to light a candle to read at night."
"Really? I thought you said this wasn't a joking matter."
Sophie smiled. "You're a bad influence. We should tell Telamon."
"If they're still glowing by morning, I'll go straight to his office."
"I better stay and keep an eye on you," she said, leaning in just enough to make her meaning clear. "Or was that your plan all along?"
"You got me," Cane said, raising both hands in surrender. "Secret eye-glow technique. Foolproof."
Sophie laughed. "I'm going to grab some sleep clothes. You'll be okay for a few minutes?"
"Of course. I feel fine."
"Except for the glowing-eye thing," Sofie countered.
"Except for that," he agreed.
When the door closed behind her, Cane turned slowly toward the mirror.
They were definitely glowing.
He stepped closer. The light wasn't just bright—it moved, faint and pulsing, like a distant beacon.
"They're… reflecting a star," he whispered.
HOOOCH.
Pudding swooped in, landing on his perch with a flutter and a soft thunk. The falcon-owl hybrid tilted his head, studying Cane with one unblinking eye.
"It's bad, right?" Cane muttered. "You hate it."
Pudding flapped once, then hopped to Cane's shoulder. He rubbed his feathered head against Cane's cheek, soft and warm.
"Shoulda known you'd like it. You're a night owl. Literally." Cane stroked his head gently with one finger.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Sophie stepped inside carrying a small cloth bag.
Cane turned away to give her some privacy. "You know, you don't have to carry bags anymore. You do have a storage ring."
He turned around, giving her privacy to change.
"I know," she said, amused. "I keep forgetting."
After a moment, she approached and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "All done."
Cane blew out the candle and climbed into bed.
"Can you see in the dark?"
He shook his head. "Nope. But I can see through your clothes."
Sophie laughed, the sound soft in the dark. "That would be really embarrassing."
She slid under the covers and curled close beside him. "Wake me if you start to feel strange."
Cane turned and kissed her, deep and slow. "Like that?"
Sophie nodded, her face pink even in the dim light.
Sleep came easy.
No dreams. Just light.
Endless, bursting, flowing. Pulsing through him like a language he almost remembered. It was pleasant. Familiar.
Some time later, Cane stirred to find a weight on his arm. Sophie had her chin propped there, watching him quietly.
He cracked one eye open. "Tell me you didn't spend the whole night like that."
Sophie shook her head. "Nope. Just a few minutes."
"I see." Cane kissed the top of her head. "How are my eyes?"
"Dimmer," she said. "But deeper, somehow."
"I don't hate it." She leaned forward until their lips met again. "I have to leave in a few minutes."
Cane rolled out of bed and tossed the blanket back over her, then tickled her through the fabric.
"Nooo!" Sophie shrieked, squirming. "No tickling!"
"Fine." He grinned, walking over to the mirror. His eyes were still glowing—less intense, but unmistakable. "My pupils look like stars."
Sophie finished dressing and stepped beside him, peering up into his reflection. "Yep. That's what it is. Any change in vision?"
"Not that I can tell." He started to turn, but paused at her sudden expression.
"Umm… did the starmetal move again?"
Cane connected with it instantly. There was a new warmth in his chest.
He looked down.
A faint blue mark glowed in the center of his sternum—delicate and intricate, like something a skilled rune-drawer might craft.
"Yeah… right there."
Cane walked hand in hand with Sophie, heading toward Sun Tower on his way to Telamon's office.
"Getting a lot of looks this morning," Sophie said, glancing at a few students who turned to watch them pass.
"We always do," Cane replied with a smile.
The day was bright. Birds sang overhead, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves, weaving the sounds into a gentle harmony.
At the entrance to Sun Tower, Sophie paused. "Let me know what the Archmage says."
Cane nodded, accepting a quick kiss before continuing alone.
Inside the administration office, Ana looked up from her desk.
"Good morning, Ana."
"Heavens…" Ana blinked, caught somewhere between surprise and awe. "I'll let him know you're here."
Cane offered a polite smile. "Great."
The rune behind Ana's ear glowed as she relayed a message. After a moment, she nodded. "You can go right in."
The senior staff were already gathered around Telamon's desk when Cane entered. He nodded respectfully.
"Holy heavens, lad!" Brammel exclaimed. "What's going on with your eyes?"
Telamon leaned forward slightly, his expression sharpening. "Creation energy…"
The dwarf squinted up at him. "You feelin' alright? That affecting your vision?"
Cane shook his head. "No change that I've noticed. But… what is creation energy?"
"Ancient," Telamon said. "Formidable. Formed at the beginning of all things. Sometimes called Origin energy. Nearly vanished from the world."
He leaned back, gaze still fixed on Cane. "You must have done something."
Cane nodded. "I've been having dreams—more like flashbacks. They've been changing. I think… I think they're trying to teach me metallurgy."
Brammel's eyes widened. "You're taking dream classes? Lad… you didn't fall and hit your head lately, did you?"
Cane chuckled. "No, but I did something that might explain it." He went on to describe the dream—of the infant, the young parents, and the ceremonial insertion of mithril. Then the starmetal, and the sliver he pressed into his own palm.
"Learning from dreams is possible," Telamon said, nodding thoughtfully. "But rare. There would need to be an ancestor—adept level at minimum. Stored knowledge passed through the bloodline, only triggered in descendants with the right talent."
Selene Morva, silent until now, simply stared. "You have stars in your eyes."
Telamon leaned forward. "Where did you insert the starmetal?"
Cane rolled up his sleeve. "Here… but—"
"But what?" Brammel grabbed his arm, turning it over. "I don't see anything."
"It moved," Cane said. "And… it left a mark. It's visible now."
He unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled it open slightly.
"Heavens," Brammel muttered, staring at the glowing blue symbol etched on Cane's chest. "What in tarnation is that?"
"It's pulsing," Telamon noted, his tone even. "At this point, there's nothing we can do. In the future, Cane—come to me before doing something like this."
Brammel gave him a hard look. "Can we remove it?"
Telamon shook his head. "Unlikely. Not without knowing exactly where it's gone. And even then... I doubt anyone could. As long as you feel normal, we'll have to let it play out."