7263: I Wasn't Wrong ... It's Aware

Selmarday, the 4th of Myrrias
 
The moon of Veylnis hung fat and bright in the sky, silver light spilling through the windows like a whispered dare. The others were asleep, or at least pretending to be, and the halls were finally empty. Perfect timing.
 
I slipped out with the salt and candles, the oiled cloth folded tight in my pocket. My hands shook, but only a little. Five weeks of talking to the armor. Five weeks of cleaning it, greeting it, making it used to me. If it was a person, it would know me by now. If it was a spirit, it would know my voice. And if it was nothing but empty metal, then I was just some idiot kid wasting his breath.
 
But it moved. I know it moved. No one believes me. Not Eva, not the professors. But it moved. And tonight, it was going to talk.
 
The hall was cold. I kept expecting someone to round the corner and shout my name. No one did.
 
I drew the circle. Salt, fine and white, my hands steady now. The four-pointed star. Candles at the north and south points, one for what was, one for what will be. The armor at the east. Me at the west. I set the oiled cloth at its feet, a gift. Then the cloth I used to polish it — five weeks of my words rubbed into that metal, a few drops of my blood to bind them. I burned it. Watched the ashes curl and blacken. They smelled like dust and iron.
 
I sat back on my heels. Took a breath. Chanted the words over and over, old words, words I could barely understand but felt as if I should. Ten minutes, or an hour, or a lifetime. Then I asked, 'What is your name?'
 
Silence. Not empty. Not loud. Just... waiting. Then a voice. Or maybe more of a thought, a feeling, something between a whisper and a shiver. 'Kallr... Kallruh... Kallur.'
 
'Kall?' I suggested, the word feeling heavy in the air. The room seemed to hold its breath, and after a moment, the spirit's presence eased — almost like a nod.
 
My heart was pounding ... I was right.  There is something here. 'Why do you move around the school?' I leaned forward, breathless. 'What are you after?'
 
The silence stretched, and the armor didn’t move. But the air did. Cold. Shifting. And then I felt it — not a word, not a sentence, but a feeling. Disjointed. Fractured. Like someone waking up and not knowing where they are.
 
Memories. Too many memories. Piling up and sliding over each other. Things that happened centuries ago and things that happened yesterday, all at once.
 
I waited. I didn’t breathe. But that was all. Just that sense of being lost, being unmoored in time.
 
I waited until the candles burned low and the ashes cooled. The armor didn’t move. But I think it was still there, watching me.
 
When I finally stood up, my legs felt like they belonged to someone else. I packed up the salt, the candles, the burnt cloth. But I left the oiled cloth. Maybe it will notice. Maybe it won’t.
 
But it spoke. It said something. That means I was right. It’s not empty. It’s not nothing.
 
Now, I just have to figure out what it wants.
 
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Mystday, the 9th of Myrrias,
 
I told the Headmaster about Kall today.
 
Five days ago, I made contact. Just me, a circle of chalk, a strip of cloth, and a name. Kall. The spirit in the armor finally answered me. Not a ghost. Not some restless soul. He’s… something else. A spirit of intellect, born from the memories tied to this place. A collection of fragments, glimpses, echoes. He gained sentience only recently, and now he’s here—young, confused, serious as stone, and not quite sure where he is in time.
 
I went to Solmere this morning and told him everything. How I designed the ritual myself, how Kall spoke, how his memories are all out of order, like pages ripped from a book and scattered to the wind. Solmere listened, hands folded, brow furrowed. For a moment, I thought he’d tell me I was out of my depth, that I was meddling in things I couldn’t possibly understand.
 
Instead, he nodded.
 
“Kall,” he said, as if testing the name. “It will take years—maybe decades—to help him sort through it all,” Solmere said. “But if we can, he could be a witness to history—at least to what happened here. And that’s knowledge we can’t afford to lose.”
 
He looked at me then. "You did well," he said. "This is important."
 
Hearing that from him meant something.
 
We spent the next couple of hours going over what could be done to help Kall, and it was clear how much I still have to learn. I don’t know what comes next, but for once, it feels like I’ve done something more than pull a prank or tell a joke. Kall’s still in the armor, still wandering the halls. But now he’s not alone.