SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 26: Phone Call

The system alert pinged at 6:02 AM.

Lucen didn't open his eyes right away.

He lay there under the thin blanket, staring at the ceiling through his lashes, letting the early gray light leak in from the window like a slow, annoying drip.

The alert chimed again.

Soft. Polite.

Like it wasn't interrupting what little sleep he managed to glue together.

Lucen reached over, slapped the edge of his tablet, and cracked one eye open.

The system hovered in its usual spot, faint blue against the morning gloom.

Spell Design Flag: Trigger Condition Auto-Adjustment

[Hold Point] has calibrated after first rest period.

Mana Flow Smoothing: +6%

Duration Anchor Stability: +2 seconds

Updated Cost: 4 → 3

Lucen blinked again.

'Wait... it got cheaper?'

He sat up slowly.

The blanket clung to his leg with static. His hair was a mess. His shirt was halfway twisted from rolling all night.

He reread the line.

Same message.

Same impossible math.

'It refined the glyph on its own while I was sleeping? I didn't even cast it yet.'

He scratched the side of his head.

'This system doesn't just run different. It learns. Or cheats. Or both.'

He sat there for a few seconds, legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet on cold floor, letting his brain reboot one part at a time.

Then came the knock.

Three short raps on the apartment door.

Lucen froze.

Not the panic kind. Just the tired, suspicious kind where your heart doesn't jump, but your mind starts filing through excuses in case it's someone you owe money to.

He stood up. Quiet. Walked barefoot across the floor.

Peered through the peephole.

Nobody there.

Lucen frowned.

'Alright. Sure. Let's play that game.'

He opened the door anyway.

There was something on the ground.

A small envelope.

No stamp. No marking. Just folded, cream-colored paper sealed with a tiny glyph burned into the corner.

Lucen didn't touch it.

He stared at the glyph for a solid ten seconds.

It wasn't glowing.

But it wasn't dead either.

'That's definitely a tracking sigil. Or a trigger latch. Depends how dumb the sender is.'

He leaned forward and squinted. The symbol curled into itself. Sloppy ink work, not carved. Whoever wrote it was fast. Probably didn't think he'd actually check for it.

Lucen grabbed a wooden chopstick from the windowsill, nudged the envelope gently.

Nothing exploded.

'Cool. Step one is I'm still alive.'

He slid the envelope toward him, then pinched the edge and peeled it open with his nail.

Inside: a single folded card.

He pulled it out and unfolded it slowly.

Handwritten.

Not printed. Not copied. Actual pen.

"I think we're going to be useful to each other."

– Gen

Lucen blinked once.

No address. No meeting point. No time.

Just that sentence.

He looked at the door across the hall.

Still closed.

Same faded sticker on the panel. Same chipped paint.

He looked back down at the card.

Then muttered, "You left this without surveillance because you're either really confident or really stupid."

The system pulsed again.

Behavioral Trace Active: External Presence Flagged

Nearby Signature Match: 61% confidence – Guild Affiliated

Lucen let out a slow breath.

Folded the card. Tossed it on the desk.

Then walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face like it would help anything.

It didn't.

He wiped his face with a towel and stared at his reflection for a second longer than he meant to.

'This is where most people freak out. Start unraveling. Think they're cursed or chosen or some tragic savior archetype.'

He picked up his toothbrush.

Started brushing.

'Nah. I'm not unraveling. I'm adapting. And if Gen wants to watch from the shadows, fine. I'll sell him a front row seat later.'

Lucen tossed the towel over the sink and walked back to the desk.

The card still sat where he left it.

He didn't touch it at first.

Just looked at it.

The handwriting was clean. Not stiff, but too careful to be casual. Someone used a mana-safe pen. No smudging. Which meant they either practiced it, or they were used to writing notes that didn't leave trace signatures.

He picked it up and turned it over.

Blank.

But as he tilted it, the corner caught the light wrong.

Lucen narrowed his eyes.

Tiny numbers etched into the lower edge.

Smaller than system text. Burned into the fibers. You wouldn't notice unless you looked for it.

'There you are.'

He walked over to the table, grabbed his tablet, and flicked on the screen.

The number wasn't local.

Had a burner tag. Partial overlay mask. Looked like it belonged to some mid-tier courier service in Westbridge, but the encryption said otherwise.

Lucen pressed call anyway.

It rang once.

Twice.

A third time.

Then clicked.

But no one spoke.

Just breathing on the other end. Quiet. Focused.

Lucen said, "Nice stationery."

A pause.

Then Gen's voice came through, lower than usual.

"Didn't think you'd actually call."

Lucen sat down in the desk chair and leaned back slightly.

"I wasn't going to," he said. "Then I got bored."

Another pause.

Then the faintest laugh. "You're not what I expected."

Lucen stared at the ceiling. "You showed up at my table in a noodle shop. Dropped a glyph-tracked letter at my door. And I'm the unpredictable one?"

"You could've left the envelope alone."

"Yeah," Lucen said. "But it was on my floor. So now it's my problem."

Gen's tone shifted slightly. Still calm. But with a new edge under it.

"You get the feeling people are watching you?"

Lucen didn't answer right away.

His eyes flicked toward the window.

Still shut.

Curtains drawn. A faint outline of dust clung to the sill.

"I get the feeling people are guessing," Lucen said. "Watching would mean they actually know what they're looking at."

"Fair."

Another pause.

Then Gen spoke again. Slower.

"You're not on any roster. No awakening timestamp. No guild ping. You came out of that drift like you'd done it ten times before."

Lucen didn't reply.

Gen continued. "Whatever you're hiding... it's big enough that I'm not asking what it is."

Lucen finally said, "Then why are you still talking?"

"Because I think we can work together."

Lucen tilted his head.

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough," Gen said. "You improvise well. You're not squeamish. You don't cast like a normal mage."

Lucen blinked once.

Then said, "I only have dry noodles in my cabinet, and I'm allergic to long-term partnerships."

"You won't need to cook," Gen said.

Lucen let out a small breath that was almost a laugh.

"I'm listening."

"I've got a run lined up," Gen said. "Private drift. Not listed. Small window, tight seal. Pay's good, and it's off the books."

Lucen tapped his fingers on the desk.

"And?"

"And I need someone who can cast without being tracked," Gen said. "Someone like you."

Lucen closed his eyes for a second.

Thought about Maika. About Kell. About the trap glyph scrawled on the wall.

He opened his eyes again.

"I'll think about it."

"I'll send you the time and place."

The call clicked off.

Lucen stared at the screen for a few seconds.

Then said out loud, "I really need to stop talking to people who know my schedule better than I do."