The next morning, Elara woke tangled in a storm.
Outside her window, thunder cracked like bones. The Academy's wards shimmered faintly against the pouring rain, a curtain of gold against the bruised sky. Somewhere in the distance, bells tolled — not for celebration, but warning.
Someone had broken the wards.
Again.
The third breach in a month.
The professors said nothing, but Elara heard the whispers. Rogue magic. Blood curses. Something old, clawing its way through the seams of the world.
She pulled her shawl tighter and turned from the window, heart heavy.
Because something inside her was changing too.
And she was running out of time to pretend otherwise.
She avoided both of them for two days.
Rowan came looking — of course he did. He always did. Her gentle shadow. Her compass.
But she made excuses. Buried herself in study. Faked smiles. Swallowed guilt.
And Kael?
Kael didn't ask.
He waited.
Like a storm waits for the mountain to break.
It was nearly midnight when the ache became unbearable.
Magic prickled under her skin, restless, wild.
She left her dorm without thinking — robes thrown over her nightclothes, barefoot on the cold floor. The halls of the Academy whispered with enchantments, torches flickering without flame. Her steps took her to the east wing. Down the servants' spiral. Into the forbidden archives.
He was already there.
Kael.
Leaning against the rune-locked doors like he'd known she would come.
"You feel it," he said. Not a question.
She hesitated, every instinct screaming to turn back.
But her mouth betrayed her.
"Yes."
His eyes flared. "It's waking in you. The old magic. The kind they tried to breed out generations ago."
She frowned. "What do you mean 'breed out'?"
"You think this is an accident?" he said, stepping closer. "Your bloodline. Your gifts. The way the world twists when you feel too much? That's no accident, Elara."
"How do you know so much about me?"
He reached into his coat. Pulled out an old book. Bound in black leather. Stamped with a crest she recognized too well.
Her family's crest.
"My mother was the last Shadowbinder before yours," he said. "She died summoning something no one dared name."
Elara's breath caught.
"My father never forgave her. But I… I remembered." Kael's voice softened. "I remember watching your cradle light up the night sky when you were born. I remember your cries echoing like thunder across the courts. You don't know what you are, Elara. But I do."
She wanted to scream. To run.
Instead, she whispered, "Tell me."
Kael smiled.
And the door behind him unlocked.
The forbidden archives smelled like dust and secrets.
They walked between towering shelves of iron-bound tomes, past cages that once held living spells. Down into the crypt where the first Archmages wrote their names in blood.
Kael lit no torch.
He didn't need to.
The further they walked, the brighter Elara glowed.
"Your magic," he murmured, watching
the violet light pulse from her palms. "It knows this place."
She found a wall etched with a symbol she didn't recognize — but her blood did. Her fingers hovered over it, and the rune flared to life.
A panel slid open.
Inside—
A mirror.
Ancient.
Cracked.
Dark.
She stepped closer.
But her reflection didn't mimic her.
It smirked.
Shifted.
Wore Kael's eyes.
"Elara—" Kael's voice was sharp now. "Don't look too long."
She jerked back.
The mirror faded.
"What was that?" she breathed.
"Truth," he said. "And prophecy. That mirror shows who you might become. Who you fear becoming. It's different for everyone."
"And what do you see?"
He didn't answer.
Just looked at her like she was the mirror.
Then, without warning, he reached out.
His hand cupped the back of her neck.
And kissed her.
No tenderness. No hesitation.
Just fire.
Rough and consuming.
She melted against him before her brain caught up. His magic tangled with hers — shadow and starlight sparking like wildfire. Her hands fisted his coat. His mouth trailed down her jaw, her throat—
And then—
"Elara?!"
Rowan's voice.
Sharp.
Shattered.
She froze.
Kael stepped back, slow, deliberate.
Rowan stood at the threshold, drenched from the rain, a blade in one hand, heartbreak in his eyes.
"What the hell is going on?" he whispered.
Elara couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe.
Kael turned to him. "She's not yours, Velliar. She never was."
Rowan lunged.
Steel sang.
Kael dodged with lazy grace, deflecting the blade with a twist of his hand. "This isn't your fight."
"She's mine," Rowan growled. "She chose me."
And maybe it was cruel.
Maybe she should've lied.
But Elara looked at him and said, "I don't know who I choose."
The pain on his face gutted her.
But the truth would've hurt more.
He lowered the blade.
Didn't say another word.
Just turned and left — boots echoing through the dark like thunder.
She didn't sleep that night.
Didn't dream.
She lay in the alcove near the southern observatory, curled into her own guilt, replaying the look in Rowan's eyes.
And the way Kael's touch had lit her nerves like lightning.
She was breaking something precious.
And she didn't know how to stop.
The next day, Rowan didn't come to class.
Didn't return her letters.
Didn't show up for the sparring exhibition he'd trained for all year.
When she finally found him, he was in the dueling court's far chamber, sleeves rolled, slashing spell sigils into the air like they'd offended him.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
"Rowan, please—"
"I waited, El. For years. I never kissed anyone else. I never wanted to."
"I never asked you to wait," she said, voice cracking.
He looked at her. "No. But you came back. You let me hope."
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"But you did."
She stepped closer. "I still love you."
"Then why him?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Because he sees the parts of me I don't understand. Because when I touch him, my magic sings. And I don't know what that means yet."
"And me?"
She whispered, "You're the part I want to keep safe."
He let out a breath.
"I wish that was enough," he said.
Then he walked away.
And this time, she didn't follow.
Kael found her at dusk, by the old stones near the edge of the cliff.
He didn't say I told you so.
Didn't smirk.
He just sat beside her.
Quiet.
Close.
After a long while, she asked, "Am I a monster for not choosing?"
"No," he said. "You're a storm."
"What if I break both of them?"
Kael looked at her.
"You'll break the world before this is over."
That night, Elara dreamed of fire.
A burning forest.
A boy in white robes on his knees, screaming.
Another — cloaked in shadow — walking away with her hand in his.
She woke with her pillow soaked in tears.
And her palms glowing.
The mark on her skin had changed.
A new rune, jagged and dark, burned across her wrist.
The prophecy was accelerating.
She was out of time.
And soon… she'd have to make a choice.