Some shadows aren't cast by light, but by the fire we bury inside ourselves. When it finally burns through the silence, you'll know. You won't be able to look away."
— Seris
Entry One: After the Showcase
The echoes of power still hummed in my veins hours after the Second Year showcase.
The courtyard had been alive with roaring firestorms, ripples of sound bending the very air, and weapons conjured from nothing but sheer will.
The mastery was dazzling—intimidating.
Every move was precise, every spell laced with a confidence I felt I could never reach.
But none of it held me as captive as Kael's flames.
His blue fire wasn't ordinary.
It twisted and flickered like a living thing, ancient and unyielding, more like a companion than a tool.
The flames didn't obey him—they followed him, as if waiting for something—or someone.
I searched his face then, but he never looked my way. Not this time.
Instead, the fire danced in his hands, wild and constant, leaving me with a chill no flame could burn away.
Entry Two: Joren's Invitation
The courtyard had emptied out, swallowed by shadows and moonlight by the time I slipped outside.
The cold night air tasted like old stone and whispered secrets.
Near the east wall, the lion-head fountain burbled quietly, water splashing softly into its basin.
Leaning against the fountain's carved edge, arms crossed, was Joren.
Half-shadowed by the moonlight, his eyes caught mine immediately.
"Trouble sleeping?" His voice was low, quiet, not the usual firm tone of a captain barking orders.
"Something like that."
He gave me a small, almost knowing smile and pushed off the wall.
"Come on," he said. "You need a distraction."
There was something deliberate in his tone—no command, no pretense—just an offer.
I hesitated only a moment before following.
Entry Three: Training Ground After Dark
We arrived at the auxiliary training field, deserted except for flickering torches at the far edges and the steady gaze of distant stars.
"Everyone's scared of this place at night," Joren said, dropping his bag onto the cracked stone. "The silence gets inside your head."
I looked up at the wide sky, the cold settling deep.
"Maybe that's why I like it."
He laughed, a soft sound that seemed to shake the stillness.
"You like silence?"
"I like not pretending I'm someone I'm not."
His gaze lingered on me, sharp and curious.
"You don't pretend, Elara," he said. "That's what makes you dangerous. They just don't know it yet."
Entry Four: Closer
We didn't train that night.
Instead, we sat cross-legged on the cool grass, knees brushing, voices low.
Joren talked about his older brother—a Third Year who'd disappeared on a mission beyond the academy's walls.
The pressure of living under his shadow, the weight of expectations he never wanted.
I shared about my mother—once a legend, now distant—and Seris, my sister, whose voice still haunted my dreams.
"I thought I'd find answers here," I admitted. "But all I find is more questions."
Joren looked at me then, eyes softer than before.
"You're not lost."
His hand brushed mine—a deliberate touch that made the world still for a heartbeat.
Entry Five: The Spark
Moonlight pooled over us as we sat closer.
His thigh pressed against mine, warmth spreading beneath the surface.
His fingers trailed along my wrist, slow and careful, like he was learning a language I didn't yet understand.
"Elara," he murmured, voice rougher now, "there's something about you…"
His hand moved gently to my cheek, tilting my face toward his.
"You're not supposed to stand out. Not yet. But I see it. You're burning under the surface."
My breath caught, and so did his.
Then, finally, he kissed me.
Entry Six: The Kiss
It was not innocent.
His lips pressed to mine with heat, urgency—not hesitation.
A kiss that said you're not alone, and I've wanted this for a long time.
I gasped softly as his hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer.
His body was warm and solid, and my skin responded without thought—aching, trembling, awakening.
We didn't speak.
Words would have shattered the spell.
The night wrapped us like a shield.
Softness grew urgent, slow hunger deepened to desperate need.
When we finally parted, he leaned his forehead against mine, breath ragged on both sides.
"Elara," he whispered. "Tell me to stop if—"
"Don't." Just one word, fierce and sure. Enough.
Entry Seven: Between the Lines
We didn't rush what came next.
His fingers traced my neck, down my arms, every touch reverent—as if mapping something sacred.
Breath mingled between kisses, hearts pounding beneath skin.
When he pulled me onto his lap, his hands trembled slightly against my hips.
Mine tangled in his dark hair.
His lips wandered from mouth to collarbone, then to the hollow of my throat, and I shivered.
The fire inside me—the something I'd never named—flickered awake.
But just as I crossed a line, I caught sight of it.
A shadow curled on the ground, shifting and writhing like it breathed with my heartbeat.
I blinked—and it vanished.
But I felt it there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Entry Eight: Fade to Black
Yes, we went further that night.
Joren held me close beneath the stars, my legs curled beside his, his heartbeat steady and strong against my ear.
No promises were made.
No labels.
Just warmth.
Connection.
And that whisper inside me—soft but insistent.
This is only the beginning.