(Kaien Draven POV)
The morning mist hasn't yet lifted when I descend to the courtyard. The scent of burned incense and scorched stone lingers, a reminder of Xinyue's fire yesterday. I move silently, boots soundless against the dark tiles, every shadow sharp under the rising sun.
She's already there, standing at the edge of the training circle, staff in hand. The fire coils softly along her wrists, faint and obedient, like a whispered promise.
I stop a few paces away, watching. She doesn't see me at first, lost in her ritual stretches, fingers tracing the paths of her power. The way she bends, poised yet fluid, makes my chest tighten. I should not be this affected by a student, especially one whose bloodline could destroy everything I've been trained to protect.
Her eyes lift. Gold meets storm-gray. The corner of her mouth quirks, faint amusement or challenge, I can't tell.
"You came early," she says softly. "I was hoping to finish before anyone else arrived."
"Some things are easier to do in silence," I reply, voice low. My hand rests on the hilt of my sword, but the tension isn't for her. It's for what lingers just beyond the mist, the Hollow watching, waiting.
She nods, eyes narrowing. "And yet you linger anyway."
I step closer, slow, deliberate, feeling the subtle pull of her flames in response to mine. Fire dances at her wrists, responding to my presence even before words are spoken. It's hypnotic. Dangerous. And I want it, more than I should.
"Show me," I murmur. "Again."
She glances at me, the faintest hesitation in her gaze, then lifts her staff. The flames spiral up, coiling around the weapon like living silk. She's practiced, precise, but the smallest tremor in her hands betrays the strain of yesterday.
I move with her, circling, our steps measured. My eyes track the flame's rhythm, feel the pulse of her breath, the quiver of her muscles. Every motion is a conversation without words.
"You're tense," I observe. "It's not the flames."
Her lips part, a soft laugh that carries under the dawn hush. "Then it's you?"
"Perhaps." I let my hand hover near hers as we pass, not touching, just feeling the heat of proximity. Her pulse thrums against the fire, responding to mine, weaving a thread between us stronger than the sunlit air.
The Hollow stirs at the edge of my awareness, a whisper curling along the tiles, black and patient. It wants to claim her, or me, maybe both. My fingers tighten around my staff instinctively, a silent warning I cannot voice.
"You feel it too," she murmurs, almost a question, her eyes glimmering gold in the soft light.
"Yes," I admit, voice low. "It's waiting. Always."
Her gaze doesn't falter. She steps closer, staff lowered but still coiled in flame. "Then we'll face it together."
And something shifts. Fire answers her courage with light, a spiral that threads between us, soft, tethering, protective. My chest aches with awareness, of her, of the danger, of the intimacy in proximity that has nothing to do with duty.
I let my hand brush against her elbow, accidental, fleeting, but enough. The fire flares in response, climbing her wrist like it recognizes my presence. My breath catches. She doesn't pull away.
"Kaien," she whispers, voice trembling slightly, "if it chooses…"
I catch her gaze, storm and gold colliding, and shake my head. "It won't. Not while we stand together."
A shadow flickers at the edge of the courtyard, unseen by anyone else. The Hollow tests, curling like smoke around the tiles, brushing her heels, taunting. But her flames surge in response, brightening, dancing with defiance.
I exhale, voice softer now. "You're learning faster than I expected. Faster than I can protect you from yourself."
Her smile is fleeting, almost shy. "Then teach me. Don't leave anything unsaid."
We resume the drills, hands occasionally brushing, eyes meeting too long on each pass. Every contact hums beneath our skin. The fire seems to pulse with our shared rhythm, a tether neither of us dares name aloud.
And yet, the Hollow lingers. Its presence, subtle, patient, reminds me that our bond, intimate, electric, is also a vulnerability. One misstep, one moment of distraction, and it could claim what we've both begun to guard fiercely.
Finally, the morning wanes. She lowers her staff, the flames dying to a faint, obedient glow. The mist curls around us, thin and whispering, and for a moment, I allow myself to just watch her, unguarded. Her chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, hair damp from exertion, golden strands catching the early sun.
"You're improving," I murmur, voice husky. "Faster than any Emberborn I've trained."
Her cheeks flush, lips parting, hesitant pride. "I… owe it to you."
I step closer, close enough that she can feel my warmth without being touched. "No," I whisper. "You owe it to yourself. And to the fire."
The Hollow stirs again, whispering in tendrils around the courtyard, but we both ignore it, standing together in the dawn light. Two flames, side by side, defiant, tethered, alive.
"Tomorrow," I say softly, "we train again. At first light. And you will not falter."
She tilts her head, a soft, amused tilt that betrays confidence and trust. "Neither will you."
And for the first time in many mornings, I believe her.