silence.
Not the calm kind—but the kind that made Lyra's wolf curl tight inside her chest, ears flattened, instincts screaming. Romance Academy was never truly quiet. Magic breathed through its walls, whispered through corridors, hummed beneath the ground.
Tonight, it held its breath.
Lyra sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing. Kael was already awake beside her, his eyes dark, alert.
"You feel it too," she whispered.
He nodded once. "Someone's pulling on the old magic."
They didn't need to ask who.
The forbidden texts had been sealed for centuries—rituals written in desperate ink by the unclaimed of a darker age. Rituals meant to force resonance, to mimic a soulmate bond by binding longing, blood, and willpower together.
Rituals that always ended the same way.
Disaster.
The academy alarm didn't sound—not yet. Whoever was attempting it knew how to hide.
Lyra and Kael moved quickly through the shadowed halls, following the tug in the air, the wrongness that grew stronger with every step. Other bonded students emerged from doorways, drawn by the same instinctive pull. Fear sat heavy on every face.
The trail led them beneath the academy.
To the Old Sanctum.
The doors had been broken open.
Inside, silver runes burned too brightly, etched into the stone floor in a jagged circle. Candles flickered with unnatural flame. At the center knelt three unclaimed students—Marek among them—hands clasped, eyes wild with hope and desperation.
And standing within the circle…
A bonded girl.
Her name was Maris.
She looked dazed, eyes glassy, as if caught between waking and dreaming. The bond-mark on her wrist pulsed erratically, flickering like a dying flame.
"No," Lyra breathed. "They're using her as an anchor."
Kael's voice dropped to a growl. "They're trying to overwrite her bond."
Marek looked up when they entered, fear and determination warring in his eyes. "Don't stop us," he said hoarsely. "This is our only chance. We just want what everyone else was given."
"This ritual doesn't create love," Lyra said, her voice shaking. "It creates chains."
The magic surged suddenly—violent, unstable. The runes cracked. The air screamed.
Maris cried out, clutching her chest.
That was when Lyra's bond reacted.
Pain tore through her—not her own, but echoed, sharp and overwhelming. She gasped, dropping to her knees as silver light exploded from her chest, flooding the sanctum.
"Lyra!" Kael shouted, rushing to her side.
The ritual circle shattered.
Magic slammed outward, knocking everyone back. The candles extinguished at once. The runes burned black and vanished.
Maris collapsed—free.
The unclaimed cried out in horror as the magic recoiled into them, leaving them shaking, broken, their hope turned to ash.
Silence fell.
Heavy. Absolute.
Headmistress Selvara appeared at the sanctum entrance, her expression grim beyond words. "You have crossed a line that cannot be erased," she said.
Guards moved in, restraining the ritualists. Marek didn't fight. He only looked at Lyra—at the fading silver glow still clinging to her.
"What are you?" he whispered.
Selvara's gaze followed his.
And for the first time… she looked afraid.
Lyra leaned into Kael, trembling. "My bond—it didn't just resist the ritual. It destroyed it."
Kael held her tightly, voice low with awe and dread. "Because yours isn't just a bond."
Above them, the academy's wards flared to life at last—too late.
Because the forbidden ritual had been attempted.
And the ancient magic had answered.
Somewhere deep beneath Romance Academy, something old had awakened.
And it knew Lyra by name.