Chapter One: When the Sky Answered
The day the sky changed color was the day Elian Lakes Thornwood fell in love.
It happened at midday, when the bells of Larkspire Academy were still echoing across the cliffs and the students were pouring out into the open terraces like ink poured into sunlight. Elian had just stepped beyond the shadow of the western tower when the wind stilled—an unnatural pause, strong enough that he felt it painfully in his chest.
The sky, which had been its usual pale spring blue, darkened into a deep, luminous silver.
Gasps rippled through the courtyard.
Elian stopped walking.
He had grown up with stories of omens and signs—everyone in Aetherfall had—but he had never seen one with his own eyes. The clouds didn't roll in or twist into shapes. They simply shifted, as though someone had turned a page in the heavens.
Then the girl appeared.
She stood near the fountain at the center of the terrace, her dark hair caught mid-motion by a breeze that seemed to exist only for her. Students brushed past her, laughing, shouting, completely unaware that the world had just rearranged itself around one quiet heartbeat.
Elian forgot to breathe.
She wasn't dressed like the others. Where the Academy students wore deep blues and silvers embroidered with sigils of study, she wore travel leathers the color of autumn bark, worn soft at the elbows. A pale cloak hung from her shoulders, fastened with a simple clasp shaped like a wing.
Her eyes—Elian would remember this detail for the rest of his life—were the clear green of new leaves after rain.
She looked up at the silvered sky.
And smiled.
Something in Elian's chest cracked open.
He did not know her name. He did not know where she came from or why she was there. He only knew, with terrifying certainty, that the world had tilted toward her, and he had no choice but to follow it.
"Did you see that?" someone whispered right behind him.
"Elian! You're blocking my walkway!"
He didn't move an inch.
The bells rang once again—three sharp chimes signaling the afternoon lessons—but the sound seemed extremely distant, muffled, as though it came from another lifetime. Elian's gaze remained fixated on the girl as she lowered her gaze from the sky and turned slowly, taking in the towering spires of the Academy with a quiet wonder.
She looked as if she was lost.
Before he could talk himself out of it, before fear could tighten its grip around him, Elian took a step forward.
"Are you—" His voice caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. "Are you l-looking for someone?"
The girl turned straight toward him.
Their eyes met.
The silver in the sky flashed brighter.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke a word.
Then the silence was broke when she laughed—soft, surprised, like she hadn't expected the world to answer her so fast.
"I think," she said carefully, "I might be."
Elian Thornwood had never been brave.
He was clever, yes. Observant. The kind of boy who noticed patterns in ancient glyphs and heard meanings in half-forgotten songs. But bravery had always belonged to others—students who dueled in the courtyards, heirs of great houses, those who carried magic in their blood like a birthright.
Elian's magic, if it could be called that, was quiet.
It lived in ink-stained fingers and sleepless nights, in the way he could coax truth from old texts and feel history breathing beneath his skin.
So when the girl smiled at him—really smiled, like she saw him—his first instinct was to step back.
Instead, he stayed.
"I'm Elian," he said, because names mattered. "This is Larkspire Academy. You're… not enrolled."
She tilted her head, studying him in a way that made his ears warm. "Is it that obvious?"
"A little," he admitted.
"I'm Mira," she said. "Mira of the Verdant Reach."
The words meant absolutely nothing to him.
Then he noticed the way a few nearby students had gone extremely still.
"The Verdant Reach?" someone muttered. "That's far past the border forests."
Elian frowned. "That's weeks away."
Mira nodded. "I know that."
Something in her voice—strong, resolute—made it clear she wasn't over exaggerating.
"Why are you here?" he asked her.
She hesitated for a moment.
The silver sky dimmed slightly, as if it was listening.
"I was told," Mira said slowly, "that when the sky turned, I would find all I was looking for."
"And… did you?" Elian asked curiously.
Her gaze flicked back to him.
"I think," she said, "I just did right now."
Elian's heart skipped a beat.
Around them, the world resumed all its noise. Students whispered. Someone laughed nervously. A professor shouted about missed lessons to a student. But none of it mattered. Elian felt as though an invisible thread had wrapped itself around his ribs and pulled really tight.
"You can't just wander into the Academy like that," he said, because logic was safer than wonder. "The wards—"
"I didn't cross them," Mira said interrupting him. "They just opened for me."
That was extremely impossible everyone knew that.
Elian knew the wards too well. He had helped transcribe all their renewal chants by himself. They were bound to bloodlines, to some oaths older than the whole Academy itself.
"They can't open," he said sternly.
"They did though," she replied gently.
Their eyes locked again, and this time Elian felt it—a strange, humming resonance ringing in his ear, like he was standing too close to a struck bell. His magic, quiet as it was, stirred uneasily.
"What are you?" he whispered.
Mira looked almost upset.
"I was hoping you'd help me figure that all out."
They didn't go to their lessons.
Elian told himself he would escort her to the administration hall, explain the situation, then return to his duties. That was the sensible thing. The correct thing.
Instead, he found himself leading her down the narrow staircases and the forgotten corridors, past the ivy-choked windows and half-collapsed archways that only some students like him ever bothered to try to explore.
"Where are we going?" Mira asked politely.
"Somewhere really quiet," Elian said. "The professors will ask many questions. I need time to think."
She smiled at that, an expression full of trust in him that he hadn't earned.
They emerged onto a small balcony overlooking the eastern cliffs. Below them, clouds drifted lazily through the open air, and far in the distance, the sea caught light like pieces of shattered glass.
Mira stepped closer to the edge, eyes wide.
"It's so beautiful," she breathed.
"You should see it at sunrise," Elian said before he could stop himself.
She turned. "Will you show me that?"
The question landed between them, heavy with possibilities.
"Yes," he said quickly.
He didn't hesitate to say.
They sat on the cold stone floor, backs against the warm wall, sharing the deafening silence. Elian became acutely aware of her presence—the way she tucked her knees to her chest, the faint scent of pine and rain clinging to her cloak.
"Back home," Mira said after a while, "we believe the world speaks. Not in words. In moments."
Elian nodded. "My mother used to say that history does the same."
Mira smiled softly. "Then maybe we were both listening."
The silver in the sky faded at last, returning to blue. But something had already been written.
Far below, the Academy's bells rang again.
Neither of them moved.
Elian didn't know it yet, but this moment—this impossible meeting—would become the axis upon which his life turned. It would bring danger and wonder, loss and courage, and a love that would demand more than either of them believed they could give.
But for now, there was only the quiet, the open sky, and the knowledge—sudden and certain—that he had found something he could never let go.
And Mira, watching him from the corner of her eye, thought the same.