Chapter Four: Echoes of the Ward
The morning mist lay thick over Larkspire Academy, curling along the stone terraces and drifting between the looming towers like a living creature . Elian and Mira moved carefully through it, their footsteps muffled, as if the air itself wanted to swallow them whole.
Elian had been assigned—officially, by Professor Caelum—to act as Mira's guide around. It was both a privilege and a burden. Students whispered wherever they passed, rumors already spinning around the academy: The Verdant Reach girl and the ward that opened.
Mira ignored them for the most part. She had learned long ago how to listen without any fear, how to step through attention without letting it root her in place. But Elian could see it in her eyes: a flicker of unease each time someone stared for too long.
"You'll get used to it," he said, keeping his voice at a low. "Eventually, people forget what they were staring at and start staring at something or someone else."
Mira let out a soft laugh. "I don't think I want to get used to it. It feels… wrong, like really wrong."
"That's probably healthy," he admitted. "I don't want people thinking I endorse the constant staring either."
They turned a corner and entered the old courtyard, a section of the Academy where the walls were covered in strong climbing ivy and stone benches had been worn smooth by centuries of study. A thin fog clung to the ground around them. Somewhere nearby, a fountain trickled faintly, muted by the mist.
Elian stopped abruptly.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
Mira tilted her head. "Feel what?"
"The wards," he whispered. "They're… reacting somehow."
He reached out, brushing his hand along one of the carved glyphs etched into the courtyard's central stone walls. It shimmered faintly under his touch. Mira instinctively placed her hand on top of his. The glyph flared, even brighter than before.
Elian stepped back slightly. "It's—It's recognizing you… or us. I don't know. I've never seen it respond like this before."
Mira's fingers lingered over his for a moment. "I don't want to be dangerous."
"You're not dangerous though," Elian said firmly, though his voice carried a small edge of uncertainty. "You just… make things happen. That's a lot different from being dangerous."
For a short moment, neither of them spoke a single word. The mist whirled between them, and the courtyard felt suspended in time, like a pocket where only they existed stuck in time.
Then a voice cut through the heavy fog.
"Elian Thornwood. Mira of the Verdant Reach."
Both of them turned to him. Professor Caelum emerged through the mist, robes moist with dew, his silver hair clinging to his temples drenched in water. Behind him, another figure followed: a woman with dark green eyes and a sharp, assessing expression to her.
"This is Professor Lysandra," Caelum said. "She specializes in ward interaction and anomaly analysis. You'll both need to listen carefully in what is said today."
Mira's stomach churned. Elian placed a reassuring hand on hers allowing her to calm down a little.
"What is an anomaly?" she asked softly.
"Something that doesn't belong to the ordinary rules of magic," Lysandra explained, her gaze moving over Mira like she was trying to read the patterns of her aura. "And yet… it does in some way."
Elian's hand tightened over Mira's once again. He didn't realize he was doing it until she gave a small squeeze straight back at him.
Caelum motioned toward the far side of the courtyard. "Walk with her please," he said to Elian. "Guide her. Observe. Report. But let her experience it by herself. That is essential to this mission."
Essential.
Mira's eyes flicked towards Elian. He shrugged lightly, trying to hide the strong tension twisting in his chest.
The mist slightly softened as they moved, revealing the eastern gardens ahead. These gardens have always been Elian's favorite part of the Academy—rare plants that glowed softly in the low light, vines that seemed to respond to each slight touch, and flowers that opened only when someone approached with genuine intent all growing inside.
Mira stopped in front of a flower he had never seen before. Its petals were very translucent, like glass, with veins of silver running through them.
"I've never seen anything like that," she whispered to him.
Elian knelt beside it. "Neither have I. But the wards are stirring the plants. I think… they can sense your presence."
Mira extended a hand slowly toward the flower. It quivered, petals spreading slowly as if acknowledging her presence. The heat of the plant traveled up her arm, and she smiled softly.
"Do you feel that?" she asked.
Elian nodded. "Yes. That's the wards… and you. You're a part of it now somehow."
A sudden rustle came from the trees. Both of them froze. From the shadows emerged a figure—a student, cloaked in black robes, eyes narrowed.
"You," the student hissed, "you shouldn't be here. This is my territory."
Elian stepped in front of Mira, protective, though he barely understood why the instinct felt so natural.
"You don't know that," he said cautiously but angrily.
The student's gaze flicked from him to Mira and back. "She doesn't belong here. She—she could ruin everything there is."
Mira's hand found Elian's, and he felt the warmth steady him. "I don't intend to ruin anything there is," she said softly. "I only wish to learn about all them."
The student hesitated for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly, they backed away back into the shadows.
Elian exhaled. "We'll have to be very careful. Not everyone at Larkspire will understand—or even tolerate—anything that's happening with you."
Mira nodded. "I expected that much."
The rest of the morning followed through in a blur of lessons and subtle observation of the day. Elian guided her through the endless wards, showing her how to move without triggering them too forcefully upon touch, how to sense their reactions to her, and how her own presence was affecting the flow of the magic.
By midday, Mira was too exhausted—but exhilarated.
Elian led her to a silent corner of the courtyard, where a small fountain flowed over cold, mossy stones.
"You're amazing," he said to her quietly.
Mira glanced at him, eyes open wide. "I'm… just trying to understand this all it's hard."
"You're more than just trying," he replied. "You're making things happen I've never seen. I've read about people who influence magic just like you. I've studied it. But I've never—never seen anyone like you in my life."
Her cheeks warmed. "Do you really think that's… a good thing?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "It's… really beautiful."
Mira's eyes softened. She reached out, brushing her fingers against his feeling the warmth. The fountains' water shimmered faintly, reflecting light in ways neither of them had ever noticed before.
Something unspoken passed between them then. Not words, not promises, but a shared understanding between them: that whatever the wards, the magic, or the Academy demanded, they would face it together with great strength.
A shadow loomed over them suddenly. Both looked up to see Professor Lysandra watching from the edge of the garden, her arms crossed.
"You're growing too close," she said, tone clipped. "And I do not mean emotionally. The wards are responding to both of you together. That is… unprecedented. Im intrigued."
Elian glanced at Mira. Her eyes mirrored his thoughts exactly as he thought: awe, excitement, and a flicker of fear.
"Unprecedented can be good," Mira said softly.
"It can also be dangerous," Lysandra warned.
Elian took a deep breath. "Then we'll be careful. I promise."
Mira squeezed his hand, her presence grounding him. "Together," she said.
The words felt like a small shield against the unknown—against the curiosity of students, the scrutiny of professors, and the restless, watchful wards of the Academy.
And high above them, the sky began to shift again—not silver this time, but gold and violet, as though the horizon itself was celebrating something quietly miraculous.
Elian realized, with a sudden clarity, that their story—the one that had begun with a single glance beneath a silver sky—was only just beginning.
And nothing, not warnings, not rules, not fear, would stop it from growing.