Elara stared at the black feather and the threatening note for so long that her candle burned down to a stub.
The words seemed to writhe on the parchment like living things.
"The dragon dies first. Then you."
Drakon's tail lashed once, hard enough to knock a book off the bedside table.
They are afraid of us, he said, voice calm but edged with something ancient and dangerous. That is good. Fear makes mistakes.
"It's not good if they kill us before we figure out who 'they' are," Elara whispered back.
She burned the note in the candle flame and scattered the ashes out the window. The feather she kept—tucked inside the lining of her boot. Evidence. Proof that whatever was happening wasn't just paranoia.
Sleep didn't come after that.
Instead she sat cross-legged on the floor with Drakon curled around her like a living fortress. They practiced the simplest form of resonance they knew: breathing in sync. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Each cycle pulled a little more of his verdant energy into her meridians, each exhale sent a thread of her own magic back into him.
It was slow. Intimate. Almost embarrassingly personal.
By the time the sky outside began to lighten, Elara could feel Drakon's heartbeat layered over her own. Not just an echo—an overlay. When she flexed her fingers, faint green light traced her veins like glowing roots.
She looked at her hands in wonder.
We are closer than yesterday, Drakon said quietly. Not there yet. But closer.
Breakfast was tense.
Jax slid onto the bench across from her with two plates piled high. He looked like he hadn't slept much either.
"You okay?" he asked immediately.
Elara hesitated only a second before sliding her boot forward under the table so he could feel the feather hidden inside.
His eyes widened. He didn't need to ask what it was.
"Last night," she murmured. "On my windowsill."
Jax swore under his breath. Luna lifted her head from where she'd been pretending to nap and let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated the tableware.
"Show it to Kairos," Jax said. "He's got access to the royal archives. If anyone can trace corrupted magic like that—"
"I'm not sure I trust him enough to show him everything yet."
Jax met her gaze steadily. "Then show it to me. We can start digging ourselves."
Before Elara could answer, the hall doors banged open.
Professor Lirael strode in, emerald robes billowing. Behind her walked two senior students carrying a massive scroll sealed with five different academy crests.
"Attention first-years!" Lirael's voice cut through the morning chatter like a blade. "The tournament brackets have been finalized. Paired battles for round one, as rumored. Teams were chosen randomly—except for the seeded pairs."
A ripple of groans and excited whispers spread through the hall.
Lirael unfurled the scroll with a dramatic snap. Names began appearing in glowing golden ink.
Seraphina + Darius Veyne
Liora Moon + Taryn Blackthorn
…
Jax Harrow + Mira Solen
…
Elara Voss + Kairos Valtherion
A stunned silence fell over the section where Elara was sitting.
Jax stared at the scroll, then at her.
Then he laughed—short, disbelieving.
"Of course," he muttered. "Of course it would be him."
Elara felt every eye in the room turn toward her table.
Across the hall, Prince Kairos hadn't moved. He simply folded his napkin, stood, and walked directly toward her.
When he reached the table he stopped, looked down at her, then at Jax.
"Congratulations," he said to Elara. "Looks like fate has a sense of humor."
Jax leaned back, arms crossed. "You requested her specifically, didn't you?"
Kairos didn't deny it. "I submitted her name as my preferred partner. The selection crystal chose to agree with me." His gaze flicked to Jax. "Better luck next round."
Jax's jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait.
Kairos turned back to Elara. "Training grounds. One hour. We need to synchronize before tomorrow's elimination matches."
He left without waiting for an answer.
Jax exhaled through his nose. "You still have a choice, you know. You can forfeit the pair and take the penalty. Or… we could just run away and become forest hermits. I hear the berry picking is excellent this time of year."
Elara gave a weak laugh. "Tempting."
But she stood up anyway.
Drakon rose with her, wings rustling.
I do not like this prince, he said. But I like the idea of our enemies fearing us even less.
The eastern training ground was one of the smaller ones—more private, surrounded by tall wind-breaking evergreens and overlooked only by the griffin aeries high above.
Kairos was already there.
Glacia perched on a tall stone pillar, tail feathers dripping frost onto the ground. The phoenix watched Drakon approach with unblinking eyes.
Kairos held two wooden practice staves. He tossed one to Elara without ceremony.
"No magic," he said. "No pets. Just us. If we can't move together without leaning on our bonds, we'll die the moment something disrupts our connection."
Elara caught the staff. "You think someone will try to sever the bond mid-fight?"
"I think someone already tried to kill your dragon in his sleep." He twirled his own staff once. "So yes. I think they'll try anything."
They began.
At first it was ugly.
Kairos moved like water over razor edges—smooth, precise, ruthless. Elara had trained with farm tools and village stick-fighting games; she was fast, but untrained in formal combat.
He disarmed her in twelve seconds.
Again.
And again.
But each time he offered critique instead of mockery.
"Too high. Your shoulder drops before you strike."
"You're telegraphing with your eyes."
"Stop thinking one move ahead. Think three."
By the fourth round she lasted almost thirty seconds.
By the eighth she managed to graze his sleeve.
By the eleventh she blocked three consecutive strikes and countered with a low sweep that almost took his legs out.
Kairos stepped back, breathing hard, a thin line of sweat on his temple.
"Better," he said.
Elara wiped her brow. "You're still holding back."
"So are you."
He was right.
She hadn't wanted to hurt him. Not really.
But the memory of that black feather burned behind her eyes.
She tightened her grip.
"Let's go again."
This time when they clashed, something shifted.
Not resonance—not yet.
But trust.
When he lunged high she didn't flinch; she dropped and swept. When she overextended he didn't punish her—he stepped inside her guard and tapped her shoulder instead of breaking her rib.
They flowed.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
When they finally stopped both were drenched in sweat and breathing like bellows.
Glacia trilled once—approval, maybe.
Drakon rumbled back, deep and satisfied.
Kairos leaned on his staff. "We might survive tomorrow."
Elara gave a tired laugh. "High praise."
He looked at her then—really looked.
"You're not what I expected," he said quietly.
"Neither are you."
A beat of silence.
Then he straightened. "Tomorrow. Dawn. Main arena. Don't be late."
He turned to leave.
"Kairos."
He paused.
"If someone comes for Drakon…" Elara's voice was steady. "Will you stand with us?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then, very softly:
"If someone comes for Glacia, will you stand with me?"
Elara met his gaze.
"Yes."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips—the first real one she'd ever seen from him.
"Then we have a deal."
He walked away.
Elara stood there until the sun rose higher, feeling the new weight of something unspoken settling between them.
Drakon nudged her shoulder.
He is dangerous, the dragon said.
"I know."
But so are we.
Elara smiled.
"Yeah," she whispered. "We really are."
(to be continued…)