"Aren't we?" His voice softens. "You're falling for her too."
The accusation hangs in the air between us. I could deny it, maintain that careful distance I've cultivated. But we've never lied to each other, not about anything that matters.
"Yes," I admit finally. "But it doesn't change anything. The trials come first. Her safety comes first."
Torric laughs, but it's gentler now. "Brother, when has anything about Kaia ever been simple?"
I can't help but smile at that. He's right, of course. From the moment she arrived with her shadows and her secrets, nothing has been straightforward.
"What are we going to do?" he asks, and for a moment he sounds young again, uncertain.
"What we've always done," I reply. "We protect her. Together."
Above us, storm clouds gather as the trial hour approaches. I feel the weight of what's coming settle around us like a shroud. But this time, we're ready. This time, we won't stand by and watch.
Torric extinguishes the last dummy, the flames snuffing out with a hiss. “Together,” he says, his voice steadier now. Aswe head toward the arena, the storm clouds overhead seem to mirror my thoughts. I pray we’re strong enough for what’s coming—and that this time, we don’t fail.
Chapter 35
Malrik
The library's shadows welcome me like old friends as I move silently between the stacks. It's late—well past curfew—but sleep has been elusive lately. Particularly since... I pause, my hand hovering over an ancient text on shadow manipulation. It’s been five days since she accepted his invitation, and the academy's shadows have been restless ever since.
I pull the tome from its shelf, its weight familiar in my hands. The leather binding is cool against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth that floods my chest whenever I think of her.
Kaia.
Her name echoes in my mind, a bittersweet melody that refuses to fade.
Five days. It feels like an eternity.
I settle into my usual alcove, surrounded by flickering candlelight that barely keeps the encroaching darkness at bay. The shadows seem to whisper her name, a constant reminder of her absence. Of how Darian has managed to do what none of us thought possible – isolate her from those who care about hermost. Not that she even knows how much we care, how much I care… but that’s not the point.
My fingers trace the intricate patterns on the book's cover, but my mind is far from the arcane knowledge within. Instead, I see flashes of her – the way her eyes used to light up when she mastered a new technique, the sound of her laughter echoing through the training grounds. Now, those moments feel like relics from another life.
The few glimpses we've caught of her have been... unsettling. Her eyes, once so full of warmth and curiosity, now hold a distant, confused look. It's as if she's seeing through us, rather than truly seeing us at all. The easy camaraderie we once shared has been replaced by stilted conversations and awkward silences.
I clench my fist, feeling the shadows around me respond to the surge of emotion. This is exactly what Darian wanted, I realize. To drive a wedge between Kaia and those who would protect her. And we've let it happen, helpless to stop the slow unraveling of whatever this connection is that we share.
The worst part is how it's affecting me. I've always prided myself on my control, on keeping my emotions carefully in check. But now? Now I find myself lying awake at night, replaying every interaction, searching for some clue I might have missed. Some way I could have prevented this.
I close my eyes, letting out a slow breath as I try to center myself. The shadows respond, curling around me like a comforting embrace. But even they can't fill the void left by her absence.
It's more than just concern for a friend, I admit to myself in the safety of the darkness. The ache in my chest, the constant worry that gnaws at me – it speaks of deeper feelings, ones I've been reluctant to acknowledge. Feelings that make Kaia's distance all the more painful.
I open the book, hoping to lose myself in its pages, but the words blur before my eyes. Instead, I see her face, hear her voice. I remember the way she looked at me the last time we spoke – confused, and so so angry.
And yet, while she grows more distant, he seems to grow bolder. That thought draws my attention to the shadows shifting restlessly near the restricted section, and I follow their lead.
Movement catches my eye. Through a gap in the shelves, I spot Darian in the restricted section, hunched over a tome with an intensity that seems almost desperate. His usual smooth confidence is notably absent. Interesting.
As I drift closer, I let the shadows mask my presence. The page he's studying comes into focus—diagrams of soul-binding rituals. My blood runs cold.
"Research for Professor Thorne's class?" I ask quietly, stepping into view.
Darian startles—actually startles—before his mask slides back into place. But I catch the flicker of something raw in his eyes. Fear? Guilt? It vanishes too quickly to name, but the tension in his posture betrays him.
"Malrik. Bit late for a study session, isn't it?"
