Finally, an entire damn space to myself. No classmates pretending not to stare; no professors watching me like I might sprout fangs and rip someone’s spine out. Honestly, I’d be grateful for some fangs right about now. At least that meant there was something under this skin of mine, as Creed so dickishly put it.
I drop into a patch of grass near one of the stone perches and pull out my codex. The leather cover warms instantly under my palm, as if greeting—or warning—me. Or maybe just trying to look impressive so I don’t set it on fire like I did the last training dummy.
“Let’s see if there’s anything worth a damn today,” I mutter, flipping it open. The pages flutter on their own, stopping somewhere near the middle where new spells shimmer faintly along the vellum, as if the ink hasn’t decided whether it wants to stay or run.
SpellChemy has been…weird.
Useful, sure, but weird.
Every time I leave that class, something inside me rattles loose and the codex shifts to match whatever new knowledge I’m taught. After that first day in SpellChemy, the book had maybe half a dozen spells. Now? It’s filling itself faster than I can keep up. Words rearranging, diagrams redrawn, margins scribbling with new instructions that were never there before.
I drag a finger down the latest section.
Binding.
Shielding.
Elemental Manipulation—fire, water, wind, stone.
I pause there, staring at the page.
Fire.
My palm tingles, a phantom echo of the heat that sparked there in class. Warm enough to notice, not enough to understand. I can’t decide if I like it or if it unnerves me. Maybe both. A symbol swirls below—a thread of script that curves into something almost serpentine, like flame curling through scales.
It’s the first fire-related spell that’s appeared since that first day. This one a focusing spell: a way to take raw heat and give it shape. Give itpurpose.
That…actually makes sense.
The professor’s voice nudges the back of my mind:magic isn’t just power, Haide, it’s precision.
A curl of anticipation winds through me, low and warm.
I roll my shoulders back and read the script, slower this time, letting the diagram settle into my mind, feeling for anything inside me that might respond. Nothing dramatic happens. No burst of flame or explosion. But my palms warm just the slightest, a simmer beneath the skin, like something alive is turning over in its sleep and stretching its claws.
“Okay…” I breathe, dragging the heat up toward my fingertips, imagining it shaping into the pattern the spell wants from me. “Let’s try—”
A prickle runs down the back of my neck.
I freeze, eyes lifting and flicking across the grounds.
It’s empty, but the sensation of being watched doesn’t fade. It fucking tightens, circles like a predator’s breath against the back of my skull.
I turn slowly, ready to tear someone’s face off, but there’s noone there. Nothing but the perches and a distant bite of wind.
I shake it off, forcing my shoulders down. “Paranoid much,” I mutter, returning to the diagram despite knowing it’s pointless.
How can I be precise if I can’t give all my focus?
Taking a deep breath, my pulse steadies. The heat flickers again along my palm, climbing toward my knuckles, and I focus on imposing the shape the spell wants on the delicate thread of control that—
A whisper of movement against the floor cuts off my thoughts.
I snap my hand out, fingers hooking as if to catch a throat, but all I come up with is air.
Unease sits in the center of my spine, coiled tight, watching the horizon like something is about to pop out at me. There’s a snap above me, and my head tilts up just as a long, curling shadow slips across the leaves overhead in the familiar silhouette of a tail.
My fingertips warm instantly, heat blooming across my palm.
