6. Kaia
The hall empties slowly, echoes of excited chatter fading as students file out. I stay rooted to my seat, my shadows coiling anxiously around my ankles like restless snakes. Mouse, perched protectively on the bench beside me now, watches the retreating crowd with suspicious violet eyes.
"Overwhelming, isn't it?"
The voice is calm, almost musical. I look up and promptly forget how to breathe. Standing before me is a man who seems plucked from a classical painting—tall and lean, with light blonde hair that falls in soft waves past elegant cheekbones. His icy blue eyes hold a depth that could drown the unwary, and his relaxed posture hints at power beneath the surface, like a still ocean concealing its true strength
I swallow hard, my gaze inadvertently trailing down his form. His white t-shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, the fabric stretched taut over well-defined pectorals. Even through the material, I can trace the lines of his abs, each muscle clearly etched. The shirt rides up slightly as he shifts his weight, revealing a tantalizing sliver of pale skin above his waistband.
My eyes continue their journey downward, taking in how his light wash jeans hug his hips and thighs. They're worn in all the right places, softened by use but still managing to accentuate every curve and plane of his lower body. The denim clings to his long legs before tapering slightly at the ankles, where they meet a pair of well-worn leather boots.
Calm down Kaia, now is definitely not the time.
I realize I've been staring for far too long and force my gaze back up to his face, heat rising in my cheeks. His lips quirk in a knowing half-smile, amusement dancing in those impossibly blue eyes. My shadows writhe with embarrassment, and I resist the urge to let them engulf me completely.
"I'm Aspen," he says, his voice as smooth and intoxicating as honey. "And you must be Kaia. I've heard quite a bit about you already."
I try to formulate a response, but my tongue feels leaden in my mouth. Mouse, sensing my discomfort, presses closer to my side. His fur bristles slightly, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
"Anyway," he says, extending a hand. His voice maintains that same soothing quality, like waves lapping at a shore. "Professor Thorne asked me to help you get settled."
I hesitate before taking his hand, hyper-aware of how his cool fingers wrap around mine with gentle confidence. His grip is firm but not overwhelming. My shadows brush against his wrist, a light, curious touch that makes him shiver. His eyes flick to where they lingered for just a moment, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers tighten slightly, like he’s holding onto a secret.
"I don't need a babysitter," I manage, grateful my voice remains steady as I pull my hand from his reluctantly. Which doesn’t make any sense.
"Good, because I'm terrible with children." His grin sharpens, flashing just enough charm to be disarming. "Think of me more as... a very knowledgeable tour guide who happens to know which corridors won't try to eat you."
"The corridors what?"
"That was a joke. Mostly." He gestures toward the door, his expression warming. "Shall we? The Shadow Wing is across the academy, and you'll probably want to get settled."
I force myself to move, trying not to trip over my increasingly agitated shadows. Aspen points out landmarks as we walk—the library's ancient spires reaching toward perpetually stormy skies, the elemental gardens where plants hum with visible magical energy, the training grounds where students practice combat magic in specially warded arenas. He speaks with quiet authority, his commentary precise but engaging. Against my better judgment, I find myself relaxing slightly, though my heart refuses to slow its frantic pace.
We turn a corner into a corridor where the air feels heavier, the shadows thickening like mist around us. The magic here hums low, almost like a growl, and I’m so distracted by the way the darkness seems to pulse with life that I walk straight into what feels like a wall of heated muscle.
"Watch where you’re—”
The deep voice cuts off, sharp and startled. My shadows flare defensively, curling into a dark shield as I step back. The warmth of whoever—or whatever—I walked into lingers uncomfortably close.
Golden eyes glare down at me from a face that should come with a warning label. It's like someone took Aspen and made him bigger, angrier, and somehow even more devastating to look at. Where Aspen is lean grace, this man is raw power incarnate. He towers at least 6'5", all broad shoulders and defined muscle, with sun-kissed skin that practically radiates heat. His dark blonde hair is tied back messily, with rebellious strands framing a face that belongs in epic tales of war gods and heroes. Battle scars trace patterns across his forearms, and beneath his shirt, a fiery rune glows like a caged ember.
Oh no.
He's hot. Literally and figuratively.
"Torric," Aspen says, his voice taking on a sharp edge beneath its usual smoothness. "This is Kaia. She's joining the Faction of Shadow." There's a warning in his tone that suggests this isn't the first time he's had to manage his twin's intensity.
"Great. Another stray." Torric crosses his arms, which only emphasizes his warrior's build. His piercing gaze sweeps over me like he's assessing an opponent. "Just what we need."
My shadows bristle, coiling tighter as Mouse lets out a low growl. "Sorry to disappoint," I snap, unable to stop myself. "I'll try to get lost somewhere more convenient next time."
Something flickers in Torric's eyes—amusement? Interest? It vanishes quickly beneath his scowl, but I caught it.
"The Shadow Wing isn't a sanctuary for every wayward magic user who—"
"That's enough, brother," Aspen cuts in, his calm voice suddenly sharp as ice. "Unless you'd like to explain to Professor Thorne why you're harassing his newest recruit?"
Even Torric, who looks like he could punch through a mountain for fun, seems to reconsider at Thorne's name. He steps back, though his molten gold eyes remain locked on mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
"Just stay out of my way," he mutters, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear, "and we won't have a problem."
“Perfect.” I can’t help but snark back.
His eyes narrow at my word but he stalks past us, radiating heat and barely contained power. I try not to watch him go. I fail spectacularly.
Aspen waits until Torric's heavy footsteps fade before turning to me with a knowing smile. "Don't mind him. He's all fire and no filter. He doesn’t trust easily, but once he does, he’s fiercely loyal. Just... try not to take his attitude personally. He’s like that with everyone at first."
"Sounds like I'd just miss his delightful personality then," I mutter, forcing sarcasm to mask how flustered I feel. My shadows swirl agitatedly, betraying my attempt at nonchalance.
Aspen chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Give it time. We're here, by the way."
I look up, grateful for the distraction, and find we've stopped before an ancient wooden door carved with intricate shadow runes. The door seems to drink in the surrounding light, and my shadows reach for it instinctively, like they've found a long-lost friend.
"Home sweet home," Aspen says, stepping aside. "At least for now. Your room is on the third floor, but first—" He pushes the door open, revealing a space that makes me stop dead in my tracks.
The Shadow Wing's common room is massive, with soaring vaulted ceilings and walls draped in deep purples and silvers that shimmer in the light of shadow-flame sconces. Plush armchairs and low tables scatter throughout, their surfaces covered in forgotten books, magical artifacts, and the occasional abandoned teacup. The room feels alive—shadows coil and shift along the walls as though welcoming newcomers, and the very air hums with ancient magic.
My shadows dart across the floor and walls, merging seamlessly with the ancient darkness as though testing its boundaries—or greeting an old friend. Mouse leaps gracefully from my shoulder to claim a particularly comfortable-looking armchair, his violet eyes scanning our surroundings with careful attention.
Aspen watches me with that same calm, assessing expression, hands tucked casually in his pockets. "Torric and I are one floor up," he says, breaking the moment. "Along with Finn and a few others that aren't here often. Malrik's quarters are... somewhere. He tends to move around."
"How mysterious," I murmur, letting my fingers brush against the cool stone wall. The shadows here feel different—older, more aware somehow, like they've been waiting for someone who could truly see them.
“Wait, Finn, as in the Chaos guy?” I ask genuinely curious.
Not that I’m thinking about him or anything.
Aspen's lips quirk up in a half-smile, but it fades as he studies me more closely. "That’s the one.” He pauses, “Are you alright? It's been quite a day."
I open my mouth to deflect with something sarcastic, but the words stick in my throat. Maybe it's the genuine concern in his eyes, or the way he hasn't pushed me to talk about things I'm not ready to share. Whatever the reason, I find myself admitting, "I don't know what I'm doing here."
His expression softens, and for a moment, I think he might reach out to touch my shoulder. Instead, he gestures to a nearby chair, his water rune catching the light. "None of us did, at first," he says gently. "Want to talk about it? I make a decent listener, and I promise not to tell Torric about any of it."
The joke startles a laugh from me, and some of the tension I've been carrying since arriving finally eases. My shadows settle into more relaxed patterns, curling lazily around my ankles instead of coiling like springs ready to snap.
I sink into the plush armchair, exhaling slowly as the cushions seem to mold around me. My shadows stretch out lazily again, exploring the nooks and crannies of this new space with growing confidence.
Aspen takes the seat across from me, his movements fluid and graceful and it makes me wonder how he handles himself in other ways. I mentally roll my eyes at myself and tell my libido to calm the hell down. The flickering light from the shadow-sconces plays across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the gentle curve of his lips. We sit in companionable silence, broken only by the soft crackle of magical energy in the air.
Suddenly, Aspen's eyes flick to a darkened corner of the room. His lips quirk up in a knowing smile. "Want to come out and say hello?" he calls out, voice tinged with amusement. "Or are we sticking to shadows today, Malrik?"
My heart leaps into my throat. I whip around, scanning the shadows, but see nothing. My own shadows bristle protectively, finally sensing something—or someone—watching.
Took you long enough.