50. Kaia
The training arena pulses with magical energy, a thrumming current that crackles in the air and makes my shadows twitch restlessly at my feet. It feels alive, charged with a tension that hums through my veins and sets my nerves on edge. Seren's presence beside me is a welcome anchor, her lavender hair catching the light from the enchanted sconces above.
"Your fan club's getting bigger," she murmurs, nudging me with her elbow. "Even Malrik's lurking closer than usual today."
Heat creeps up my neck as I follow her gaze. She's right—they're all here. Torric and Aspen stand near the weapon racks, heads bent in conversation. Finn lounges against a pillar, his usual grin in place as he juggles small orbs of chaos magic. And Malrik... Malrik watches from the shadows, his silver eyes catching mine for just a moment before sliding away.
"They're not my fan club," I mutter, but my shadows betray me, curling almost happily at the sight of them.
"Sure, sure." Seren's knowing smirk is insufferable. "And I'm the Queen of Light."
Before I can retort, Professor Thorne sweeps into the arena, his dark robes billowing dramatically. An immediate hush falls over the room, accompanied by a chill that makes my skin prickle.
"Today's exercise," he announces, his voice like silk over steel, "will test your adaptability. You'll rotate partners every fifteen minutes. The goal is simple: survive."
My stomach drops at his tone. Beside me, Seren whispers, "Well, that's not ominous at all."
"First pairing," Thorne continues, his violet-flecked eyes finding mine with unsettling precision. "Kaia Draven and Torric Agere."
Torric's grin is immediate and predatory as he pushes off from the weapon rack. Even from here, I can see the fire rune on his chest beginning to glow beneath his shirt.
"Try not to swoon," Seren whispers, giving me a gentle shove forward. "Though I wouldn't blame you if you did."
"I don't swoon," I hiss back, but my heart's already racing as Torric approaches, all six-foot-five of him radiating dangerous charm.
"Ready to dance, Sunshine?" he asks, golden eyes gleaming with challenge.
I force my expression into something resembling confidence. "Only if you can keep up, flame boy."
The smirk on his lips is the only warning I get.
The first clash of our magic sends sparks flying—literally. Torric's flames dance and weave around my shadows, their fiery arcs casting sharp contrasts against the twisting tendrils of darkness. Each collision sparks with energy, sending shimmering embers and faint wisps of smoke curling into the air. The heat brushes against my skin, a stark counterpoint to the cool, fluid movements of my shadows as they push back, neither side willing to yield. We move in a deadly dance, testing defenses, looking for openings.
"Your form's improved," he notes, sending another burst of flame my way. "But your stance is still off."
Before I can process his words, he's behind me, one hand on my waist, the other adjusting my shoulder. The sudden heat of his touch sends a jolt through me, scattering my thoughts. My shadows stutter in their movements, caught between defensiveness and intrigue, mirroring the conflict in my chest.
"Like this," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "Feel the difference?"
My shadows flicker erratically, betraying my flustered state. "I—"
But Torric is already moving again. Everything intensifies as we find our rhythm. He's showing off now, each burst of flame more elaborate than the last, his golden eyes alight with challenge.
"Come on, Sunshine," he taunts, sending a spiral of fire my way. "Show me what you've got."
My shadows surge forward, meeting his flames in a hiss of magic. The collision sends more sparks raining around us, and I can't help but grin at the display.
"That all you've got?"
His answering laugh is rich and deep. He moves like a predator, all coiled grace and barely contained power. When he catches my wrist to adjust my form again, his touch burns in the best way.
"Your magic responds to your emotions," he says, voice dropping low. "So stop holding back."
"I'm not—" I start to protest, but he's already moving, his fire racing toward me in a wave.
My shadows react instinctively, rising up to meet the flames. For a moment, we're locked in perfect balance, fire and shadow dancing together. I feel alive, electric, powerful.
Then Torric grins, and suddenly he's behind me again, one arm around my waist. "Better," he murmurs. "But your balance is still off."
This time when he adjusts my stance, his hands linger. One slides down my arm, guiding my movement, while the other stays firm at my hip. I'm hyper-aware of every point of contact, of the heat radiating from his chest against my back.
"Breathe," he reminds me, and I realize I've been holding my breath. When I inhale, I catch his scent—smoke and spice and something uniquely him.
My shadows flicker and swirl around us both, seemingly drawn to his warmth. One curls around his wrist where he holds me, and I swear I feel him shiver.
"Interesting," he murmurs, but before I can ask what he means, Thorne calls for the switch.