52. Kaia
My next rotation pairs me with Darian, and my shadows coil tight and defensive, their playful mood evaporating. Mouse, who's been watching from the sidelines, lets out a low warning growl.
"Shall we begin?" Darian asks smoothly, but something feels off about his smile today. His eyes are too sharp, too calculating.
We circle each other warily. His shadow magic mirrors mine, but where my shadows feel alive and responsive, his seem... wrong somehow. Hollow.
"Your control is improving," he notes, sending a tendril of darkness toward me. "Though I notice your shadows react quite... differently to each partner."
I block his attack, trying to ignore the way his words make my skin crawl. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, nothing really." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Just interesting to observe their behavior. Particularly around Finn and Malrik."
Speaking of them—I can't help glancing over to where they're paired together. Their usual antagonism has transformed into something else entirely. Finn's chaos magic spirals wild and bright, while Malrik's shadows dance in response. They move together with surprising grace, like they've forgotten anyone else is watching.
When one of Finn's spells goes astray, Malrik pulls him out of harm's way. They collide, Malrik's hands steadying Finn's waist, and for a moment, they just stare at each other. They freeze in that position, Malrik's hands still gripping Finn's waist, their breath mingling in the space between them. The magic crackles around them like static before a storm.
"Fascinating," Darian murmurs, following my gaze. "Quite the complicated dynamic you all have here."
My shadows lash out before I can stop them, leaving a thin black line across his sleeve. "Sorry," I say, not feeling sorry at all.
"No need to apologize." His smile turns predatory. "Your shadows merely prove my point. They're quite... protective of certain people, aren't they?"
Before I can respond, Thorne calls an end to training. I retreat quickly, gathering my things while trying to sort through the confusing tangle of emotions the session has left me with.
Seren appears at my side, eyes dancing with amusement. "Well, that was enlightening."
"Shut up," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.
"I mean it," she says, more seriously. "You might want to figure out what you're feeling here babe. Because from where I'm standing, things are getting interesting."
I watch as Torric argues with Aspen about proper defensive stances, his golden eyes still flickering to me occasionally. As Finn teases Malrik about "getting handsy" during their practice, making the normally composed shadow prince actually flush. Mouse circles my feet protectively, clearly still unsettled by Darian's presence.
My shadows swirl restlessly, reaching out toward each of them in turn—drawn to Torric's heat, Aspen's calm, Finn's chaos, even Malrik's darkness. It doesn’t escape my notice that a small tendril reaches for Darian after hesitating a beat.
"I have no idea what I'm feeling," I admit quietly.
Seren squeezes my shoulder. "That's okay too. Just... be careful, yeah? Not everyone here has your best interests at heart."
Her gaze drifts to where Darian stands with Thorne, their heads bent in quiet conversation. Something about their posture sets off warning bells, but before I can analyze it further, Finn bounds over.
"Survival achieved!" he announces cheerfully, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "Though I think Bob is traumatized by Malrik's footwork."
"Bob?" Seren asks, bewildered.
"Don't ask," I groan, but I can't help leaning slightly into Finn's warmth.
"Bob is a perfectly respectable name for a shadow," Finn insists, and I swear I see Malrik roll his eyes from across the room.
“I hadn’t realized you named them.” Seren snickers and I barely hold back another groan.
She looks around the floor even though I know she can’t see them. “So do I get to name one now? That one—” she points randomly to a spot where there are absolutely no shadows. “That’s Chloe! Isn’t she cute?”
“No way. Absolutely not. Naming shadows is my job. No one else’s,” Finn declares, flailing his arms dramatically like a conductor in the middle of a symphony.
“It’s not a shadow naming convention,” I murmur, but Finn’s too busy gesturing wildly at my shadows to notice.
My shadows curl happily around Finn's ankles. The simple comfort of his presence helps settle the chaos in my mind.
"Come on," Seren says, tugging me toward the door. "Let's get you fed before you have to process any more feelings."
"I'm not—" I start to protest, but her knowing looks stop me. "Fine. Food first. Emotional crisis later."
As we leave, I feel their eyes on me—gold, gray, blue, green, and silver—each gaze carrying its own weight of unspoken possibility. Mouse bumps against my leg supportively, but I swear he's laughing at me too.
I'm definitely in trouble.