Chapter 29
Elemental lines, once merged, do not fade. They always recognize each other, awakening when the other draws near.
—Traces in the Tide: Water in Elemental Practice
January comes, and with it, a few new classes are added to the first-year load—Defensive Warding and Shielding, along with Arcanarchaeology. I also signed up for the Botany elective held in the Garden Grove, Amelia having sparked my curiosity about various plants and their uses in potion-making.
Winter is now in full command, blanketing the ground in snow and ice. The cold bites so deep that stepping outside steals the feeling from your face entirely—like the world itself has turned to glass and silence.
With the start of the school session comes the announcement of the third elemental duel. This one takes place in the Grotto in honor of the two challengers, both water Magicks.
The Grotto is a wide cavern filled with shifting pools, glowing from beneath with bioluminescent light.
Voices are swallowed by the immense space, and bridges of slick stone and floating platforms form unstable pathways between the pools.
The sound of dripping echoes endlessly, a constant reminder of movement.
Everything flows—nothing remains the same.
All the bridges converge onto a single large platform at the center of the cave, its surface paved with white river stones, arranged like a constellation beneath the feet of those who stand there.
The water training and dueling grounds whisper of change—fluid, persistent, and endlessly deep.
It feels as though the cave sees everything and remembers it all.
Professor Darwyn Ashar stands just off to the side of the platform, cloaked in his usual stillness.
His black hair is slicked back with precision, not a strand out of place, and his eyes—an unsettling shade of onyx—scan the crowd with a quiet, shrewd intensity.
There is something calculating in his gaze, as though he is always three steps ahead, always measuring.
A still surface concealing dangerous currents beneath.
He is known for his rare abilities as a water Magick.
He can summon or banish rain at will—anything from a soft drizzle to a torrential downpour.
But it is the whispered rumors that make him a figure of hushed reverence.
They say he can bloodbind—manipulate the water within living things.
With a gesture, he can desiccate a thriving plant into withered stems. And if the whispers are true… he can do far worse to a human body.
The third-year water elemental is ready.
Stocky, solid, and grounded, Luana steps onto the central platform with the sharp confidence of a seasoned duelist. Her power coils visibly around her like a tide pulling back before a wave.
Across from her stands her challenger, Alezay of Vikhrostrum—tall, almost frail-looking, with moonlight hair cascading down her back and a strange, unsettling stillness to her gray eyes.
She stands silent, unmoving. The kind of calm that comes not from peace, but from the disciplined patience of a predator.
A faint hiss echoes through the Grotto as the water between them responds—swirling and quivering at their presence.
Professor Ashar’s voice rings out, low and resonant: “Begin.”
The clash begins with a furious burst of elemental command. Water explodes from the pools around them in synchronized arcs, colliding with enough force to drench the surrounding bridges and the people who stand on them, watching.
Luana conjures a crashing wave that surges across the platform, but Alezay pivots with lithe grace, splitting the surge with a precise slice of water so thin it shimmers like glass.
Then comes the shift.
Ice javelins form in midair—Luana hurling hers with muscle and force, Alezay crafting thin, razor-like spikes of frost that whistle as they fly. One comes dangerously close to Luana, too close, a trickle of blood dripping down her exposed arm.
The temperature drops sharply inside the Grotto. Their power slowly slips out of duel-control and into something else entirely.
Mist creeps in—unnaturally fast, swirling around ankles and obscuring vision. Alezay lifts both hands and calls the mist upward into a ring of fog, just as Luana responds with a low-sweeping strike of freezing water that cracks stone underfoot.
The spectators step back.
I watch with wide, tense eyes. Their magick—my magick—on full display.
Then—out of the corner of my eye—I see it.
Luana’s frozen wave snaps mid-arc and breaks. One shard shears free, jagged and wild, spiraling free from the duel. It isn’t aimed. It isn’t controlled. It screams straight toward Nate—
And he’s looking the other way.
I don’t think.
I just move.
Water rises instinctively under my feet as I throw my body between the shard and my friend, hands raised. A flash of magick bursts from my palms—but it won’t be enough. The shard screams forward, faster than I can conjure.
And then—
Shadow swallows the light.
It doesn’t just block the ice.
It devours it.
A thick, smoky cocoon blooms in front of me, pulsing like a living heart—dark, viscous, and threaded with something glowing faintly violet and blue. It feels impossibly cold and hot at the same time. My water bends into it like roots into soil. My eyes widen with shock. And… memory…
I turn and see him.
Gavrail—standing at the edge of the mist, one hand outstretched, jaw clenched, shadows pulsing from his fingertips like ink from a bleeding page.
Our eyes meet—and for a heartbeat, something sparks between us. Recognition. Power.
The look he gives me strikes through my spine like lightning. For a single blinding moment, the world narrows only to the seam where our magicks meet. I can’t tell where my water ends and his shadows begin. And I can feel him. Everywhere.
Then—
Darkness slams down as Gavrail’s shadows snap outward, swallowing what we did and sparking panic—shouts, scraping feet, a single scream.
Light bleeds back in as the shadows loosen. The cocoon collapses like smoke sucked into a crack.
The ice is gone.
So is everyone’s breath.
The Grotto and its occupants stand in stunned silence.
Noa comes rushing over, eyes wide with panic. “Shit, Cel, are you okay?” His hands are on my shoulders, gripping a little too tight. “One second there was an ice spear heading straight for you, and the next—everything went dark. It was…”
He trails off, looking past me. His eyes lock on Gavrail. The silence stretches.
“It was you,” he says, quieter now. A beat of tension hangs in the air before he adds, “Thank you. For stopping it.” The words cost him. I can hear it in the tightness of his throat, see it in the set of his jaw. But he says them anyway.
Gavrail only nods, giving nothing away. Then, without a word, he turns and walks away—his shadows trailing behind him like smoke dissolving in the air.
Noa pulls me into a hug, tucking me against him. I feel the press of his lips at the top of my head, grounding me, reminding me I’m here. That I’m safe. Unharmed.
But I can’t stop staring. Past his shoulder. Past the chaos of the dueling platform. Past the soft murmurs of my squad as they rush in, surrounding Nate and me in a ring of concern.
I watch Gavrail’s back as he disappears into the dark of the cave.
The echo of what we made together lingers like a second heartbeat beneath my skin.
Gavrail.
There is a quiet menace to him that wasn’t there when we were children. And yet… beneath all that, there is still a strange, magnetic pull. Like gravity. Or prophecy.
I didn’t look at Gavrail and think dangerous.
And when our magicks combined, it felt… infinite.
I try to shake the feelings as if I can scatter them like raindrops from a summer storm—sharp, directionless, impossible to gather again. But they don’t go away… and right now, I’m not exactly sure I want them to.