Chapter 41
Peace is a season, not a certainty
—The War of Unbinding: The Second Rebellion
The end of March brings with it the announcement of the fourth elemental duel, set to take place in the quad that has been transformed into an impromptu stone stadium.
Between classes, training with Noa and Gavrail, and our relentless search for answers about my lineage, elemental fusion, and any trace of embodiment in historical record—by the time my head hits the pillow at night, I am already past exhaustion. I barely remember falling asleep most evenings.
Noa never says it, but I know he worries I’m burning too hot. Stretching too thin.
Still, he doesn’t stop me.
Some nights, I dream of him kissing me awake, slow and golden.
But more often, I wake to find him already curled around me—his body a furnace, breath soft against my neck, one arm pinning me with sleepy possessiveness—and I kiss him awake instead: mouth hot, hands eager, the kind of kiss that dares him to catch up.
His fingers slide beneath the sheets, teasing my body awake with a fire to match his own.
It never lasts long enough—just enough time to burn, to take and be taken, before the world pulls us apart again. But in those stolen moments, between sleep and sunrise—before responsibility claws us back—I’m not a Thalrien. Not a mystery. Not a weapon in training.
I’m just his.
Gavrail and Teo sometimes join us for meals in the mess hall now—never announced, never invited, just…
there, sliding onto the end of our table like they’ve always been there.
It’s a strange, unexpected truce, forged somewhere between clenched teeth and shared bruises now that Noa and Gavrail have taken to training me together at the bay—two rival storms learning the shape of each other’s violence, building something grudging and wordless that isn’t friendship, exactly, but also isn’t hatred anymore.
The first time it happens, Rozsen’s gaze cuts between them—wary but faintly amused. “Well… if the fire king says you’re housebroken, I guess I’ll allow it.”
Gavrail’s mouth twitches. “How very generous.”
She casts a glance at me as if to ask, Are you okay with this?
I give the slightest shrug before returning to my meal.
Gavrail doesn’t perform. He doesn’t charm.
The rest of my squad, aside from Rozsen, tries not to stare.
They fail. Because even when he just sits there—charcoal uniform, quiet posture—the entire hall rearranges itself around the fact that he exists.
Like everyone’s instincts know the same thing at once: that he holds the kind of power you don’t provoke unless you’re ready to bleed.
Teo and Rozsen have stopped pretending that their flirting is merely for fun.
Rozsen’s boot nudges his under the table like a private joke.
Teo’s hand lingers at her back a second too long when they stand.
Finn, meanwhile, floats from table to table like a social butterfly with a death wish—always laughing with the newest person in his orbit, always leaving behind a trail of smirks and scandalized whispers in his wake.
The duel is scheduled for this Friday. My squad and I walk to the quad together and find seats at the top of the stadium, carved from stone by Whittaker’s earth Magicks.
At the center of the arena below, second-year Jin Feng stands with her chin high, bronze cuffs gleaming in the afternoon light, metallic threads winding up her forearms like living veins.
Across from her, Teo flashes a lazy grin, arms loose at his sides, acting like he’s about to hit a beach party instead of a duel.
“Ladies first,” he calls, sweeping into a half-bow.
Jin doesn’t smile. She just nods, then lifts her hands.
At first, it’s clean—calculated. She calls twin daggers of polished steel into the air, spinning them with mindless precision.
Teo responds by lifting a slab of stone from the earth with casual ease, molding it into a curved shield. He makes a show of yawning behind it.
Laughter ripples through the crowd. Rozsen snorts. Finn, standing near the edge, doesn’t react.
Jin’s eyes narrow.
The second round is sharper. Her blades dart in quick succession, slicing the air with a thin, lethal whistle. Teo deflects them with rising columns of rock, sidestepping with a dancer’s grace, and when he grins again, it’s clear he’s enjoying himself.
“You’re quick,” he says, “but not faster than me.”
The third strike comes without warning.
Jin hurls a spear of jagged metal—not steel, but something darker, denser, forged from deep veins of iron beneath the school. It punches through Teo’s shield like paper, nearly catching his shoulder. He stumbles back, off-balance for the first time.
Gone is the easy grin.
The crowd grows silent.
Jin’s eyes flash, and with a flick of her wrist, a fan of needles bursts from her cuffs in a silver swarm. Teo slams his palms to the ground, raising a wall of obsidian so fast it cracks under the force.
When the dust settles, Jin is already forming another weapon, long and thin—a whip of wire.
She sends it into the air as she pulls spikes of iron from the earth, each one shooting up from beneath his feet, caging him in.
The distraction is enough to be able to send her lasso of death around his neck like a snake, squeezing it tight with a clench of her fist.
Professors are moving now—Stroud, Kael, even Headmaster Thorne stepping onto the field, magick at the ready.
The wire whip lashes into Teo’s throat, strangling him, blood dripping down as the stone shield he’s called forth to encase his throat desperately tries to stop it.
“Stand down!” Stroud’s voice booms.
But Jin stands over Teo, determined, watching as the wire cuts deeper and deeper into his neck.
And then it all freezes.
Wind howls as Professor Stroud steps forward, eyes sharp as a knife’s edge.
With a single flick of his wrist, a gale-force burst slams into Jin, sending her skidding back across the dueling arena.
She braces, but the wind coils around her, tight as chains, locking her arms into place.
Her body jerks, suspended in the air like a puppet caught mid-strike.
Before she can even blink, Kael strides in from the edge of the quad.
His palm ignites with a low, burning roar.
Flames snake outward in a controlled stream, striking the length of Jin’s metal whip.
The searing heat warps and melts it instantly, droplets of liquefied steel hissing as they hit the stone beneath them.
Jin is bound. Disarmed. Held still by wind and fire.
The crowd stares—shocked into silence.
The duel is over.
Teo is finally able to draw a breath, letting out a sharp exhale, chest heaving. Blood drips in pools around him as others rush toward him to try to help.
Jin doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look sorry.
Tension spills over the watching crowd like a flood. Gavrail pushes through to Teo’s side, but Rozsen gets there first, using her jacket to try to stop the flow of blood. She murmurs something to him that I can’t hear, but I see the fear in her eyes.
“I think she broke my favorite rock shield,” Teo jokes weakly, then catches Rozsen’s eye. “But your concern makes it all worth it.”
Rozsen rolls her eyes, but her fingers linger on his cheek a moment longer than they need to. Finn watches from across the quad, stone-faced, unmoving.
As Jin disappears into the crowd, flanked by professors and still trembling with restrained fury, I realize something that sinks in my gut like a stone:
These duels aren’t just about strength.
They’re echoes—of old wars. Of buried grudges. Of legacies none of us asked for, but all of us carry.
Jin wasn’t just fighting Teo. She was fighting a past she couldn’t outrun.
And maybe… she wanted him to bleed for it.
It’s only later that Gavrail tells me why, and the knowledge settles under my skin like a splinter I can’t pull out: Jin’s parents were recruited into Krovya when she was just a little girl.
She was raised by her grandmother while her parents disappeared into missions and silence.
Years without a visit. Years without a choice.
Krovya keeps its Magickteers on a tight leash—and their families learn to live with the scars it leaves behind.