Chapter Six
Andrew listened to Isla and Juliette chattering just in front of him, their bicycles rattling over the cobbles as they made their way toward the main campus.
In the distance, the rearing stallion atop the roof of the main university building caught his eye, its silhouette framed by the glinting glass dome behind it, sunlight dancing across the historic stonework.
He usually preferred to walk—those quiet stretches gave him time to ponder Bernoulli streamlines over an aerofoil, looking for solutions to increase plane wing attack angle without stalling.
That work had earned him a reserved occupation status, kept him out of the trenches and behind the drawing boards.
He knew the theory mattered—knew Spitfires flew better because of minds like his—but that knowledge didn’t always quiet the guilt.
The guilt that he wasn’t out there with his fellow countrymen.
This morning, though, even fluid dynamics and wing stress were far from his mind. His gaze scanned the street ahead, then behind. Last night’s attack on Isla frayed his nerves. They needed to find who was behind it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might be watching.
Isla’s question drew Andrew’s attention back to the conversation.
“So ... are Fated couples normal? I mean, if we both have the Sigil mark, does that mean it’s some kind of regular thing?”
He saw Juliette smile, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Well ... people find love all the time—love isn’t rare in the world, but being Fated is something special.
It’s love that feels written on your very soul.
But at the same time, it’s not only meant for the main hero and heroine of the book; the side characters deserve that kind of love too. ”
Isla smiled at her friend. Juliette definitely lived her life in books.
Juliette paused, brushing the windblown hair from her face, her bike wobbling a little as she did so.
“It’s rare, by the world’s standards,” she said, “but it’s not exclusive.
If more people loved in such a way, maybe we wouldn’t be at war.
” She paused before continuing, “It’s a bond offered to those willing to love with their whole soul—with devotion, loyalty, and the kind of sacrifice that asks everything of you but gives even more in return. ”
Her gaze turned distant, like she was chasing a memory that wasn’t hers.
“It’s like being chosen—not by chance, but by something older than time.
A thread that’s been waiting quietly for two people to find each other.
It won’t make life easier, but it gives it meaning.
It shapes who you are ... and who you’re still becoming.
It’s a bond that defies logic ... and time. ”
“I still don’t understand. What makes Fated Aetherians different?”
“When two Aetheric souls achieve perfect resonance—a harmony of spirit, mind, and emotion—their Aetheric fields entwine. The universe remembers such bonds, for love of that magnitude cannot dissolve; it imprints upon the Aether itself. They don’t have to be perfect as people, but they are perfectly committed to each other. This allows them more power.”
He noticed Isla glance back at him. She looked uncomfortable. Her question about being Fated had clearly come from an earlier conversation. Oh, how he wished he could ease her mind.
It had pained him these last two years, trying to keep his distance—using verbal sparring as a way to be close to her but to not scare her away.
She hadn’t been open for a relationship with him.
On top of that, when he did pursue her, he wanted to be fully transparent, no secrets between them.
So he had waited patiently for her to receive her mark.
Last night, when he’d seen her Aetheric gifts awaken, part of him wanted to tell her everything immediately; he almost had in the library—the truth that lived just beneath the surface of who they were. But he’d seen in her eyes that it had not been the right time.
Yes, she’d seen his frost. She’d seen the snow gather at his fingertips, the icicles thread through the broken air. She knew now that he was an Aqua Summoner—frost, water, mist, snow, ice—all logical. Understandable. But what she didn’t know was what else water could hold.
She didn’t know that Aqua Summoners could draw memory from moisture—hear echoes of the past in the lingering air, the mist in an old room, the fog hanging over an empty field.
Water remembers. It reflects. In London, it was said the water had passed through seven people before it reached your cup.
People found it repulsive; Andrew found it powerful.
Because that water carried fragments of the past—his past—and if someone else was there during such a memory .
.. well, it was not just his past that came to light.
She didn’t know that he’d seen them as a couple before. That they’d lived, and loved, long ago. That their bond had transcended not just logic, but time. That was what being Fated truly meant.
He’d always had a sense that there was someone missing from his life, but the flashbacks had crashed into him the moment he had sat in on her interview with Harold. The first time he saw Isla, he’d known—not only with his soul, but with his memories.
His muscles moved automatically, the bicycle weaving easily behind the two women as they rode toward campus, his thoughts spiraling elsewhere—back to the 1300s.
He’d been a peasant farmer then, working a sloping patch of land outside a thatch-roofed cottage.
He had been determined, even then, to change things—experimenting with rudimentary irrigation, digging narrow channels with a wooden mattock he’d fashioned from ash and iron.
Isla had been there too, her laughter ringing out across the fields like sunlight.
She had helped him shape the earth with her Aetheric gifts, coaxing plants into bloom where the soil had become barren.
She stood focused on the field, brushing a lock of hair from her brow with that same focused expression she wore now when she was trying to solve a complex problem.
So beautiful. So alive. He had loved her deeply, still did.
He had hated that women at that time weren’t valued for their minds; Isla deserved to be recognized for the genius she was.
He remembered the moment clearly when the mattock slipped in his hands, slicing deep across his thigh.
The pain had been immediate, hot and bright.
He’d fallen back, clutching his bleeding leg, when she had rushed to him.
Her hands had glowed gently, warm and steady, as she pressed her palms to the wound.
Her touch was light, but her eyes were fierce with worry—and love.
He could still feel the heat of her hands. The way her magic had sewn him whole again, not just in flesh, but in feeling.
When old age and death had been close to taking him from that life, he had worried he wouldn’t find her in the next.
Worried she could be in danger, away from him.
Just like every time he had to leave her, he worried.
And in each lifetime, when he found her he felt like his soul could breathe again.
She made him whole. He held memories of their past due to his abilities. Sadly, she had none.
He blinked, returning to the present just as they entered the university courtyard.
Tall sandstone buildings stood with the quiet pride of centuries.
Ornate Gothic windows lined the ancient halls.
Pigeons fluttered overhead, and the echo of bicycle tires over cobblestone reminded him where—and when—he was.
This was England in the 1940s, and she didn’t remember him. He only hoped, as he did each time they met, that he could show her how much he loved her.
After locking up their bikes, Juliette pulled Isla into a quick hug, then began walking backward toward the entrance closest to the library with a grin.
“See you at lunch, Glacial Man and Professor Plantastic! ... No, you don’t like it? I’ll work on it.”
She spun around and strode off at her usual brisk pace.
“Hey! I’m a professor too,” Andrew called after her.
Juliette glanced over her shoulder and shot him a wink. “Yeah—but Isla’s the better one.”
She disappeared through the doors as he chuckled, shaking his head.
“So ... I guess I’ll see you when I see you,” Isla said, a little too stiffly.
He looked at her, her brown hair catching the morning light, golden flecks glinting in her amber eyes like sunlight on river stone after a summer storm. She was breathtaking.
Andrew gave a half smile. “Isla, the only thing I had planned for today was marking papers and reading up on a few things. I don’t have any lectures.
So I intend to be your shadow—though unlike a typical one, I won’t be governed by the angle of the sun or the shape of an opaque object blocking light rays. ”
Her brow lifted, amused. “Ah, so you’re planning to override the fundamental laws of physics now?”
He leaned in slightly. “I prefer to think of it as ... selective application.”
She let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking her head. “Well, Professor Selectively Applied Physics, don’t get in my way.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, falling into step beside her.
“So, what’s first on your agenda?”
“This morning, I am due to work with Ray Kingsley.”
“The biochemist?”
“Yes, we’re collaborating on plant metabolic pathways—specifically the regulation of photosynthesis under environmental stress.”
“Sounds interesting.”
She glanced at him with a smile that reached her eyes—genuine and quietly excited.
“It is. Ray’s usually buried in a project he says could change the health of the nation, so the fact that he was free this morning feels like a rare privilege.”
They began ascending the winding staircase of the old university building, its stone steps worn down by decades of scholars’ footsteps.
Faint echoes of their shoes tapping against the floor mingled with the scent of polished oak lingering in the air, each turn of the staircase marked with plaques memorializing long-dead professors and benefactors.
Isla ran her fingers briefly along the handrail, glancing up as the filtered morning light streamed through stained-glass windows depicting scenes of ancient scientific discovery—alchemy, astronomy, anatomy.
His mind slipped back to a time when it was effortless—natural—to hold Isla in his arms. Back when reaching for her hand had been as instinctive as drawing breath.
When the memory of that intimacy returned to him, the urge to close the distance between them tugged painfully at him.
He stepped away instead, forcing his hands into his coat pockets.
“Any more thoughts on who attacked me last night?” Isla’s voice cut through his silence.
He noticed the faint tremble in her voice and saw her arms cross protectively around her middle as they now walked down the hallway. The fear was still fresh, still crawling beneath her skin. His jaw tensed, his fury reigniting at the thought of someone harming her.
“I’m afraid not,” he said, voice low. “But Harold’s looking into it. We won’t stop until we know who it was.”
“I did have one thought,” she offered, her tone uncertain.
“Oh?” He turned to look at her fully, gaze sharpening with interest.
They continued down the long hallway, the polished wooden floors creaking gently underfoot.
Dust motes floated in the morning light that spilled through tall leaded windows.
Glass-fronted cabinets lined the walls, displaying preserved botanical samples and faded anatomical drawings.
A student carrying a stack of textbooks nodded as he passed.
“It might be nothing,” she continued, glancing toward a glass-paned laboratory door where a gas lamp flickered dimly.
“But it did happen around the time my mark appeared, so I believe they may be related. During my lecture, one of my students—Jimmy—helped me hand out papers. I was trying to hide my wrist, but he was close. He may have seen it.”
Andrew nodded slowly, processing her words. Somewhere nearby, a phonograph played faintly from a professor’s office—an old waltz, distorted by the closed door.
“It’s worth looking into,” he said. “Even the smallest detail might matter.”
She gave a small nod, and for a moment, they walked in silence.
“Andrew ...” Isla hesitated, as if the words were tangled somewhere between her mind and tongue. He leaned in slightly, attentive.
“Yes?” He kept his voice soft, careful—like he was speaking to a skittish horse.
“Would you ... would you be willing to help me control my powers? Teach me how to summon, and all that ...”
Inside, Andrew wanted to leap for joy, shout from the rooftops. After two years of her sparring and rebuffing, she was finally asking him for help. Yet outwardly, he kept his cool, playing the careful game they’d both grown used to. No need to scare her off now.
“Why, Isla, after such a ... most intelligently phrased request, how could I refuse?” His voice carried a playful smirk.
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips as she pushed open the laboratory door.
He couldn’t resist gently placing his hand on the small of her back as he followed her into the lab. He let his hand drop as she suddenly stopped—frozen. Had he been too forward?
She gasped, barely a whisper. “Ray.”
Andrew followed her gaze just as the smell hit him.
The usual sterile scent of the lab was tainted by the sharp, acrid smell of smoke.
On the floor lay Ray’s body—still, but with patches of blackened skin curling at the edges, like brittle paper singed by flames.
The faint warmth of a recent fire still clung to the air, and the slight smell of burnt clothing hovered.
It was as if invisible fingers of fire had claimed him without burning the room, leaving a silent, devastating mark.
Andrew’s jaw clenched, outraged that an Aetherian would use their gifts for such evil.