Chapter Nine #2
“First of all… rude. Secondly, I said I’d work on it.” He exhales deeply, slumping against the combat hall wall. “Gods.”
A sharp whistle cuts through their bickering, pulling my attention back to the mat.
Ronan stands at its centre, rune-light washing over his bare torso, sweat glistening along every defined muscle.
A black, swirling tattoo curls along his left rib, lines of ink mimicking currents of air.
His hair is mussed, eyes bright and impossibly blue.
He grins, crooking a finger at me. “You might want to start picking out your dress now, sweetheart.”
Butterflies riot in my stomach, but I force my expression into something cool as I approach. “Confident, are we?”
“Always.” He winks, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.
My heart thunders as I reach the mat, sliding a hand to my thigh to check my dagger. The familiar chill of metal steadies me, slowing the rush of blood in my ears.
His face pales slightly as he watches my movements, “You’re not going to stab me with that, too, are you?” He asks, half amused, half worried.
I smirk. “Relax. You’re safe, it’s reserved for assholes.” I give the strap a final tug. “Just making sure it’s secure.”
He smiles and then begins to circle me, sinew rippling with every slow movement. I begin to move, fists balled up and held in front of my face. My heartbeat picking up with every step.
Fuck, I’m so getting my ass handed to me.
I move before he can breathe, lunging forward and pivoting sharply on my heel, my boot drives into the side of his inked ribs and lands with a dull crack, the vibration shuddering up my leg.
He grunts, stumbling a half-step before I move again, my fist slamming into the hard planes of his abdomen, every ounce of my strength behind it.
A low chuckle crawls up his chest as he straightens, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off nothing more than a poor stretch. “You’re real fucking fast, you know that?”
A grin cuts sharp across my face as I shift my stance. “It’s my best advantage,” I say lightly. “Harder to hit a moving target.”
He tilts his head, ocean eyes tracking me, “Well,” he drawls, “unlucky for you… I’m very determined to earn that date.”
I scoff, circling him. “You’ve got a strange way of flirting. Do you beat up every woman you ask out?”
He huffs a breathy laugh. “Only the ones carrying daggers,” his gaze flicks briefly to my thigh, “and with bigger balls than Enzo.”
“Fuck off!” Enzo shouts from the sidelines. “Kick his ass, Elysia!”
And with that, I’m moving again, vanishing the moment he shifts his weight.
Not metaphorically.
One heartbeat I’m there, the next I’m already to his left, then behind him, then gone again. My shield hums over my skin as I move, a constant pressure at the base of my skull as I force it to hold, to curve tight around me.
Knuckles skim his jaw. My heel clips the back of his knee. I don’t stay long enough to admire the damage because my speed is everything.
“Shit—” He turns too slow, my fist making contact with the side of his face.
“You don’t move like anything human.” He grunts, cupping his jaw.
I don’t answer, I just keep moving.
Sweat slicks down my spine as I circle him, the world narrowing to motion and intention. He’s learning, though. His eyes don’t chase me anymore… they wait.
I go in for another hit, pushing past the ache in my legs and the burn in my lungs, but as my fist swings for him, he shifts just enough. His hand catches my wrist mid-strike, and my steps falter. He barrels into me with shocking momentum, driving us both to the ground.
My breath is knocked from my lungs as my back hits the mat. He follows me down, weight pinning my hips, one knee sliding between my thighs to starve me of movement.
Anger and heat flicker through the bond, a faint hum beneath my shields. My eyes briefly find Kaden on the sidelines, his shield flickering in and out as he pins Ronan with a glare that could incinerate anyone unfortunate enough to be on the end of it.
Clearly, Ronan hasn’t noticed… or he doesn’t care.
I roll my eyes and grit my teeth, focus splintering as I fight to keep the shield intact, trembling now under the strain of Ronan’s hold. His arm presses into my chest as his face hovers inches from mine, close enough that I feel his breath, feel the heat of him through the fabric between us.
“Seems fast doesn’t guarantee the win,” he murmurs, voice laced with triumph. “I think you should wear something silver. It would really make your eyes pop.”
A breathy chuckle slips free before I can stop it, my shield flickering as my focus finally falters under the strain. I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge; he’s a living cage.
“Do you yield?” He teases.
I push once more, stubborn to the end, but it’s useless. “Fine,” I grit out. “I yield.”
His immediate grin is wide and victorious as he rises and offers me his hand, hauling me upright with infuriating ease.
“Shall we say tomorrow night at seven?” he says lightly.
“It’s a date.” I agree, smiling softly.
He places a brief kiss on the back of my hand before I saunter back to the sidelines, my cheeks flushed pink… yet again.
By the time I turn, Ronan is already squaring off against Kaden. I lean against the wall with crossed arms, forcing my breathing back to normal as the bout begins.
Ronan is strong and disciplined, but apparently predictable.
Kaden dismantles him with ruthless efficiency, each strike clipped and punishing, the bond humming with sharp, volatile energy as his moves grow increasingly brutal.
He corrects Ronan’s footing mid-strike, capitalising on every mistake, then drives him into the mat with a force born of something far less clinical than training, hard enough that a few of us shift uneasily.
Only Thane and Sirena don’t. Sirena leans into him, a grin tugging at her mouth as she murmurs something under her breath. Thane’s answering smile is brief and knowing, but gone as quickly as it appeared.
Kaden slams Ronan into the mat one final time, the impact shuddering through the room. He doesn’t release him immediately, he pins him there, all unmoving weight and pressure, until Ronan… bruised and breathless finally yields.
Thane walks onto the mat next; their fight is louder and faster.
Thane pushes him harder and lands a solid blow that earns a rare grunt.
For a moment, I think Thane might actually take him—but Kaden adapts and counters every strike and manoeuvre thrown his way.
Even through Thane’s valiant effort, Kaden wins anyway.
Sirena is last having been the last one standing on the other mat.
She’s sweet and teasing as they spar, grace versus shadow.
The two of them move like opposing elements, and I find myself holding my breath as she nearly brings him down with a sweeping manoeuvre that would’ve felled anyone else. Anyone else but him.
With a final twist and lock, he pins her just long enough to prove the point before letting her go.
I hate him.
I really, really do.
But watching him now… breathing hard, hair mussed and falling into his eyes, sweat licking at his shirtless torso, I can’t deny that he’s infuriatingly attractive.
His muscles move fluidly beneath his skin, rippling with every shift of weight, honed and precise rather than bulky.
Faint scars line his torso and arms; history etched into muscle.
A swirling black tattoo coils along his forearm, inked shadows twisting into something alive.
And beneath his ribs are inked stars, constellations spanning skin like a private map of the night sky.
He catches me staring.
One brow lifts as a knowing smirk tugs his mouth.
I straighten instantly, heart traitorously quickening under his gaze. I turn away, hand running over my plait as I make my way to leave. Enzo and Odette hot on my heels.
“Got to say,” Odette chimes, skipping up beside me, “I’m really not looking forward to going up against you in the next session.”
I scoff. “I’m fast, but I’m not that skilled. Pretty sure you’d put me flat on my ass.”
She shrugs, lips quirking. “I don’t know. I think it’d be pretty even—”
“Have you had any training at the border?” Enzo cuts in, earning an immediate glare from Odette.
I shake my head. “No. My father was a warrior mage. He trained me from the time I could stand. Every movement just… stuck. It’s as natural as breathing now.”
We round the corner as we talk, the lecture hall doors rising before us. Rune-lights embedded in the stone flicker softly as we approach, pulsing in time with our footsteps.
“Shit,” Enzo mutters, hands shoved into his cargo pockets. “For someone with zero formal training, you’re annoyingly good.”
Odette snorts. “Better than you, for sure. You couldn’t keep your damn shield up for more than a second. She held hers nearly the whole time.” Her grin turns wicked as she bumps my shoulder. “Even with that absolute hunk of a man on top of her.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Hunk of a man?”
“What?” Odette says innocently. “I have eyes.”
“I have to agree with her… even I was distracted,” Enzo adds, reaching for the doors.
I shake my head, still smiling as we step through. “Perverts,” I tease with a wink, “Try not to drool the whole lesson.”
“No promises,” They reply in unison, flashing me devious grins as the doors swing shut behind us.
The lecture hall is vast, far larger than it needs to be for training soul-bound pairs.
Dark grey stone curves in a wide circle around the room, the walls cool and imposing.
Tall, arched stained-glass windows line one side, scattering muted colour across the floor as daylight filters through.
At the front of the room hangs the largest map of Celestria I have ever seen, its edges nearly brushing the wooden floor, every border ward and mountain range meticulously inked.
Long wooden desks ring the hall in tiered rows, circling the space and facing inward toward the map, as if the entire room has been built to bow to it. It smells faintly of parchment and ink as we all file in, taking a seat at the long wooden tables.
Our academic tutor, Professor Aric Zephyris, stands at the centre. He’s tall with brown hair that’s turning silver at the roots, eyes slightly wrinkled and wise with years of knowledge. He’s wearing a three-piece suit adorned with a pocket watch.
“Soul-binding is the oldest form of sanctioned magic in Celestria. Older than The Council and older than the Concordium itself…” Professor Aric’s voice carries easily across the room, smooth but weighty with the kind of authority born from decades of study.
“The first recorded soulbond took place centuries ago, and it was not born of duty nor battle, but of love.” He pauses, letting the quiet settle.
Quills still, and even I find myself leaning forward slightly, curiosity stirring beneath the fog of my restless thoughts.
“It was said to have been forged between the High Mage Queen, Iredessa and her mortal consort, Zorion. She was the most powerful mage of her time. A wise, cunning woman whose own magic could bend storms to her will if she so much as wished it. He was a scholar, no trace of magic to his name. Yet, despite the gulf between them, they fell in love.”
A faint, wistful smile touches his lips.
“Their union was… unprecedented. A High Mage binding herself to one without power was considered not only foolish but heretical. Yet the Queen, it is said, believed that love was the truest form of magic. So, she performed the first binding herself, an act both intimate and irreversible.”
He draws onto the air with his magic, a delicate looping symbol of infinity that glows slightly before fading.
“When their souls intertwined, something extraordinary happened. Zorion could wield her power as though it were his own. Their hearts fell into the same rhythm, beating for them both, and every emotion they felt was shared and intensified.”
A hush falls across the room, the bond hums softly beneath my skin, an echo of that same connection… raw, terrifying and infinite.
Ronan raises a hand, brow quirked. “So, the first bond wasn’t for strength or strategy… but for love?”
Professor Aric nods once, eyes thoughtful. “Precisely. The binding was never meant to be a weapon. It was an act of devotion, a promise never to walk this world alone. But as history has shown, power rarely stays pure for long.”
He turns, tapping his hand gently with the quill.
“When Iredessa and Zorion died, the practice was… adapted. The Council sanctified soul-binding as a way to create unity among High Mages, to amplify magical potential for Celestria’s defence, and now in hopes to syphon a cure for the plague.
” He looks over the rows of students, “But some of us still believe that what the Queen did was not meant to be institutionalised. It was meant to be sacred.”
Brynn’s voice breaks the silence. “Do we know how they died?”
Professor Aric’s expression softens, a faint smile tilting at his features.
“Records say they passed peacefully after many years together, and soul-binding was carried on in their name.” A pause.
“During these lessons, I want all of you to remember that the bond is not just something to control but something you also need to understand.”
Kaden shifts in his seat before clearing his throat.
“So, if soul-binding was created for love, could that mean our emotions are being… manipulated by magic to find that in one another?”
Professor Aric smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly.
“A thoughtful question, Kaden. But no. A soulbond does not create emotion; it merely magnifies what is already there and reflects it into your partner. It cannot twist your feelings, nor can it force two souls to fall in love. The connection only amplifies what exists between you. Every emotion you feel belongs to you, not the magic.”
Kaden nods, though his jaw tightens.
Through the bond, I feel the ripple of unease that passes through him.
It doesn’t surprise me; I share it.
I don’t like how my body reacts to him any more than he likes how his reacts to me.