Chapter 19 Carwynn
CARWYNN
“Wait, so why do they need to be kissed by midnight?” Ella, a wide-eyed female Si in the front row, twirled a sandy-blonde curl around her finger as she asked.
“Is it a time-restricted spell?” Tilly leaned forward with interest, lavender hair swept over a shoulder. “What happens if they don’t? Will they lose the chance at finding a soulmate forever?”
Skylights lit up the domed stone classroom, casting a bright glow over the five rows of amphitheater-styled seats.
Large slabs of stone curved around each row, every wooden chair behind filled with curious Luckland students.
A few of the windows were propped open, letting in the fresh, earthy scent of the grassy roof above.
I couldn’t contain it. Laughter bubbled up as I pinched the bridge of my nose.
I absolutely loved teaching the Human Studies course.
For the majority of the week I was a student, attending classes and grinding through coursework. But Fridays—Fridays were mine. The one day I got to switch roles.
The class was made up of about thirty students.
Without fail, their questions and comments were always beyond hysterical.
Having been raised culturally as human, it was fun to see things from the Ferie perspective.
Through their eyes, even some of the most basic human customs seemed, well, kind of ridiculous.
This week’s lesson was one of the largest and most beloved human holiday traditions: New Year’s Eve.
We tackled everything from the overindulgences of alcohol, obnoxious noisemakers, chaotic parties, glittery outfits, countdowns, fireworks, superstitions, and of course, the tradition the students kept asking about: the midnight kiss.
A world without magic, power, and spells was hard for some to comprehend.
“No, definitely no spells. Remember, there’s literally no magic. It’s a yearly ritual. At the stroke of midnight, they try to kiss someone. The tradition is meant to symbolically bring better luck and stronger relationships into the new calendar year.”
A few students raised an eyebrow, blinking.
“And no. Humans don’t have love-bonds like we do here.
It’s vastly different—we’ll briefly touch down on that in a moment.
But as per the midnight kiss, if they don’t kiss someone—” I shrugged.
“They just don’t kiss someone. Simple as that.
No curses. No consequences. Though, I can imagine a few people waking up to some unfortunate surprises after kissing the first willing stranger while wildly intoxicated. ”
That earned me some chuckles.
One of my more rowdy students, Cosmo, leaned in with a cocky grin. “I don’t know, that sounds like my kind of night! Doesn’t sound too unfortunate to me!”
I rolled my eyes.
“That’s because you’d be the unfortunate surprise for someone else.”
“Ay!” he cried, smirking as the class burst out in laughter.
“All right, all right. Settle down,” I chuckled. “Okay, let’s shoot back to love-bonds really quick.”
Spinning around, I moved toward the slate wall and drew three encompassing circles, like a target.
“So, as many of you should already know, here are the three love-bonds of Ferie. I like to think of them as flavors—sweet, spicy, and downright apocalyptic.”
Several students cackled.
“One is like a warm hug, the other a shot of whiskey, and the last . . . like a possession. Or so they say.”
Cosmo leaned back in his chair, fingers intertwined behind his head. “I could use a warm hug right now.” He flashed his teeth at me.
“Or a two-by-four to the face!” A smooth, familiar voice called out from the back.
Finley. There was no mistaking that grin or piercing green eyes that zeroed in on me. For a moment I felt like I was back in the hot spring with a sudden flush of panic, wanting to cover myself up under his deep gaze.
The students lost it, roaring as Cosmo narrowed his eyes.
I bit back my thoughts and cleared my throat loudly, giving the students a pointed look to calm down.
“Outer ring: Soul-Connected.” I wrote the words on the wall, then tapped it with a finger. “These are the sweet flavors of love. Closest friends. Found family. Friendships forged in battle. Trust that runs bone deep. Think, your emotional velcro.”
My hand slid down to the middle ring.
“Heart-Bonded. Profound romantic interests that go beyond your usual dating relationships. Some might share feelings together, or dreams. These would be your soulmates, or the one person you’d fight a pack of wolves off for. Their happiness is your happiness.”
Then I pointed to the smallest circle at the center.
“Spirit-Bound,” I said quietly, letting the name hang in the air. “Rare—so rare it’s considered myth. Some say it’s one soul, split in two. Others say the Fates tie it so tightly, no force could ever undo it. But no one knows the full effects. It’s said to go beyond emotion. Beyond dreams.”
I angled my head to look back at the students.
“But whatever the case, if you feel like someone’s living rent-free inside you, haunting your soul—best to get it checked out. Preferably before they start to rearrange your mental furniture.” I tapped the side of my head.
Soft laughter waved across the room. I easily picked out that warm, inviting voice again. I forced my eyes not to slide to the back row.
“Now,” I said, spinning back to the wall. “To compare those to human love-bonds…” I wrote one word beneath the heading Human Love-Bonds: NONE.
For a moment, a hush fell over the room. Then came whispering, soft ripples of curiosity and disbelief. Tilly’s eyes went wide, a mix of horror and genuine concern.
“What do you mean?” she squeaked.
I gave a small shrug. “They don’t have them like we do.”
Looking back to the board. “They have love, of course. Just as fierce, beautiful, and tragic, but not bonded love. Not the kind that’s magically carved into your soul by fate.”
I paused, letting it weigh into their minds. “For humans, love is what they make it—a choice. Not some fated mark that’s branded on your soul the moment you’re born.”
Culture shock painted itself across the students’ features. My lips twisted as I glanced around to witness their minds collapse into quiet chaos.
“If you think that comparison was fun—let’s do another!” I grabbed the chalk, already sketching. “How about comparing hierarchies of magical powers?”
I drew a large pyramid, dividing it into three uneven layers—wide at the base, narrow at the top.
“Let’s take a look at Hallow Land’s ranks of power.” I tapped the bottom box. “Tier One: Non-Gifted, the majority of Hallow Landers. Mind you, that doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. Some are masters of combat, politics, manipulation, or overall mayhem.”
A few students exchanged wicked smirks.
“Tier Two.” I pointed to the middle chunk.
“The Gifted. This includes Sayers and those of the Craft. Sayers—such as Soulsayers—can speak to the dead. Shadowsayers commune with shadows. Beastsayers talk to creatures.” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully.
“Think of it as communication magic. They’re not controlling souls, shadows, and beasts, but asking them.
Coaxing them. Hoping they’ll cooperate. Handy tool, if the answer is yes. ”
“Those of the Craft are very similar to Luckland’s nature-based Craft—such as the Aos Sí.” Several Si students whooped with pride. “But Hallow Land Craft is older. Heavier. Far darker.”
I moved to the top of the pyramid.
“Tier Three: The Rare. Wielders and the Soothseers. And when I say rare, I mean legendary. There are no known living Wielders—except one.”
I clenched the chalk so tight I thought it might crumble.
“The Skell King.”
Deafening silence. Rumors had been stirring around the land, all with his name in them. All the students listened intently, even Cosmo leaned forward.
“Wielders don’t ask forces. They command them. A Soul Wielder could raise the dead, playing puppeteer with spirits. A Shadow Wielder could manifest darkness, not just call it. A Beast Wielder could summon and lead a creature army, if they wished.”
I paused. “All extremely dangerous. And we’re lucky they’ve nearly died out . . .”
My fists clenched at the thought of the Skell King and I released a shallow breath.
“As for Soothseers, they didn’t just see the future. They could see across time, space, possibility. If Sayers were communicators and Wielders weapons, the Soothseers were prophecy given bodies.”
The silence settled, the weight of the truth thickening in the air. Faces contorted in horror, fascination, or both.
“And now,” I drawled, readying the chalk. “Let’s compare that to the human power hierarchy.” Just as I was about to write, I halted and turned around. “Anyone wanna take a wild guess?”
The sea of eyes just watched me.
“No?” I shrugged, turning back to the board to write two words in bold: NO MAGIC.
I slapped my hand against the writing for emphasis.
“Let’s drill it through your heads right now. Humans have zero, zip, zilch . . . no magic. Their only powers are social, cultural, and political—which, as it turns out, can be just as dangerous.” My mouth tightened with a regretful smile. “And we’ll dive into that headfirst next class.”
I wiped my hands clean of the chalk, scanning which students were taking notes. My gaze caught Finley’s, immediately making me feel like I had a full bladder and the perfect excuse to slip away and disappear.
It’d been days since I saw him last—in the glade skinny-dipping with Breena and Aine—and even longer since I’d spoken to him alone.
It was sweet of him to have kept checking in on me after the Dullahan attack, but I was too physically and mentally dismantled.
I wanted nothing to do with rehashing what’d happened or answering any rabbit-hole questions. So I’d avoided him.
The sound of scraping chairs and rising chatter pulled me out of my thoughts.
“All right everyone, that’s it for today!” I shouted. “Don’t forget the reading for next week. And yes, it’s in the syllabus. As it’s always been all year.” I pointedly glared a warning at my usual suspects. “There’s only a few weeks left. Make it count!”
Once the class dispersed, I slung my bag over a shoulder, about to push the wooden door open when—a large hand gripped the top. A tall, handsome figure appeared.
“Ya didn’t really think I’d let you slip by me, did ya?” Finley said, an unfairly charming grin splaying across his face.