GAVRAIL
Institutions do not protect people. They protect themselves—with people.
—Elements and Empires: A Study of Modern Magickal Governance
We both stand in silence, staring at the door she just fled through. The echoes of her footsteps have faded, but the air remains charged with everything she left behind—tears, truth, and the taste of something broken and raw.
I finally speak, each word honed like a blade. “If you really love her like she says you do… then prove it. Protect her. Keep her safe. And above all, keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Noa doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. His hands stay loose at his sides, but his shoulders lock—braced for impact.
I pause, just enough to betray the fracture beneath.
Because the thought of her—the fury and dare in her eyes, that stubborn tilt of her mouth when she said this was her choice, to tell him, to trust him—hits me like a hook under the ribs.
I clench my jaw until it aches, forcing the feeling back down where it belongs.
I exhale, my shoulders flexing once before I forcibly relax them. “You think I don’t know what she’s carrying? I’ve kept it hidden longer than you’ve even known she existed. You’ve seen just a glimpse of her power, and you’re already out of your depth.”
I step forward, my tone sharpening like a weapon drawn against stone.
“If her ability is discovered, they will come for her. You know I’m right.
Just by being here—by being her—she’s already compromised.
She’s not a rumor. She’s not some myth. She’s proof.
And they will want to own her.” The words taste like metal in my mouth.
“And when the Service comes knocking—because they will—I need to know you’ll be at her side. Not just standing there. But fighting.”
Noa’s jaw tightens. He meets my stare head-on. “Why are you so sure they’re the enemy?” he asks, measured. “What if her power is exactly what we need to end this war before it even begins?”
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Shadows bleed closer from the corners of the room. “Which war?” I ask, voice clipped. “Which war, Noa? Yours… or mine?”
Silence stretches between us like a fault line. My eyes narrow.
Noa hesitates, then says evenly, “The Service exists to protect magick. To serve peace. I believe that.”
I look at him, through him. Disappointment flickering behind my eyes. “You still think the Service is honorable?” My voice cuts like glass. “You think a system that registers elementals, tracks them, classifies their usefulness—rewards the powerful and buries the dangerous—is something sacred?”
“I think it’s flawed,” Noa says carefully, “but it’s trying to protect people. Trying to stop chaos from reigning.”
“I was raised by a man who built a system just like yours—and I’ve seen what he does to the people he ‘needs.’” I shake my head.
“I’ve seen what he does to people like Celeste—people who don’t fit into categories, who threaten their balance.
You think she’ll be their weapon?” I ask, more growl than words.
“No? Then they’ll dismantle her. Hollow her out.
Erase her, sanctify the remains, and call it progress. ”
For a second I see a locked door, hear my father’s voice—calm and pleased—saying the word necessary.
“You don’t understand. You still think this is about good versus evil.
Light and dark. But it’s not. You don’t know what it feels like to watch people become collateral damage.
Locked away or burned because they don’t—or won’t—fit the mold.
” My hand twitches—like I want to punch a wall or break something just to feel it.
Noa doesn’t respond. Not right away. Then, with quiet conviction: “Regardless of sides, you think hiding her will save her?”
“I know hiding her is the only reason she’s still free.” The words come out sharp. Because they’re the truth.
“No,” Noa says softly. “Hiding her isn’t helping. It’s hurting her. You don’t see the way she burns herself out every day trying to be something she’s not. She’s terrified of herself. She’s drowning in her own skin.”
That lands. My shoulders tense, then sag—just slightly.
Noa pauses, then says, “But if anyone can help her—if anyone should—it’s us.” He looks toward the door again. “What if we trained her? Quietly. No exposure. On her terms. Give her a chance to understand what she is before anyone else defines it for her.”
A beat.
I turn toward the window. Outside, the last remnants of snow cling to the edges of a rock garden below, half-melted and slushing under a weak sun. The scent of thawing earth hangs in the air—a change on the horizon.
My voice is quieter now, distant. “I’ve made too many choices for her already. I told myself it was protection. But it was control.” My throat works, swallowing hard. “I won’t do it again. This choice—this one—has to be hers.”
I glance back at Noa, and for a fleeting moment, there is something like a truce between us.
“I’ll stand by whatever she decides. Even if it means watching her walk a path that leaves us on opposite sides.”
Noa holds my gaze, unblinking. “Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Because if she becomes the line between us…” His eyes darken. “I won’t be the one to walk away.”
We both go quiet, staring out into a world just beginning to stir again—branches still bare, but roots shifting beneath the frost.
Because spring is coming.
And war, like the thaw, is inevitable.