Chapter 14 #2
Gisela’s face softened . . . then hardened. “What do you think I am? Some monster who would laugh at you? Ridicule you? That was you, remember?”
She moved to leave again, but Thorne crossed the room and pressed his hand against the door.
She crossed her arms and glared at him.
“Let me leave. You’re playing with fire,” she warned.
He leaned in, the scent of smoke clinging to him. “I am fire,” he said. “And it turns out, I don’t hate it.”
Her face flushed as she turned her head away.
He lifted her chin with a single finger, guiding her face back to his.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
His eyes dipped to her mouth and stayed there.
Gisela shivered under his touch, drew a shaky breath, and twisted away again. “I forgive you, Thorne,” she said, before stepping out of the room.
Thorne slowed when he found Gisela kneeling outside that evening, surrounded by gathered twigs.
She struck the flint against the steel, the sparks catching but quickly dying out.
Her brow furrowed as she blew on the pile of kindling, trying to coax life into the small flames.
The twigs smoked but remained stubbornly cold.
She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead, her fingers stained with ash from her failed attempts. Striking the flint harder, her face flushed, and she coughed as smoke curled around her.
Thorne approached, the ash smeared across her forehead drawing a smile as he sat beside her.
“You know, I could do this for you,” Thorne said. “Fire in my hands, flames at your disposal.”
She pursed her lips. “I want to learn still. What if you’re not around to help?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He watched as she swallowed hard.
“I’m going to get this,” she declared.
“Can I help?” he asked, scooting closer.
“I suppose.”
He crouched beside her, guiding her hands with a gentle touch. After a few adjustments, the kindling caught fire.
Gisela’s face lit up with a triumphant smile as the flames danced to life.
Thorne flicked his hand, and a black flame joined the orange ones.
Gisela grinned and thrust her hand out, sending out a burst of frost to snuff it all.
His expression flattened.
“Just reminding you,” she said. “I can put you out whenever I want.” She giggled, light and familiar.
He held the sound of her laughter close, committing it to memory. It loosened something inside him, and he understood then how easily he could be undone by her.
And how little he wanted to stop it.
“Let me get the last one,” Thorne said.
“The cook gets the final bite,” Silas retorted.
Gisela snatched the last Crumble Cluster from the plate, her cheeks puffed as she chewed.
Both Thorne and Silas narrowed their eyes at her.
“What?” she said around the bite. “I was tired of you two bickering.”
Thorne smiled and Silas nudged him playfully.
“Did you figure out how to start a fire, Gisela?” Silas asked, taking a sip of his drink.
“I think so.”
“Good. But don’t you think enough things are smoldering around here already?” Silas’s gaze flicked between her and Thorne, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Gisela widened her eyes, but a small smile slipped past her lips.
Something warm bloomed deep in Thorne’s chest.
Gisela turned toward Eira. “How do you and Ignitus know each other?”
Thorne’s hand froze mid-grip on his glass as Eira and Ignitus exchanged a quick glance. “Our previous Mystics were Soulbound,” Eira said.
“Previous Mystics?” he asked, lowering his cup.
Eira looked to Ignitus, who remained silent.
Silas rested his hand thoughtfully on his cheek, waiting for them to explain.
“We were bound to them for decades. Thousands of years ago,” Eira said.
“Thousands?!” Gisela asked, leaning forward.
Ignitus’s voice was firm. “We are eternal. We have been here since the birth of these lands by the gods.”
“What happened to them?” Thorne asked.
Eira and Ignitus shared a soft, nostalgic smile. “They died of old age. Together,” Eira said.
The table fell quiet.
“Soulbound?” Gisela’s voice was quiet. “What does that mean exactly?”
“It is a deep bond of the mind and body,” Eira said. “It is not something to take lightly. The connection is only broken by death. When it snaps into place, it slowly changes the very essence of both Mystics.”
Thorne’s pulse ticked a little faster. He searched Gisela’s face, wondering if the mere idea of a tether made her want to run.
Her fingers found the pulse at her neck.
He held his breath, watching her, waiting for her next words.
“Do they get a choice?” she asked.
“It isn’t forced,” Ignitus said. “It’s a choice. It happens when two Mystics are in tune, their minds and bodies aligned. Some bonds take years to form. Some, in rare instances, come suddenly. But if the bond forms, it is because they both let it.”
Thorne lay awake in bed, next to Gisela, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing. Amidst the storm in his mind, it was a small comfort, an anchor keeping him grounded. He stared at the ceiling, grappling with the knowledge they had gained from Eira and Ignitus.
The conversation looped through his mind. He recalled the shift in Gisela’s demeanor, the subtle change in her expression when she learned about the bond. He wondered if she felt what he did, or if the weight of the revelation burdened her.
Thorne stared at Gisela, her face serene in sleep.
He imagined what dreams might be playing in her mind—if she, too, saw ice and fire, as he had every night since their awakening. Brushing a strand of hair from her face, he had an overwhelming urge to protect her.
He had always been drawn to her. Stolen glances in the village classroom became subtle maneuvers to be near her, lingering by the same market stall, taking longer paths just to cross hers.
He didn’t fully understand then that every cold word, every sneer, was his own warped way of masking what he truly felt. He had always worn a mask—nonchalance, confidence, sometimes cruelty—sculpted by his father.
Thorne whispered into his own mind. “Ignitus?”
A low hum echoed back.
He wanted to ask the relentless question that had burned holes in his mind, the one he wondered why no one else had asked yet. “Our flames . . . why are they dark?”
Silence lingered before Ignitus’s voice cut through with a deep, steady calm.
“You are descended from evil.”
“And you?” Thorne asked. “Are you evil?”
“I am not,” Ignitus replied. “I am only the reflection of what you inherit. The shadows of your lineage are not mine, though I bear their mark with you.”
Thorne fell silent, the gravity of Ignitus’s words sinking in. Cillian’s cruel, fleeting approval felt even more sinister now.
But Thorne wasn’t surprised.
It was a relief to learn that the true source of evil in his blood did not come from Ignitus, as he’d feared, but from his own father.
“Go to sleep, Thorne. A challenging journey lies ahead.”