Page 37 of Shadows of Change

I force myself to focus on the rune. Shadow and fire. Opposing forces that shouldn't work together, and yet...

"Ready?" Torric asks, his own chalk poised to complete the final line of his half.

I nod, acutely aware of how the air feels suddenly charged with more than just magic. We draw the last lines simultaneously, our chalk meeting in the middle of the desk.

The rune flares to life.

And several things happen at once.

The fire element surges, more responsive than either of us expected. My shadows leap to meet it instinctively, and instead of canceling each other out, they merge. The resulting burst of energy sends our papers flying and makes the crystals hum at a frequency that sets my teeth on edge.

Bob, Patricia and Finnick have all taken on an ember like quality that doesn’t seem real.

"Oh shit," Torric breathes, but he's grinning like a kid on Winter Solstice morning.

Professor Idorath whirls around. "What did you—"

But it's too late. The rune glows once, twice, and then the classroom erupts into controlled chaos. Shadow-flames dance across the ceiling, casting everyone in flickering violet light. They don't burn—they're not real fire—but they move with a life of their own, spinning and twirling like they're putting on a show.

"That's... not supposed to happen, right?" I manage, watching as one particular shadow-flame does what I swear is a pirouette.

"No," Torric agrees, sounding entirely too pleased. "It's better."

From somewhere behind us, Finn starts slow clapping. Several other students join in, while Professor Idorath looks torn between impressed and exasperated.

Only two people aren't watching the aerial display. Malrik's eyes are fixed on me, his expression unreadable but intense. And Darian... Darian is staring at the shadow-flames with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t miss the slight twitch of his lips, as if he’s pleased with what he sees. Malrik’s warning echoes in my mind:Watch how your shadows react when he’s near.

"Well," Professor Idorath says dryly, "I suppose that's one way to demonstrate the binding of opposing forces." He waves his hand, and the shadow-flames dissipate with a sound like wind chimes. "You both are lucky the forces decided to work together against the odds. Otherwise, the backlash could have destabilized the entire rune matrix, or worse," he says, his tone clipped. “And less theatrics next time Mr. Agere."

"No promises," Torric mutters, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

As the class returns to normal, I catch Aspen watching his twin with that mix of fondness and exasperation only siblings can master. When he glances at me, there's warmth in his eyes, and something else—something that looks almost like pride.

Mouse, who had been curled up in my bag this whole time, pokes his head out and chirps approvingly at the lingering wisps of shadow-flame. At least someone appreciates our artwork.

24. Kaia

Another week into our lessons, and I still can't decide if Darian is the best or worst thing to happen to my training.

"You're thinking too hard again," he says, his voice soft but sure. We're in one of the smaller practice rooms, where Professor Thorne has been having us work on precision control. "Shadow magic isn't about perfect form—it's about instinct."

My brow furrows, trying to make sense of Darian's words. They clash with everything Professor Thorne has drilled into us since I got here. The shadows around us pulse and flicker, responding to my conflicted emotions.

"But Professor Thorne always says there's no room for improvisation in Shadow manipulation," I argue, my voice barely above a whisper. The dim light of the practice room casts Darian's face in stark relief, his high cheekbones and sharp jawline emphasized by the interplay of light and shadow.

Darian's lips curl into a knowing smirk. "Ah, but that's where the true mastery lies, Kaia. Thorne teaches the basics, the rigid structure. But once you understand the rules..." He pauses, lifting his hand. The shadows in the room coalesce around hisfingers, dancing and swirling in mesmerizing show that I can’t look away from.

My shadows coil restlessly at my feet, and Mouse watches from his perch on a nearby shelf, his violet eyes narrowed with clear disapproval. I try to ignore both of them.

Darian steps closer, his movements smooth and deliberate. Unlike Malrik's predatory grace or Finn's chaotic energy, Darian moves like someone who's never questioned his right to occupy space. He adjusts my stance with light touches: a nudge to my elbow, a hand settling on my shoulder. Each contact sends a jolt through me, and my shadows twitch in response.

“Let’s try again,” he says with more calm than he could possibly feel.

"Easy for you to say," I mutter, trying to focus on the task and not the way his proximity makes my pulse race. "Your magic actually behaves."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Who says behaving is the goal?"

Before I can respond, he moves behind me, close enough that his chest brushes my back. I stiffen automatically, my shadows coiling tighter.

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