The summons came without a seal.
No crest. No signature.
Just a single line, written in sharp, deliberate strokes:
Midnight. Eastern tower. Come alone.
Aelira burned the paper and waited.
The eastern tower was abandoned—officially condemned after an old collapse. Unofficially, it was forgotten. No guards. No servants. Only stone steps spiraling into darkness and the faint hum of ancient wards still clinging to the walls.
She climbed without hesitation.
At the top, the door stood open.
Kael Draven waited inside.
He was not armored tonight.
Black shirt. Dark trousers. Sword resting against the wall, within reach but not in hand. The chamber was lit by a single lantern, its glow throwing sharp lines across his face.
"You came," he said.
"I always do," Aelira replied. "When curiosity outweighs caution."
His gaze flicked to the shadows gathering instinctively at her feet.
"You shouldn't," he said quietly. "That power answers too easily."
Aelira tilted her head. "You sound concerned."
"I sound practical."
He gestured toward the center of the room. "Show me."
Aelira stepped forward.
She closed her eyes and reached—not outward, but inward. The warmth stirred, eager. Shadows thickened, crawling toward her like ink spilling across parchment.
Kael moved instantly.
"Stop," he said.
The command cut through the air—sharp, absolute.
The shadows froze.
Aelira's eyes snapped open. "How did you—"
"You didn't control it," he said. "You invited it."
He crossed the room in three long strides and stood directly behind her.
Too close.
She could feel his presence—heat, steel, restraint—like a wall she hadn't noticed until it was already there.
"Breathe," Kael murmured, voice low near her ear. "Slow. Count it."
Her pulse stuttered.
She obeyed.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The shadows receded, reluctant but compliant.
Kael's hand lifted—and then paused.
"May I?" he asked.
The question surprised them both.
Aelira hesitated only a heartbeat. "Yes."
His fingers brushed her wrist—barely there, warm against her skin. The contact was precise, grounding. Not possessive. Not gentle.
Intentional.
The warmth inside her quieted immediately.
Aelira exhaled.
"So that's it," she said softly. "You anchor it."
"No," Kael replied. "You do. I just showed you where."
He withdrew his hand.
The absence felt… louder than the touch.
"You'll train every night," he continued, stepping back. "Short sessions. Control first. Power later."
"And if I refuse?" Aelira asked.
His gaze sharpened. "Then you die."
She smiled faintly. "Honest."
"That's the only thing I am," he said.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Aelira spoke, calm and clear. "Why are you helping me?"
Kael did not answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was quieter.
"Because the crown already decided your fate," he said. "And I don't like being told what to destroy."
Their eyes met.
Something unspoken settled between them—not trust, not romance—but an agreement forged in danger.
"Tomorrow night," Kael said. "Same time."
He turned away.
At the door, he paused. "And Aelira?"
"Yes?"
"Don't practice alone."
The door closed.
Aelira stood in the lantern light, heart steady, shadows still.
For the first time since her rebirth, she understood the truth:
Power could be learned.
Control could be taught.
And the most dangerous lesson of all—
Was trusting the man who could kill her if she failed.