Morning came with the soft weight of guilt.
Elara woke to sunlight creeping across the dormitory floor, warm, far too gentle for the ache that lived behind her ribs. Her palm still glowed faintly beneath the skin, gold spiraling around silver, pulsing in rhythm with a heartbeat that wasn't only her own.
Lucien's.
She pressed her hand against her chest, as if that could still it.
It didn't.
The bond between them was quiet now, dormant, but every pulse reminded her that she had crossed the first line, the first lie spoken, the first trust stolen.
And yet… part of her couldn't regret it.
Across the room, Lyra stirred, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a wild halo of curls, her expression half-asleep and entirely human. The sight hit Elara harder than she expected. Lyra, alive, unscarred, unbroken.
In her past, Lyra's laughter had been swallowed by screams.
Here, it still existed.
"Morning," Lyra mumbled, sitting up. "You look like you didn't sleep again."
Elara forced a tired smile. "You know me."
"I'm starting to think you're part ghost," Lyra said, squinting at her. "Or maybe one of those cursed scholars who only feed on ink and anxiety."
Elara laughed — too easily, too quickly — and Lyra's teasing grin softened into concern.
"You're really not okay, are you?"
The question was too close to the truth. Elara deflected the only way she knew how. "I'm fine. Just… thinking."
Lyra frowned. "About what?"
"About fate," Elara said quietly. "And how unfair it can be."
Lyra groaned. "You and your brooding philosophies. You need breakfast, not existential dread."
Elara smiled faintly. "Maybe both."
Lyra threw a pillow at her.
For a few moments, it felt almost normal, laughter and sunlight, two girls teasing each other before another day at the Academy. But underneath it all, Elara felt the clock ticking. Every second she spent here was one closer to the inevitable breaking point.
And worse, she could already feel the timeline shifting.
****
Classes passed in a blur. Elara tried to focus, but her mind kept drifting…to the mark, to Lucien, to the subtle hum that tied them together. Every time she glanced at him, the connection pulsed faintly, as if aware of her attention.
He caught her looking once and offered a small, cautious smile.
It was almost shy.
She reminded herself that it was all part of the plan…to earn his trust, to watch the slow formation of the ideology that would destroy him. But the more she tried to view him as a target, the harder it became.
He wasn't the man she'd killed. Not yet.
At least… she hoped not.
****
It was late afternoon when Lyra found her by the library steps, staring into nothing.
"Elara," Lyra said, crossing her arms. "You've been weird lately. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Elara blinked. "Weird?"
"You disappear after classes, you zone out during lectures and yesterday I saw you talking to Lucien Ashfall of all people." Lyra leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You know what they say about him."
Elara's chest tightened. "What do they say?"
"That he's cursed. Half the upper circles think he's got voidblood in him, some kind of ancient corruption."
Elara froze. The rumor existed even this early?
Lyra sighed, shaking her head. "Look, I get it. He's quiet, mysterious, tragic, you have a type. But be careful. He's not the kind of person you can save."
Elara's pulse quickened. The irony burned.
If only she knew how wrong she was — or how right.
"I'm not trying to save him," Elara said softly.
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Then what are you trying to do?"
Elara opened her mouth, and hesitated.
The truth hovered on the edge of her tongue: I'm trying to stop him from becoming the monster who kills us all. But saying it aloud would sound like madness. Worse, it might change the timeline in ways she couldn't predict.
So she smiled instead, small, harmless. "I'm just trying to understand him."
Lyra groaned. "That's worse."
Elara laughed weakly, but the sound didn't reach her eyes.
****
That evening, she found Lucien again, this time in the upper library, where the moonlight pooled through tall glass windows. The place was empty except for him, surrounded by open books on the desk.
He looked up as she approached. "You shouldn't be here after curfew."
"Neither should you," she countered.
He smiled faintly. "Touché."
She nodded toward the symbols on the desk. "Research?"
"Dreams," he said simply. "I'm trying to understand them."
Her heart sank. "The ones about the falling sky?"
He nodded. "And you."
Elara froze. "Me?"
"You're always there," Lucien said, eyes distant. "Standing in fire. And sometimes you're reaching for me. Other times… you're walking away."
Her pulse thundered. "Maybe it's just your mind trying to tell you something."
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it's a memory of something that hasn't happened yet."
The words hit too close to the truth.
Elara forced herself to move closer, sitting across from him. "Dreams aren't prophecies, Lucien."
He met her gaze. "And if they are?"
"Then we change them," she whispered.
His expression softened. "You really believe that?"
"I have to."
They sat in silence again, the bond between them hummed faintly, a thread drawn tight, neither of them able to break it.
For the first time, Elara realized she wasn't the only one feeling its pull.
Lucien reached across the desk, hesitated, then brushed his fingers against the edge of her hand.
Elara's breath caught.
Neither of them spoke.
And somewhere deep in the silence, she felt it, a shift, small but real.
The timeline was changing.
Something that was supposed to die… might now live.
****
That night, when Elara returned to her dorm, Lyra was waiting for her, sitting on the bed, arms crossed, worry etched into every line of her face.
"Elara," she said quietly, "what are you doing?"
Elara stood frozen in the doorway. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you're not acting like yourself. You're chasing something dangerous, and I can't tell if you're trying to save him or destroy yourself."
Elara swallowed hard. "It's complicated."
"Then uncomplicate it," Lyra snapped. "Because whatever's happening, it feels wrong. Like the air's changing."
Elara said nothing.
Lyra's voice softened. "You're my friend, Elara. Don't get lost in whatever this is."
Her throat closed. She whispered, "I'll be careful."
Lyra didn't look convinced. "Promise?"
Elara hesitated, then lied again. "Promise."
****
Later, when the dorm went quiet, Elara stared at the ceiling until the mark on her palm began to glow.
It pulsed softly in the dark, alive, connected.
She turned her hand over, tracing the spiral with trembling fingers. Somewhere out there, Lucien's mark would be glowing too.
A bond forged by magic she didn't understand.
A thread she couldn't break.
And the first true sign that fate itself was bending around them.
This time, not even she knew how the story would end.