Morning came late to the academy. The storm had scoured the sky clean, leaving a hush that felt too fragile to break. I crossed the courtyard with a satchel of notes and an ache in my shoulders that no sleep could mend. Lira had gone to her morning lessons; I needed silence, and answers.
The library rose at the far edge of campus like an old cathedral—windows tall as trees, every pane dusted with silver from the rain. Inside, the air smelled of parchment and cedar oil. Thousands of volumes towered over the reading hall, their spines catching the light like scales.
I made for the restricted wing. The door creaked open after the librarian's ward recognized my mark, and the quiet deepened into something that felt alive. Here, the air hummed faintly with stored magic; here, every book whispered if you listened long enough.
I set my notes on a table and opened a cracked folio: Soul Symbiosis and the Anchored Heart. The script shimmered faintly, ancient runes half-translated. I traced the words with a fingertip. When two channels cross, one will mirror the other. Pain. Joy. Power.
The candle beside me flickered. I thought of Lira asleep beside the dying fire, the way her breath had steadied mine. The memory made my pulse quicken—and that was when someone cleared her throat.
"Researching love spells before breakfast? Bold move."
I spun. A girl leaned against the nearest shelf, arms folded, smile wide and unapologetic. She wore the crimson sash of an upper-year scholar but none of the restraint that usually came with it. Her black hair was cut short, feathering around her face; a faint scar nicked her chin, making her grin seem even more mischievous.
"I'm not—" I began.
"—researching love spells. Sure." She stepped closer, eyes bright. "Then why are you hiding in the restricted stacks reading Anchored Heart? That's practically romantic-alchemy 101."
I shut the book. "And you are?"
"Seris. Second-circle enchantments. And a terrible morning person." She held out her hand as if we were meeting at a festival instead of trespassing among forbidden tomes.
"Arin," I said, shaking it. Her grip was warm, confident.
"I know," she replied, eyes glinting. "Everyone does. You're the one who blew half the trial hall apart last month."
I winced. "That was an accident."
"Most interesting things are." She dropped into the chair across from me without invitation, resting her chin on her hand. "So, what's the verdict? Are you cursed, blessed, or just in love?"
"None of the above," I said. "It's… complicated."
"Complicated usually means yes." She smirked when I didn't answer. "Relax. I'm not judging. I like complicated."
I tried to refocus on the book, but her presence bent the air around her—sharp, bright, impossible to ignore. Every time she leaned forward, the lamplight caught in her eyes like liquid amber.
She glanced at the text. "Anchored connections, mirrored channels… that's dangerous work."
"I'm trying to understand it," I said.
"Understand or undo?"
That question landed harder than she could've known. "Both."
Her smile softened, curiosity replacing teasing. "Then maybe I can help. I've read the companion scrolls. They're locked in the upper archives, but I have a key."
I raised a brow. "Why would you help me?"
She grinned again. "Because I'm bored. And because you look like someone who actually listens when a girl talks about runic theory instead of her hair."
"I might," I said cautiously.
"Good. Then follow me."
She led me through rows of high shelves until we reached a narrow spiral stair curling up into shadow. Dust floated through beams of light like falling stars. At the landing, she produced a thin crystal key and pressed it into a sigil carved on an iron door. The lock glowed, clicked, and opened.
Inside waited a small reading room with circular windows and a single long table covered in scrolls. The air shimmered faintly with wards. She tossed me a grin. "Welcome to the forbidden section of the forbidden section."
"I'm not sure I'm supposed to be here," I said.
She shrugged. "Neither am I most days. Sit."
We spent the next hour unfolding brittle parchment. Between us lay a map of linked energies and the fragments of a legend older than the academy itself—stories of pairs bound by a light that grew stronger when their hearts aligned.
"This symbol," Seris said, tapping a rune shaped like two crescents meeting. "It's the Mirror Seal. It reflects both intent and emotion. If you and whoever you're bound to share strong feelings, the power doubles."
"Or collapses," I murmured, reading the margin.
"Details." She smiled sideways. "You really care about her, don't you?"
I looked up, caught off guard. "What makes you say that?"
"Your magic hums when you think of her. It's adorable."
I felt my face heat. "You can hear that?"
"Feel it," she corrected. "I'm attuned to resonance. Comes with the territory."
Her tone was light, but her gaze lingered, curious and kind all at once. The teasing faded into something gentler. "Whoever she is, she's lucky. Most mages can't hold a link that deep without burning out."
"She's… different," I said quietly.
"Different good or different dangerous?"
"Both."
Seris laughed softly. "You like to live on edges, don't you?"
"Apparently."
We worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the scratching of quills and the faint murmur of pages turning themselves. Outside, sunlight broke through the clouds, scattering gold across the floor. I stole a glance at her; she had pushed her sleeves up, a streak of ink across one wrist, eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Got it," she said suddenly. "Look here—see this sequence? It mentions a third catalyst. Someone who can stabilize the mirrored bond by acting as a counterpoint."
I leaned closer, reading over her shoulder. "Meaning?"
"Meaning your link might not be closed. Another person could balance it." She turned her head, close enough that a strand of her hair brushed my cheek. "Hypothetically."
I blinked. "That's… a dangerous hypothesis."
"Fun, though." Her smile was small now, more thoughtful than mischievous. "Maybe the universe likes trios."
Before I could answer, a voice called from below: "Upper archives closing in ten minutes!"
Seris sighed. "Time hates us." She began rolling up the scrolls. "We'll pick this up later. You owe me coffee."
"Do I?"
"For trespassing assistance and emotional counseling," she said, slinging her satchel over one shoulder. "Besides, I want to hear more about your mysterious partner."
"Lira," I said, before realizing she hadn't asked yet.
"Pretty name." She gave me a quick smile that didn't quite hide the spark of interest in her eyes. "Bring her next time. I'd love to see what kind of magic makes you glow like that."
As we descended the spiral stair, she brushed past me to hold the door, her shoulder warm against mine for an instant too long to be accidental.
Outside, the hall smelled of rain and paper dust. Students drifted between shelves, their whispers a distant chorus.
"So," she said, stopping at the main archway. "We're allies now. Partners in curiosity."
"Partners in trouble, more like."
"Same thing." She winked. "See you tomorrow, Arin."
Then she was gone, disappearing into the sunlit corridor, leaving behind the faint trace of cedar and ink.
I stood there a long time, pulse unsteady, thoughts tangled. Lira's laugh still echoed somewhere inside me, steady and familiar. But Seris's voice—quick, bright, impossible to ignore—had joined it.
When I returned to my desk to pack my notes, the candle I'd left burning had guttered out, leaving a thin thread of smoke curling upward. On the open page of Soul Symbiosis, fresh ink shimmered where no quill had touched:
When the mirror grows crowded, the light must choose.
I closed the book slowly. For the first time, the idea of "complicated" didn't feel like a problem. It felt like the beginning of something vast.