The rain had finally stopped, leaving the courtyard washed in silver light. The scent of wet stone lingered, sharp and clean, as I made my way toward the academy library. Nights like these had always felt strange—too quiet, as if the world were holding its breath, waiting for something to begin.
Inside, the vast shelves stretched upward like trees of ink and parchment. Lanterns flickered in tall sconces, painting amber light across the polished wood. I came here often when I couldn't sleep. Reading helped still my thoughts, and lately, my thoughts had become a storm of their own.
Lira hadn't spoken much to me since the night by the lake. I didn't blame her. Some emotions are too large to name, too heavy to carry openly. I thought that solitude might give me peace—but the library wasn't empty tonight.
At the far end of the room, perched on a high table with her boots resting on an ancient tome, sat Seris.
Her presence was impossible to ignore. She wasn't like the quiet students who buried themselves in their studies. Seris carried a kind of effortless boldness—eyes of deep gold, hair that shimmered faintly even in the dim light, and a grin that could slice through gloom. She looked up as I entered, head tilted, as if she'd been waiting for me.
"Couldn't sleep either, Arin?" she asked, twirling a quill between her fingers.
I hesitated. "You know my name?"
"Of course," she said, hopping down from the table with a catlike grace. "You're the boy who burned a duel sigil into the practice yard last month. Hard to forget that."
I groaned softly. "That was an accident."
"I'm sure it was." Her tone was teasing, but her eyes held curiosity. "Come on, I saved you a seat. Or do you prefer brooding alone among dusty scrolls?"
I followed her through the maze of bookshelves to a cozy corner near the window. The rain still trickled faintly from the eaves outside. She spread a few open volumes across the table—spells, diagrams, and a worn notebook filled with her handwriting.
"You're studying?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Trying to decode old rune patterns. But mostly I come here to think. Or avoid the noise in the dorms."
There was something disarming about her directness. Seris didn't pretend or hold back. When she smiled, it wasn't polite—it was alive.
"So," she said, resting her chin on her palm, "what's haunting you tonight?"
I blinked. "Haunting me?"
"You've got that look," she said, motioning to my face. "Like someone carrying a secret and pretending it's not heavy."
I laughed softly, surprised at how easily she'd seen through me. "Maybe you're imagining things."
"Maybe." Her grin widened. "But if I'm right, you owe me a story."
For a moment, silence stretched between us. The sound of distant thunder rumbled low on the horizon. I looked down at my hands, tracing the faint marks of old spell burns.
"I think I'm afraid," I said quietly. "Afraid of how much power I have—and what it could do if I lose control."
Seris's expression softened. She reached across the table, her fingertips brushing mine briefly—a gesture so small it sent a surprising warmth through me.
"Then don't carry it alone," she said. "The first mistake any mage makes is thinking power has to isolate them. It doesn't."
I met her gaze. There was no mockery there, only understanding.
"You talk like someone who's seen it," I said.
"I have." She leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "My mother was a spellguard. She said magic and emotion are twins—one feeds the other. The stronger you feel, the more dangerous it becomes. But also the more beautiful."
Her words lingered, weaving themselves into the quiet air.
"You really believe that?" I asked.
She nodded slowly. "Completely."
We fell into an easy rhythm after that, passing books back and forth, tracing runes with ink-stained fingers. Seris was brilliant—her mind moved fast, darting between theories with the confidence of someone who'd lived in libraries all her life. But it wasn't just her intelligence that drew me in. It was her energy, the spark in her voice when she laughed, the way she looked at me like she was daring me to look back.
At one point, she caught me staring.
"What?" she asked, smirking.
"Nothing," I said, probably too quickly.
"Liar," she teased. "You were staring at me like I'm part of some unsolved riddle."
"Maybe you are."
Her laughter rang out softly through the quiet room. "Then you'd better solve me before the librarian throws us out."
Time passed unnoticed. The lanterns burned lower, casting a golden haze. Outside, mist had begun to gather, wrapping the world in pale silver.
Seris stood and walked to the window. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "After the rain, the whole city looks like it's dreaming."
I joined her. We stood close—close enough to feel the faint warmth from her shoulder. The glass fogged faintly from our breath.
"Do you ever feel like we're part of something much bigger?" she asked.
"Every day," I said. "And it scares me."
Her hand found mine again. This time she didn't pull away.
"Good," she whispered. "Because if it didn't scare you, it wouldn't be worth it."
The clock tower outside struck midnight. The sound echoed through the halls, slow and heavy. She turned toward me, her hair catching the faint light, and for a heartbeat the world narrowed—only her eyes, her voice, the soft rhythm of her breathing.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For staying."
She smiled. "Who said I was staying for you?"
"Then who?"
"Maybe," she said, stepping closer, "for the story that hasn't been written yet."
Her words were half challenge, half promise. I could feel the warmth of her presence, the faint hum of her magic in the air around us. But neither of us moved to break the fragile spell between us.
Instead, we simply stood there—two mages caught between the quiet of the library and the endless, trembling possibilities beyond it.
And when Seris finally spoke again, her voice was soft enough to vanish into the sound of the rain's return.
"Next time you come here," she said, "bring a candle. I'll bring the ink. We'll see what happens when your chaos meets my curiosity."
I smiled. "Is that a threat or an invitation?"
"Both," she said with a wink.
As she walked away, her shadow slid between the bookshelves like a wisp of smoke, leaving behind the faint scent of parchment and lightning.
For a long moment, I didn't move. The air still shimmered faintly, charged with her presence. Then I gathered the books, closed my journal, and let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
The library was silent again. But inside me, something had changed.
Maybe power wasn't meant to be tamed. Maybe it was meant to be shared—with the right person.
And maybe, just maybe, Seris was that person.