Chapter Three: What Begins to Grow
The rain arrived before dawn struck.
It came softly at first, a whisper against stone and glass, then steadily, as if the sky had decided to stay for awhile. From the narrow window of the east guest chamber, Mira watched the droplets gather and slide down the pane of glass, tracing winding paths that reminded her of forest streams back home.
She hadn't slept in a while.
Not really.
The Academy had given her a room—small, plain, warded in ways she could feel without understanding them. It was meant to be a kindness, a reassurance. Instead, it made everything feel ten times heavier. Realer.
She rested her forehead against the cool glass.
So this is where the sky has brought me, she thought.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Mira turned. "Y-yes?"
The door opened just enough for Elian to peer inside, his dark hair damp from the rain, his expression caught somewhere between nervous and hopeful.
"I thought you might be awake," he said.
She smiled faintly. "Was it really that obvious?"
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The room seemed a lot smaller with him in it—but warmer, too, as if something had quietly settled into place.
"Professor Caelum sent me," Elian said. "Well sort of. He said you're to be shown around the grounds. Supervised." He grinned. "By me."
"That doesn't sound like much of a punishment to me," Mira said.
"I'm trying not to take it too personally," he replied, then hesitated. "Are you… all right?"
She considered the question honestly. "I don't know," she said. "But I think I will be fine."
Elian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Good."
They walked together through the waking Academy, stone corridors echoing with early footsteps and quiet conversations. Students glanced at Mira openly now—some curious, some wary, some openly awed. Whispers followed them like peering shadows.
"That part doesn't bother you at all?" Elian asked quietly.
Mira shook her head. "Where I'm from, people watch the weather every day. You get used to being looked at when change is coming soon."
Elian glanced at her. "You really believe that stuff? That you're… the change?"
She smiled at the ground. "I believe I'm part of it."
They reached the inner gardens, where the rain-dark leaves glistened and the air smelled of earth and stone. The moment Mira stepped onto the path, the plants nearest her shifted—barely perceptible, but unmistakably noticeable. Buds tightened. Vines leaned.
Elian stopped short.
"You didn't do that on purpose," he said.
"No," Mira whispered. "No I didn't."
Something in her voice made him step closer.
"I don't think you're any danger," he said. "No matter what they say to you."
Her eyes lifted to his, bright and searching. "You barely know me."
"I know," he replied. "But some truths don't wait for any proof."
A blush crept up Mira's cheeks, and she turned away quickly, focusing on a rain-laden rosebush.
"I was afraid," she admitted softly, "that coming here would mean being all by myself."
Elian didn't answer right away. Then, gently, "You're not though."
They walked on.
Later, in the Hall of Studies, Mira sat quietly while Elian fetched books— many armfuls of them—stacking them on a low table. Texts on ley lines. On ancient treaties between the lands. On cycles of magic and balance.
"You don't have to do all this for me," she said.
"I want to," Elian replied. "If something is happening, if you're part of it… then I want to understand it."
She watched him as he spoke, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his hands moved reverently over old pages. There was a gentleness to him she hadn't expected to feel—quiet, steady, grounding.
Back home, they spoke of roots and branches. Of how growth needed both depth and reach.
Maybe, she thought, this is what that all means.
As the day went on, something subtle shifted directly between them—not dramatic, not so sudden, but real. They shared glances that lingered one heartbeat way too long. Smiles that came easier than ever before. Silences that felt comfortable instead of strained.
By evening, the rain had ended.
They stood together beneath an archway overlooking the cliffs, the sky streaked with gold and lavender color. The world felt wide and fragile and full of endless possibility.
"Elian," Mira said quietly, "if this path ever becomes dangerous…"
He didn't let her finish.
"Then we'll walk it as carefully as we can," he said. "Together."
She looked at him, really looked at him, and something settled deep in her chest—a warmth she recognized instinctively.
The sky above them finished clearing completely.
Stars began to appear, one by one.
And somewhere deep within the Academy, ancient magic stirred—not in warning, but in welcome.
What had begun with a single glance beneath a silver sky was taking root now.
And roots, once grown fully, were not easily undone.