Nyx's POV
"Stop." My voice was shaking. I knew he was just making it up. I could feel it through the bond. But I couldn't stop the way I was feeling.
"Let's talk about the day you wanted to make us public and I threw a fit." Another step closer. "I told you I didn't want you to be bullied—especially when I wasn't even a binder yet. But the truth is, I never planned a life with you. I only tried you because I wanted to know how the forbidden fruit tasted."
The ice spread up my arms, coating my skin in crystalline patterns.
"I said stop."
"Make me stop." His voice was quiet now, but cutting. "Use that anger. That hurt. That feeling of being rejected and abandoned and told you're not enough. Channel it, Nyx. Don't explode with it. Direct it."
The ice magic was building inside me, desperate to break free, to freeze everything in rage and pain—
'Focus,' Frost commanded. 'Feel the anger. Acknowledge it. Now give it purpose. Give it form. Make it obey you.'
I closed my eyes and did something I'd been too afraid to do before.
I stopped fighting the emotion.
Let myself feel all of it—the hurt, the rejection, the humiliation. The way he'd made me feel small. The way he'd thrown away what we had like it was nothing.
And then I grabbed that feeling and pushed.
When I opened my eyes, there was a wall of ice between us.
Not an explosion. Not uncontrolled frost spreading everywhere like I expected.
Instead, there was a wall.
I stared at it, breathing hard.
"You did it." Kael's voice came from the other side. "Nyx, you actually did it."
The wall dissolved at a thought, melting back into mist.
Kael was staring at me with something like wonder. "How do you feel?"
"Angry," I admitted. "And hurt. And like I want to hit you."
"Fair." Through the bond, I felt his guilt surge. "I'm sorry. For bringing that up. For…"
"For teaching me exactly what I needed to learn?" I cut him off. "Don't apologize. You were right. I needed real emotion, not manufactured calm."
"Still." He looked uncomfortable. "The things I said…"
"Were true." I met his eyes. "You did do all those things. You did hurt me. And yes, part of me is still angry about it. But you were also willing to hurt yourself—to bring up your own worst moments—to help me learn. That counts for something."
Through the bond, his emotions were complicated—guilt and relief and something that might have been respect tangled together.
"Try it again," he said after a moment. "Create something else. Any shape. Use whatever emotion feels right."
I thought about it. Reached for something other than anger.
Fear of failure. Of not being good enough. Of letting everyone down.
Ice formed in my palm—a sphere this time, perfectly round, crystalline and beautiful.
I held it up, examining it in the morning light.
"Control through emotion," I said quietly. "Not despite it."
"Your magic is different from everything I was taught," Kael acknowledged. "More powerful, but more volatile. We'll have to adjust the training accordingly. Focus on channeling emotions rather than suppressing them."
He moved closer to examine the ice sphere. "This is good, Nyx. Really good. You're learning faster than I expected."
"Thanks to you. Even when you're guessing, you're helping me figure it out."
Through the bond, I felt his surprise at the compliment. Then warmth.
"We make a decent team when we're not at each other's throats," he said.
"When we're not at each other's throats," I agreed.
A voice called from the cottage—my mother, announcing that lunch was ready.
I let the ice sphere dissolve and flexed my fingers. "Should we…"
"Yes." Kael was already heading toward the house. "Training is important, but so is not collapsing from exhaustion or hunger."
We walked side by side toward the cottage, the bond humming contentedly between us. The morning's frustration had burned away, leaving something clearer in its wake.
We could do this. Learn from each other. Work together.
As long as we remembered that tension and conflict weren't always obstacles.
Sometimes they were tools.
Lunch was a quieter affair than dinner had been.
My family had apparently decided to give Kael and me space to adjust to the new living arrangement. My mother served food and asked basic questions about the training, but didn't pry. Finn was notably absent—working in town, my father said, though I suspected he was avoiding Kael on purpose.
"How's the training progressing?" my father asked.
"Slowly," I admitted. "But we made a breakthrough this morning. Learning to channel emotions into magic control."
My mother's eyebrows rose. "That sounds… intense."
"It was." I didn't elaborate. "But effective."
Kael was eating methodically, his attention somewhere else. Through the bond, I could feel him processing the morning—adjusting his teaching strategy, planning the afternoon session, cataloging what worked and what didn't.
He really did take this seriously.
"This afternoon," he said, looking up, "we should work on physical conditioning. You've got good instincts, but you need stamina. If you run out of energy in the middle of a fight—magical or physical—instinct won't save you."
"Meaning what? Running? Exercises?"
"Both. Plus basic defensive forms. You need to build muscle memory so your body responds without thinking." He paused. "It's going to be exhausting. More exhausting than the magic work."
"Can't wait," I said dryly.
Through the bond, I felt his amusement.
My mother cleared her throat. "Kael, if you need anything—different food, more blankets, anything to make your stay more comfortable—please let me know. I know this situation isn't ideal for anyone."
"You've been more than generous," he said quietly. "Thank you. For letting me stay. For feeding me. For not throwing me out when you had every right to."
"You're helping our daughter," my father said simply. "That earns you a place here."
Kael nodded, but through the bond I felt his complicated emotions—gratitude mixed with shame, acceptance mixed with the feeling he didn't deserve their kindness.
'He carries a lot of guilt,' Frost observed in my mind. 'More than just about you. About his entire life.'
'I know.'
'Be patient with him. Guilt makes people prickly.'
'I'm learning that.'