Chapter 2 – The Rite

The soul chooses. The rest is politics.

The silence between them stretched long into the night.

Kael hadn't said another word. He moved like a shadow, sliding through the room without sound, changing into sleepwear without shame or ceremony, his back turned to her like she didn't exist.

Lira watched him from the corner near the window, where she'd curled in the armchair. She hadn't touched the bed. Too much softness—it felt like a trap.

The bond itched under her skin. Nothing visible, but the Binding Mark pulsed faintly every few minutes, as if warning her of proximity. Not too far. Not too close. Just enough to stay tethered.

Soul-to-soul.

Unnatural. Unwanted.

Unchosen.

She didn't sleep. Her eyes stayed open, trained on the sigil woven into the ceiling beams above. Briarhelm's crest—the fake one Oris had registered—looked too sharp, too fresh, the embroidery newer than the room itself. Anyone who looked closely would notice.

No one looked closely. Yet.

At dawn, the chime spell rang through the halls, soft as birdsong but impossible to ignore. Kael was already on his feet, fully dressed, boots shined, hair tied back. She wondered if he had slept at all.

He didn't glance at her. Just grabbed his gloves and walked out.

She waited five seconds, then followed.

The Binding Hall was in the oldest part of the academy, a dome of marble and glass perched above the central spire. Students were already filing in—nobles with expressions ranging from smug to tense, some laughing too loud, others looking like they were marching to execution.

The Rite happened once a year. On the second day, after orientation and ranking tests. All students were placed in resonance circles—enchanted to draw out soul affinities, magical potential, and, most importantly, compatible pairs.

Bonded students leveled faster. Shared magic. Synced skills.

Some became legends.

Others never recovered.

Lira's stomach twisted as she crossed the threshold. The dome was filled with ethereal light, soft and shifting, like moonlight seen underwater. At the center, a massive ritual circle shimmered on the floor—six outer rings for the Houses, and a seventh, thin, faint one nestled beneath. Almost erased.

She tried not to stare at it.

Talia Evermere stood near the Seer ring, surrounded by girls with pearls woven through their hair. She was elegance incarnate—graceful, smug, and dangerous. Her pale gaze flicked over the gathered students until it landed on Lira.

A smile curved Talia's lips. It didn't reach her eyes.

Already clocked me, Lira thought grimly.

Kael stood near the Shadow ring, arms crossed, posture bored. One of the instructors—a silver-robed man with runes etched into his skin—called for attention.

"You will step into your designated crest ring. Focus your intent inward. The Rite will determine your resonance. If you are chosen, the bond will form. If not—your training will proceed solo."

Someone nearby muttered, "If you're lucky."

Another voice: "Or alone forever."

The instructor continued. "The soul does not lie. It does not consider bloodline, family, status, or desire. It simply chooses."

Lira swallowed hard.

She didn't have a House.

She wasn't supposed to be chosen by anyone.

Still, when the names were called, she walked with calm, even steps toward the outer ring marked Briarhelm—a House so minor, no one noticed when she mispronounced its motto under her breath.

Around her, students began glowing—faint auras rising from their bodies as magic answered their presence. Two pairs linked almost immediately: a tall red-haired boy from Flame and a stoic girl from Chrono. Their circles pulsed, connected by a glowing thread of gold.

The crowd murmured with approval.

Lira stood alone in her circle.

Nothing happened.

No light. No pulse. No sign of affinity.

She could feel it—the judgment in the air, the curious looks, the slow-building sneer from Talia's corner.

And then—

Kael stepped into his ring.

The moment his foot crossed the boundary, a flare of shadow erupted from the floor. Not wild, not chaotic—controlled, precise. The glyphs around him burned black, then silver, then black again.

He stood tall, eyes closed, unmoved.

And then they opened.

They found her across the dome.

Something inside Lira snapped.

Her Mark seared like fire under her skin, white-hot and sudden. She gasped—and around her, her circle exploded in light.

The instructor shouted. A ripple of magic burst outward from both her and Kael's circles. The two rings, separate and distinct, began twisting toward each other, runes leaping from marble to air, weaving into one.

Students backed away. Some screamed. One girl fainted.

Lira couldn't breathe.

Kael's circle wrapped around hers like a noose.

Then—

Click.

The bond locked.

Every torch in the dome went out at once.

Silence.

Then a single word, spoken by the head instructor in a voice like a funeral bell:

"Impossible."

Kael was already moving, stepping out of the circle, jaw clenched, fury simmering behind a calm facade. He crossed the floor without haste but with deliberate menace, stopping two paces from her.

"You," he said, voice low and hard, "have done something unforgivable."

"I didn't do anything," she hissed back, breath still shallow.

He didn't blink. "Then explain this."

She couldn't.

Not while her skin still burned, not while her knees wanted to give out, not while everyone—every student, every instructor, Talia—was watching her like a parasite who'd infected the prince.

The headmaster arrived. Ancient, spectral, his form slightly blurred by layered enchantments. He looked at Lira. Then at Kael.

"This bond is unapproved," he said.

Kael replied without looking away from her. "Break it."

Lira's voice cracked before she could stop it. "Can you?"

The headmaster hesitated.

"We've never seen this pattern," he admitted. "The Mark. The circle merge. The… reaction. No one has recorded such resonance between two unpaired students."

"Then unrecord it," Kael snapped. "Now."

But even as he said it, he looked… off. Paler than before. One of the instructors reached toward him with a glowing hand.

"Wait," he murmured. "Wait, his aura—"

Kael staggered.

And Lira felt it—his pain, sharp and disorienting, cutting through her like she'd been stabbed in the same place. She stumbled backward.

"No," the instructor breathed. "The bond is complete."

Kael straightened slowly. His voice was calm again. Cold. Surgical.

"Then I'll kill her and fix it that way."

The Mark flared.

Kael froze.

So did Lira.

A tension gripped the air, raw and electrical. He had made a threat. The bond had responded.

Not with defense.

With synchronization.

Pain meant pain.

If he hurt her, he'd feel it.

And worse—he hadn't known that until now.

He stared at her.

She stared back.

The headmaster's voice cut through the silence. "You will both remain under observation. You will not attempt separation until instructed. Until then, the bond must be tested. Measured. Studied."

Kael's fists clenched at his sides.

Lira squared her shoulders.

The crowd parted for them like a tide as they were led from the hall.

Back to the room.

Together.