Chapter 5 – The Mask Cracks

They weren't supposed to feel anything. That was the whole point.

Lira didn't mean to cry.

She told herself it was just the afterburn from the training sessions, the hours spent inside impossible exercises, the relentless pressure of being watched, measured, and analyzed like a tool with a defect. She told herself the tightness in her chest was from the bond—not from Kael's story, not from the way he'd said she died like the memory was still warm in his hands.

So no, she didn't mean to cry.

But when the lights were out and Kael's breathing was soft and distant on the other side of the room, the tears came anyway—slow and silent, slipping down her cheeks and onto the borrowed pillow, one after the other.

She hated that.

She hated how much she cared about what he'd said.

She hated how familiar it was—this feeling of being bound to someone who would rather bleed than trust.

The next morning was worse.

They were scheduled for group dueling assessments—pairs from different Houses matched in public bouts designed to test not just magic but compatibility, reaction time, emotional resonance. In short: a chance for the nobles to show off, and the rest to be humiliated.

Lira entered the arena already exhausted, having slept maybe an hour. The sky was overcast, the stands full of students pretending they weren't watching but whispering constantly behind glamor veils. Every House was represented, their colors visible in subtle flashes—silver for Seer, crimson for Flame, deep violet for Shadow, gold for Chrono, and bone-white for Bloodcraft.

Kael stood beside her in silence.

He hadn't spoken since last night. She didn't push it.

Across the arena, Talia Evermere smirked as she adjusted her long silver gloves. Her dueling partner—a lean, graceful boy from Chrono—stood bored beside her, already spinning a small orb of folded time between his fingers.

"Match three," the announcer's voice echoed. "Evermere and Vale."

Lira froze.

Kael turned. "What?"

"You heard him."

"That's not possible. We were paired."

"They changed it." She turned to him, eyes wide. "They changed it."

Kael's jaw tensed.

"They want to test the bond's reactivity," he muttered. "See what happens when you're threatened and I can't intervene."

She swallowed. Hard.

Talia gave a mock bow from the opposite end of the arena. "Try not to embarrass yourself," she called sweetly. "It's already humiliating being your roommate."

Lira didn't respond.

Didn't look at Kael.

She stepped into the ring.

The crowd quieted.

The duel began.

Talia was fast.

She didn't bother posturing—just moved with the clean efficiency of someone who'd trained to kill. Her opening spell was a kinetic burst meant to trip Lira's balance, followed immediately by a conjured blade made of compressed wind.

Lira dodged barely in time, rolling to the side and firing a weak pulse of raw magic that dispersed before it reached its target.

Useless.

She'd never fought a noble before.

And certainly not one born to it.

"Your reactions are slow," Talia said calmly, circling her. "Your casting is sloppy. You fight like a child."

Lira gritted her teeth.

Behind her, she felt the bond snap taut—Kael was close, watching, feeling. She didn't know if that helped or hurt.

Talia struck again, this time with a timed feint—one hand flaring with lightning while the other reached for Lira's throat with a blade of searing white.

Lira blocked it by instinct.

Light erupted from her palms.

It hit Talia square in the chest.

The noble girl flew backward, landing hard enough to scrape the arena floor, coughing.

The crowd gasped.

Lira blinked.

She hadn't meant to hit her that hard.

She hadn't even cast a spell.

She had just—felt.

Felt fear.

Felt fury.

And the bond had responded.

Talia stood, hair tousled, eyes blazing.

She said nothing.

Just attacked again.

This time, Lira barely kept up.

The second hit cracked her ribs.

The third burned her shoulder.

Kael's fury pulsed like a wave through the bond. She heard him shout something—heard him move—but the instructors restrained him with a containment sigil mid-step.

He couldn't help her.

That was the test.

Lira spat blood onto the marble.

Talia raised her hand for the final spell—something lethal. Something illegal.

And Lira's mark ignited.

She didn't speak.

Didn't gesture.

Didn't think.

The energy burst from her chest like a scream, wild and blinding, slamming into Talia with a force that shattered her conjured armor and sent her skidding across the arena, unconscious.

Silence.

Then chaos.

Later, in the infirmary, Lira sat on the edge of a cot while healers fussed over her burns. Her shoulder was wrapped in silverweave. Her vision still swam.

Kael stood by the wall, arms crossed.

"You almost died," he said.

"No shit."

He didn't smile.

She looked at him. "You felt it?"

He nodded once.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes."

She swallowed. "Good."

That surprised him.

She leaned forward, wincing. "You think I'm fragile. That I faked this. That I'm playing some long con to ruin your life. And maybe you're right—I am a fraud. I don't belong here. But I'm not weak."

He stared at her.

Then walked over.

Slowly.

He crouched beside her bed.

"You're not weak," he said.

She blinked.

He looked at her shoulder. At the blood soaking the bandage. Then, carefully, without permission, he reached out—and brushed a single strand of hair from her face.

The touch was light. Barely there.

But her skin burned where he touched it.

The bond pulsed once, softly.

Kael stood again, face unreadable.

"I told you. Don't die."

And he walked out.