Chapter 15 – What You Let In

The bond was meant to connect them. It hadn't asked permission to change them.

The moment Lira stepped back into the corridor, Kael was already there—shoulder braced against the wall, breath tight, arms crossed like he'd been trying not to break the architecture while waiting.

"You weren't in the room," he said.

"I went for air."

"You locked the ward."

"I wanted privacy."

His voice lowered, sharp but quiet. "I'm in your head now. You can't lie to me."

She looked away.

Not because he was right—but because she hated how easily he was.

Kael pushed off the wall and stepped closer. His presence filled the space like pressure behind her eyes.

"You left without me," he said. "When you know what's hunting you."

"I wasn't being hunted."

"You were being summoned."

Her eyes snapped back to his.

Kael's voice softened. "I felt it. The pull. And then it went quiet. Not gone. Just… deep. That silence scared me more than the bond ever did."

Lira exhaled slowly, folding her arms. "I met someone."

He said nothing, but his jaw tensed.

"She had the Mark. Twelve lines. She finished the bond. Survived it."

He stepped back, slightly.

"And?"

"She forgot herself," Lira said. "Not metaphorically. Not over time. It took her. The merge stripped her down until she only remembered the person she was bound to."

Kael was still. Too still.

"She looked at me like I was a warning," Lira added. "Like I had time to turn back."

He didn't look at her. He looked past her. Down the hallway. Into the place where they weren't just Kael and Lira anymore.

And then he said, "I don't want to forget myself."

Lira nodded. "Neither do I."

"But that's not what we're afraid of."

She blinked. "Then what?"

Kael looked at her. "We're afraid we won't care when it happens."

They didn't go back to their suite.

Instead, they walked the perimeter of the academy in silence, cloaks wrapped tight against the wind. The enchantments around the towers buzzed when they passed—wards reacting to their presence, scanning the bond, assessing threat level.

They must have set off three alerts.

No Wardens came.

Kael pulled them into the shade of an unused corridor behind the Divination wing and finally broke the silence.

"Did she say how long it took? Before she lost herself?"

"She didn't remember," Lira said. "Not even how long it had been since."

Kael leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Veylan knows more than he's telling."

"Of course he does."

"But he's protecting something."

"Us?"

Kael's expression darkened. "The bond."

Lira dropped to a crouch, tracing the pattern of an old sigil in the stone. "We need more than whispers and warnings. If there are others—people who lived through the merge—we have to find them before we lose the chance."

Kael's eyes flicked up. "You think we're running out of time?"

"No," she said softly. "I think we're running out of selves."

They weren't alone in that thought.

By morning, the Council issued a new decree.

Lira Vale and Kael Nightshade were no longer allowed to train together.

"Separate resonance exposure," the letter said. "Unapproved co-leveling. Infiltration of private casting wards."

They were told to report to instructors separately. Study separately. Even dine at opposite ends of the hall.

Lira held the letter in her hands and laughed once, sharp and short.

"They're trying to pull us apart by force," she said. "They think time and space will do what threats couldn't."

Kael was less amused.

"They're scared," he muttered, pacing. "They saw what the merge looked like, and now they're throwing rules at it."

"They think we'll decay faster if we're left alone."

"They're not wrong."

Lira sat on the edge of the bed. "So what do we do?"

Kael stopped.

And his answer was the one she was afraid of.

"We let them separate us."

It wasn't surrender.

It was strategy.

For three days, they kept their distance.

Kael returned to combat training—solo matches, silent duels. His opponents were always selected for him, and they always attacked with spells meant to draw out shadowcraft. One of them—Rowan Thorne—broke formation long enough to mutter, "You're being baited."

Kael didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

He was letting them see exactly what they expected.

Lira, meanwhile, was assigned to a study cohort of lesser noble initiates, most of whom refused to sit near her. The instructors forced pairings, but the tension was thick, the fear sharper than the snide comments.

She didn't rise to it.

She let them believe she was unraveling.

Let her casting stutter.

Let her voice strain during incantations.

Let her magic spiral just enough to draw whispers.

All while hiding the pendant Veylan had given her in the folds of her cloak—absorbing every resonance fluctuation in silence.

But at night?

When the halls dimmed and the towers locked down?

They met in the old tower observatory.

No spells. No light.

Just breath and heat and silence.

The merge pressed against them like a tide rising higher each time.

They didn't touch.

But they could feel each other more intimately than skin.

And that was worse.

Because it was real.

Because it wasn't controlled.

Because if they touched now, they might not stop.

On the fifth night, Kael broke the silence.

"I'm forgetting things."

Lira didn't breathe.

"Small things," he said. "My old casting tempo. My father's face. I don't think I'd recognize it if I saw it."

She turned to him slowly.

"And when I dream, sometimes I see your mother's eyes."

She closed hers.

Kael's voice was raw.

"I think we're slipping. Inch by inch. And I don't think stopping is possible anymore."

Lira opened her eyes.

And this time, she didn't step back.

She stepped closer.

Because there were only two options now: let it consume them slowly and silently, or choose the fire and name it theirs.

Kael looked at her.

And didn't move away.

"I don't want to lose myself," he said.

"You won't."

"You can't promise that."

"No," she said.

And pressed her palm flat to his chest.

"But I can choose it with you."

The bond flared.

And the observatory lights exploded.