Race

The door to Master Altan's class clicked shut behind them, the quiet final, like a held breath. Katsu glanced at Sydney. She tried to smile, but worry still lingered across her face, softening her features in a way that made his chest ache.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low.

"Yeah, of course I am." Her smile flickered, almost convincing.

He shook his head, meeting her eyes. "You don't have to force yourself to smile just because I'm looking. Frowning doesn't make you look worse. It just makes you human."

For a moment, the hallway held them. Then her lips pressed together, eyes bright with something caught between humor and hurt. "…But it doesn't make me look better, does it?"

A flush crept up Katsu's neck. The words felt too raw, too real.

That was good, the Leviathan purred in his mind, laughter echoing dark and low. He forced her voice back, shaking his head like he could rattle her free.

He let out a quiet laugh, almost embarrassed. Sydney's expression softened, warmth threading back into her eyes as they started walking side by side toward Master Uiscel's class.

"Don't flirt with me when you have something weighing on you, Sydney…"

"I'm not flirting," Sydney shot back, eyes locked ahead, her expression solemn.

They fell into step, the quiet of the corridor broken only by the muffled sounds of other students behind closed doors. Katsu watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her shoulders were stiff, her jaw set, every step deliberate—as if forcing herself not to falter.

"Then what is this?" he asked softly, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You're trying too hard to look okay."

She didn't answer right away. The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, she exhaled, the sound sharp, like steam escaping.

"I don't know," she admitted, voice small but fierce. "I just… don't want you to worry about me."

Katsu let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, shaking his head. "That's not how this works. We don't get to choose who worries."

They reached the stairwell landing, sunlight cutting through narrow windows and painting lines of gold across their feet. Sydney paused, turning just enough for their eyes to meet.

"Then stop looking at me like that," she whispered, voice trembling. "Like I'm going to break."

He stepped closer, the space between them charged, fragile. "I can't," he said, honesty raw in every syllable. "Because I know what it looks like when someone's close to breaking. And I'm not letting that happen. Not to you."

For a second, the world outside their shared silence disappeared—just the hush of old stone walls, the warmth of morning light, and the uneven rhythm of two hearts beating too close.

Sydney blinked, the sharp edges of her worry softening for just a moment. "Katsu…"

He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp but voice gentle. "Is this about the haze? You're worried you can't do it."

Her breath hitched. "Haze is… difficult," she admitted, each word tasting bitter on her tongue.

He watched her closely.

The way her gaze darted away, the restless shift of her feet. The discomfort was written in every small movement, raw and unguarded.

"I'll help you master it," Katsu said, voice steady.

She scoffed.

"…No, you can't," barely above a whisper. "I've had teachers—dozens. The best money could buy. I'm a one-trick pony, Katsu. I don't have the mana or the experience. I can't do it."

Katsu reached out, hand closing around hers—warm, steady, real.

His palm ignited, flame unfurling bright and sudden. Light cut through the corridor's gloom, throwing their faces into relief. Sydney's eyes widened, the fire flickering in her gaze.

Katsu's focus deepened. The air around the flame began to swirl, wind feeding and tearing at it. The fire wavered, wild and chaotic. Sparks snapped between them.

Sydney's breath caught. "That's unstable. You can't control that—it's going to collapse—"

A dark, velvety laugh slipped into the air, curling around Katsu's voice like smoke. The Leviathan's presence spilled out in a hush that felt ancient and knowing.

"You don't control the haze," the words came, her voice pouring through him in a low, dangerous whisper. "You let the haze control you."

The flame twisted higher still, shadows leaping across the stone walls. It flared and guttered with each breath, as if it were alive—furious, beautiful, impossible to tame. In that wild, flickering light, Sydney's fear fractured, replaced by a fragile, breathless wonder.

"I'd have to learn how to let go…" she murmured, voice shaking. "But—"

Katsu's eyes locked onto hers, unwavering, dark with quiet resolve. "I will teach you."

Her breath caught. Her hand slipped from his, retreating as if the contact burned. "Stop doing that," she snapped, words raw. "Stop saving me from my own mistakes. Let me burn."

Silence stretched. Firelight played over his face, sharp with resolve.

He moved closer, warmth chasing away the cold.

"That's not my job," he said, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. "My job is to make sure you don't burn alone."

She started to speak, but her voice caught. The fight in her eyes flickered and faded, replaced by something softer. Her fists clenched at her sides.

"Why do you always do this?" she whispered. "Why can't you just let me fall?"

"Because I know what it looks like to fall alone." He reached out, stopping just short of touching her hand. "And I won't watch it happen to you."

The flame shrank, curling into drifting embers. The Leviathan's laughter purred in the back of his mind, but he tuned it out—every sense fixed on Sydney.

For a long moment, they stood there, two silhouettes framed by fading light—everything else distant.

Sydney's shoulders sagged. "Then don't let go," she breathed, almost too quiet to hear.

Katsu closed the distance, their hands finding each other again.

"I won't," he promised, voice steady as stone.

Sydney's hand shot forward, fingers twisting in his cloak. She yanked him close, their faces nearly colliding. Her breath brushed his ear, warm and sharp enough to send a shiver straight through his spine.

His heart stuttered, pounding so loud he wondered if she could hear it.

"I'll race you to class," she whispered, lips ghosting his skin. "Last one there buys lunch."

Before he could blink, she shoved him back with a wicked grin and bolted down the corridor, boots skidding on polished stone.

"Hey—!" Katsu barked, his surprise giving her a head start. Then he was sprinting after her, laughter bursting from his chest, echoing through the empty halls.

Their footsteps thundered in tandem, breathless shouts and wild laughter ringing off the old stone.

Sydney's hair streamed behind her like a comet's tail, Katsu's cloak snapping as he closed the distance.

Lamps flickered in their wake, shadows dancing in their flight.

Somewhere ahead, Master Uiscel's door loomed, the finish line near—but neither cared who'd win, only the joy of the chase, the warmth of each other's presence, and the promise that whatever waited, they'd face it together.

And in the quiet that followed, even the Academy itself seemed to hold its breath—woken, at last, by the sound of two hearts running side by side.