The spell wasn't supposed to explode.
It was meant to be a simple projection—an illusion charm that created a floating image of a memory. Basic training for first-year empaths. Elior had practiced the incantation a dozen times. Whispered it into leaves. Etched it in runes on his notebook.
But standing there in front of the class, under a spotlight of too many eyes, something inside him buckled.
"Nostris memorium," he said softly.
And the magic shattered.
A pulse of emotion burst from his chest—raw, unfiltered. Not a memory, but a feeling: the helpless ache of being too different for too long. The crowd gasped as the air around him swelled with golden light, too bright to be gentle, and then—
Boom.
A desk flipped.
Papers flew like startled birds.
Someone shrieked.
And Elior fell to his knees, magic crackling wildly around his fingertips like wounded lightning.
---
He wasn't hurt.
But he wanted to disappear.
Professor Marlowe dismissed the class, and everyone filed out—some laughing nervously, others throwing wide-eyed glances at him like he was a cursed artifact.
Only one person stayed.
Kael.
He crouched beside Elior, brushing bits of parchment off his shoulder.
"That," Kael said, "was impressive."
"I nearly incinerated the front row."
"Yeah, but emotionally."
Elior gave him a weak glare. "This isn't funny."
"No, it's not," Kael said, voice softening. "But it's not the end of the world either. You didn't lose control because you're weak. You lost control because no one's taught you how to hold that much feeling."
Elior blinked. "You're… not mad?"
"Why would I be mad?"
"Because I'm a walking magical hazard?"
Kael shrugged. "So am I. Just with more smoke and less poetry."
There was a pause.
Then Kael did something Elior didn't expect.
He reached out and gently took Elior's hand.
"Come with me," he said.
---
They sneaked out of the tower through the greenhouse—a sun-drenched maze of glass, vines, and forgotten student experiments. Kael led him past blooming moonlilies and whisperthorns to a quiet alcove tucked behind a curtain of glowing ivy.
There, surrounded by overgrown herbs and soft moss, Kael sat cross-legged on the floor.
"Okay," he said. "Try again."
Elior hesitated. "What if it explodes again?"
"Then we'll duck."
"…That's your solution?"
"Better than giving up."
Elior let out a breath. Closed his eyes.
He thought of something small. A memory he could hold without trembling.
The first time he saw Kael laugh—not sarcastic or smirking, but actually laugh. Last week in the library, when Elior had fallen asleep reading and mumbled, "Stop staring, your ego is too loud," and Kael had snorted so hard he almost dropped his spellbook.
Warmth stirred in his chest.
This time, when he whispered the incantation, the magic didn't burst.
It bloomed.
A glowing image floated in the air: Kael mid-laugh, head tilted back, sunlight catching in his hair. The illusion flickered slightly, soft around the edges, but held.
Kael stared at it, a little stunned.
"You… remembered that?"
Elior opened his eyes. "Of course."
Kael swallowed. "I didn't think anyone would."
The image shimmered once more, then faded gently into sparks.
Silence hung between them.
Then Kael murmured, "You made me look happy."
"You were happy."
Kael looked at him, something unreadable in his eyes.
And for once, he didn't deflect. He didn't tease or smirk.
He just said, "Thank you."
---
Later, as they walked back to the tower under the pink-blue twilight, Kael casually bumped his shoulder into Elior's.
"Next time you panic-cast in class," he said, "try aiming it at Jasper from Advanced Theory. He's a jerk."
Elior smiled. "I'll try."
A single lavender petal fluttered down from nowhere and landed in Kael's hair.
He left it there.