Back in his dorm, Riven read the parchment under moonlight. The letters shimmered, rearranged themselves, and revealed a map—not to a place, but to a spell hidden in memory and blood. A spell of binding and truth, meant only for those denied a familiar.
In the weeks that followed, Aurel appeared often—sometimes at dusk, sometimes in dreams. They taught Riven forgotten magic: not the stilted spells of the academy, but living enchantments that pulsed with queer histories, buried rebellions, and love stories that had been erased.
He learned of the Wild Court, where magic was fluid and identity sacred. Where bindings were made not through domination, but through consent and love. Aurel was part of that world—and they were risking everything to bridge it.
One night, after hours of practice beneath a starlit sky, Riven asked, "Why me?"
Aurel looked at him, serious for once. "Because you're not afraid to want something real."
They reached for his hand. Riven didn't pull away.