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Chapter 8 - Chapter 8

Flame and Frost

Elira stared at the scroll in her hands, her grip tightening as the weight of it settled in her chest. Her entire life—her secrecy, her restraint—none of it had protected her. They knew. They'd always known.

And Kael… Kael had known, too.

She turned her gaze to him, searching for any trace of deceit. But what she saw there stopped her.

It wasn't pity.

It was fear. For her.

"You didn't have to show me this," she said, voice low. "You could've handed me over and been the hero Frosthold wanted."

Kael gave a hollow laugh. "You think they make heroes out of men like me?"

His eyes—so cold when she'd first met him—held a strange heat now. No fire. But something that burned in its own quiet way.

"I've spent most of my life obeying orders," he said. "And I'm tired of watching good people bleed because of them."

Elira felt the ember of her magic respond to the turmoil in her chest. It hummed beneath her skin, curling upward in invisible tendrils. She took a shaky breath.

"Do you know what it feels like," she said softly, "to have something dangerous inside you? Something everyone fears… including yourself?"

Kael stepped closer, slowly, carefully—as if she were a wild creature poised to bolt.

"Yes," he said.

Her breath hitched. "You were trained to kill mages like me."

"I was trained to obey," he corrected. "That's not the same thing."

The space between them was charged now. The air shimmered faintly, not with visible magic, but with possibility—fragile, flickering, real.

Elira's voice trembled. "I should hate you."

"I know."

"But I don't."

His fingers brushed hers—barely touching, like testing a wire strung too tight. Her power flared suddenly in response, a flicker of orange light sparking between their skin like a static shock.

Kael didn't flinch.

Instead, he said, with quiet reverence, "There it is."

Elira jerked back slightly, startled. "What?"

"Your fire," he said. "You're not broken, Elira. You were never meant to be contained."

For a moment, she stood there, heart pounding, caught between instinct and desire—between history and heat.

Then she whispered, "If you're lying to me…"

"I'm not."

And gods help her, she believed him.

In the shadows beyond the ruins, Rian watched the soft glow of magic dancing between their hands.

And clenched his jaw.

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