Aria didn't believe in coincidences.
Especially not when they involved Irish.
And yet, there she was—again—on the edge of the training field at dawn, sweat glistening on her collarbone, fists clenched as she punched the air, trying to summon fire that refused to obey.
Aria had only come to practice water manipulation by the old irrigation channel.
Alone. In silence.
Peace. Control. Focus.
But peace shattered the moment Irish's flames flared too high, scorching the grass at the field's edge. Aria flinched. Her stream of water splashed uselessly onto the dry earth.
"Can't you do that somewhere else?" Aria snapped, without turning around.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Irish shot back, voice dripping with mockery. "Did my chaos interrupt your perfection?"
Aria finally turned. Irish stood with one hand on her hip, the other still crackling with unstable embers. Her eyes were tired—but defiant.
"You're going to burn the whole field down," Aria said coldly.
"And you're going to drown yourself in that puddle if you keep trembling like that," Irish retorted, nodding at Aria's shaking hands.
Aria's breath hitched. She had been trembling. But not from weakness.
From the memory of that blue flame. From the dream.
Before she could reply, a deep gong echoed across the academy.
"All first-year elemental students report to the Obsidian Arena. Mandatory team trial. Now."
Irish groaned.
"Great. Group work. My favorite kind of torture."
Aria said nothing. But her stomach twisted.
Please don't pair us again. Please don't…
The Obsidian Arena was a sunken pit lined with black stone that absorbed raw magic—making brute force useless unless perfectly controlled. Exactly the kind of place where Aria and Irish were destined to fail.
All four elements were represented: twelve students, three from each wing.
Aria recognized Lien, her Thalassa wingmate—quiet, efficient, always quick to point out Aria's flaws.
Irish crossed her arms when she saw Kael, a Pyra boy who never let her forget she was "the orphan of the Southern Burn."
And then there was Mira, from Zephyra, with her mischievous smile and hair that floated slightly, as if the wind adored her.
"Ooh, this is exciting!" she said, rubbing her hands together. "Fire, water, air, and earth… guess what we have to do?"
Professor Orin pointed to the center of the arena, where a glass sphere hovered above a stone pedestal.
"Inside that sphere is a neutral energy core. Your mission: activate it together."
"Together?" asked a Terra boy, frowning.
"Exactly. Each wing must contribute its element at the same time, in perfect balance. If one fails… the sphere deactivates. If one dominates too much… it explodes."
A nervous murmur spread through the group.
"Form teams of four," Orin ordered. "One from each wing."
His eyes landed on Aria and Irish.
"And no. You don't get to choose. You're already assigned."
Aria felt the ground drop beneath her.
Irish huffed but didn't argue.
And so, the team was set:
Aria (Thalassa – Water)
Irish (Pyra – Fire)
Mira (Zephyra – Air)
Ren (Terra – Earth), a quiet boy who seemed more interested in roots than people.
"Alright," Mira said, grinning like this was a game. "Water, fire, wind, and earth. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Everything," Aria muttered.
"Nothing," Irish said, chin lifted, eyes daring the world. "As long as no one keeps shaking."
Their eyes met.
Aria clenched her jaw.
Irish held her gaze.
The trial began.
Ren placed his hands on the ground. Roots rose, forming a circle around the pedestal.
Mira spun in place, weaving a gentle current of air around the sphere.
Aria raised her hands. Water surged from the nearby channel, forming a liquid ring.
Irish exhaled… and a blue flame rose from her palm.
At first, it worked.
The sphere glowed with pure white light.
But then Aria saw it—Irish's eyes squeezed shut, fighting something inside.
She's losing control.
"Irish, tone down the fire," Aria said, trying not to sound like she cared.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Irish snapped, and her flame turned red, wild.
Aria's water reacted—churning, rising like a wave.
"Aria, calm the water!" Mira called.
"Then tell Irish to control her damn fire!" Aria shot back.
The sphere flickered.
Balance was breaking.
Ren growled and pressed his hands deeper into the earth.
Mira intensified the wind, trying to separate fire and water.
But it was no use.
CRACK!
The sphere went dark.
Black smoke swallowed them.
Silence.
"Pathetic," Orin said, disappointed. "Two of the most promising students… and you can't even share the same air."
Irish turned, furious, ready to blame Aria.
But before she could speak, Aria did something unexpected.
She stepped closer.
Not with anger.
Her eyes fixed on Irish's still-smoldering hands.
"Your fire didn't fail," she said, voice low—just for Irish.
Irish blinked, stunned.
"What failed… is that you don't trust anyone to hold it."
Irish opened her mouth—
—but no words came out.
Aria walked away before she could respond.
But this time, as she passed, she didn't look away.
And when their fingers nearly brushed—
The water didn't tremble. The fire didn't die.
Only steam rose between them.
Warm. Quiet.
And dangerously close to something neither of them dared name.