After the disaster in the Obsidian Arena, Aria hadn't looked at Irish once.
Not in the dining hall.
Not in the stone corridors that smelled of salt and smoke.
Not even when their wings crossed paths in Elemental Theory class.
But that didn't mean she wasn't thinking about her.
"You're distracted," said Lien, her Thalassa wingmate, as they wove threads of water for their precision exercise.
"It's not true," Aria murmured, focusing on keeping her current steady.
"Liar. Ever since training, you keep glancing toward Pyra Wing."
Aria frowned.
"I'm just making sure she doesn't burn down the academy. Someone has to."
Lien let her water thread dissolve into droplets.
"You know what they're saying in the other wings?"
"I don't care what they say."
"They say that whenever Irish summons fire… and you're nearby… her flames turn blue."
Aria tensed.
"That's nonsense. Flame color depends on temperature, not on—"
"On who she's looking at?" Lien smiled, gentle but probing. "Because they also say that your water calms down whenever she walks into the courtyard."
"Enough!" Aria released her water thread. It splashed onto the floor. "Irish is my rival. Period."
"Then why do you get like this every time someone says her name?"
Aria didn't answer.
But that night, as she passed Pyra Wing, she walked slower.
On the other side of the academy, Irish lay face-down on her bed, boots still on and a smudge of soot on her cheek.
"You're still thinking about her," Kael said, leaning against the dorm doorway.
"Who?" Irish asked, not looking up from the tactics manual she wasn't reading.
"The ice princess. Aria. The one who looks at you like you're a fire she doesn't know how to put out."
Irish threw the book against the wall.
"I'm not thinking about her. I just hate how she acts like control is everything."
"And isn't it?" Kael stepped closer, arms crossed. "In Pyra, we admire passion—but without control, fire consumes itself."
"I have control!"
"Then why do you lower your flame intensity every time you train near the eastern fountain?"
Irish sat up sharply.
"I don't do that!"
"Yes, you do," said Mira, peeking through the open window. "And not just that. Yesterday, when Aria passed through the courtyard, you extinguished your fire before class even ended. No one else noticed… but I did."
Irish fell silent.
"It's ridiculous," she muttered. "She doesn't even talk to me. She just judges me with those cold eyes…"
"Cold?" Mira laughed. "Because I could've sworn that when she looks at you, her water trembles."
Irish clenched her fists.
"I don't want to talk about this."
"Of course you don't," Kael said with a knowing smile. "Because talking about it would mean admitting you don't hate her as much as you say."
Irish flopped back onto the bed, turning away.
But that night, when she dreamed of blue flames…
They weren't hers.
The next day, the Elemental History professor announced the next challenge:
"The Trial of the Four Moons begins this week. Each team must retrieve a fragment of the Stellar Core hidden in the Four Lesser Realms."
"Teams again?" someone asked.
"Yes. And this time… the same teams as training."
Aria's stomach twisted into a knot.
Across the room, Irish didn't look up—but her fingers gripped the edge of her desk until flames flickered at her fingertips… and vanished instantly.
During break, Mira approached Aria as she practiced shaping a water orb in the Mist Garden.
"Hey… Irish isn't as bad as she seems."
Aria didn't respond.
"Actually…" Mira lowered her voice, "she says she admires how you control water. That it's… elegant."
Aria dropped the orb.
"She doesn't say that."
"She does—when she thinks no one's listening."
"Then why are you telling me?"
Mira smiled.
"Because someone has to start telling the truth… before you run out of time."
That same afternoon, Ren found Irish in the Terra greenhouse, where she was "helping" (read: accidentally scorching) prune shrubs.
"Aria asked about you."
Irish froze.
"What?"
"Today in the library. She asked if you knew that blue fire is the most stable… and the rarest."
Irish stood still.
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her it only appears when fire isn't alone."
Irish said nothing. But that night, during training, she let her flames burn soft and blue…
as if hoping someone would see them.
And though they didn't look at each other all day…
They both knew the other was there.