Chapter 55 – Excellence Camp Outing VIII

Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 21st of Brightforge, year 315 UC

The evening sky stretched above Bryan in shades of deep orange and purple as he lay on the grass behind Rose Garden dormitory. The day's training had ended hours ago, yet here he was, staring at clouds while Farrah lay beside him, pointing out shapes he couldn't quite see.

How had she convinced him to come here? The question lingered in his mind as he recalled the events leading to this moment. After the mixed team matches—where he'd been grouped with Farrah, Max, Leah, and Ethan against another composite team—she'd simply asked if he wanted to "get some fresh air." Before he could formulate a logical reason to decline, he'd found himself following her to this quiet spot behind the dormitory.

"That one looks like a dragon."

Farrah said, pointing to a particularly shapeless cloud. Her dark curls spread across the grass beneath her head, the silver hairband she often wore glinting in the fading light. Her uniform jacket lay discarded beside her, leaving her in the white button-up shirt and black skirt that comprised the female students' uniform.

"If you say so."

Bryan replied, unconvinced. He remained in his full uniform, unwilling to display the casual comfort Farrah seemed to feel. His white hair contrasted sharply against the green grass, and he could feel blades of it tickling the back of his neck.

The past few days had seen a flurry of spell breakthroughs among the Excellence Camp students. After Leah and Max, five others had unlocked new abilities during training sessions. He remained untouched by this wave of advancement, but it didn't concern him. His magic development had always followed a different pattern—each new spell taking longer than the previous one, each requiring deeper understanding and control.

"Alexander seems worse today."

Farrah said.

"I saw him shaking during breakfast. Could barely hold his spoon."

Bryan remained silent.

"I think we need to act."

She continued, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it between her fingers.

"We should tell the instructors."

Bryan turned his head slightly to look at her, studying her profile against the darkening sky.

"You want to report him?"

"I want to help him."

Farrah countered, her green eyes meeting his.

"What do you think would happen if we did? Would they kick him out?"

Bryan considered her question, weighing what he knew of academy regulations.

"Possible, but unlikely."

He replied, his gaze returning to the sky. A faint star had appeared, barely visible against the deepening blue.

"Enhancement substances are illegal, but nothing I've read in the academy rules specifically mentions expulsion for their use."

He paused, turning to face her again.

"But I wouldn't know for certain."

"What's your opinion, then? Should we tell someone?"

Farrah sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her skirt stretched over her knees.

Bryan pushed himself up to a sitting position, brushing a few blades of grass from his sleeve.

"Why do you want to tell? You don't have definite proof."

"I don't."

Farrah admitted, resting her chin on her knees.

"But it's worth discussing, isn't it? I don't want to see him hurt himself, or worse, someone else."

She looked at him directly, her eyes searching his face.

"You understand that, don't you?"

The question triggered a cascade of memories—flashes of missions, of blood on his hands. The councilor's final words echoed in his mind: Whatever they've done to make you this way... I'm sorry for that too.

Bryan saw himself standing in that underground room as Councilor Elwin slumped forward in death. The man had betrayed his kingdom, yes, but he'd also been manipulated, used as a pawn. Just as he, himself, was being used.

What would she think of me if she knew? The thought came unbidden, unsettling in its intensity. If she knew what I've done, who I really am—would she still look at me that way?

"I understand."

Bryan said finally, his voice carefully neutral.

"But you also have to give people room to grow. Like you said before—we're teenagers. We make mistakes."

Farrah laughed.

For some unknown reason, he was starting to like her laugh. The way her long ears twitched, the smile on her face as she tried but failed to cover it with her hand.

He could never laugh like that, but seeing her do it was in its own way a kind of joy.

One that he was starting to feel he could enjoy as well. Something he'd never allow back in the Inquisition.

"You remember that?"

Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

"I have a good memory."

Bryan replied.

"I don't forget."

'At least I used to have one.'

He could not help but think, as lately, there was just too much not adding up. Gaps in his mind that should be filled, but were not. The constant headaches and nosebleeds that he refused to admit to anyone else but himself were a cause for concern.

Not to mention that horrifying moment when Alessia stopped by his dorm room. Out of everything, and he meant everything that's been going on these last few weeks. Heck, even the last few days.

That moment scared him the most.

Not the trip they would take to the Veiled Forest. Not his interaction with Gloria.

No. Just that one moment.

Because, if what he thought he was doing was real the entire time but wasn't…

Then what other parts of his life were moments exactly like that?

A moment of silence stretched between them as neither one of them spoke for what felt like an entire minute. The grass rustled beneath them as Farrah shifted her position, leaning back on her hands.

"Besides."

He added after a moment.

"Wouldn't Alexander hate you for that?"

Farrah's smile faded, her expression growing more somber.

"He might."

She admitted, her fingers absently tracing patterns in the grass.

"But I was hoping you'd be there with me when I talked to him."

His jaw tightened as he narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I don't want anything to do with that."

His voice cooled noticeably. More than he wanted it to.

"And I really dislike it when people try to use me as a pawn."

Farrah's eyes widened, genuine shock crossing her features.

"Bryan, no—that's not what I was doing."

She reached toward him, her hand hovering uncertainly in the space between them.

"I just thought he might listen better if it came from both of us. As his teammates."

He looked away, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the dormitory. His posture had stiffened, the momentary openness from earlier completely gone.

Farrah's hand finally made contact with his arm, her touch light but insistent.

"Don't do that."

She said softly.

"Don't run away."

Her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his sleeve.

"Please."

The single word hung in the air between them, filled with more emotion than Bryan was comfortable acknowledging. Her touch burned through the fabric of his uniform, not unpleasant in the least.

"I'm not running."

He said finally, still not meeting her eyes.

"I just don't see the point in confronting him. He'll deny it, get defensive, and then what?"

Farrah sighed, her hand dropping away from his arm. The absence of her touch left a strange emptiness that Bryan refused to examine too closely.

"You're right."

She conceded, tucking a stray curl behind her pointed ear.

"But we can't just do nothing, can we?"

"What do you think about monitoring him instead?"

Bryan suggested, turning back to face her. The first stars were now clearly visible overhead, pinpricks of light against the darkening canvas.

"We watch, gather evidence. If it gets worse, then we intervene."

Farrah considered this, her head tilted slightly as she thought.

"That's... reasonable."

She said finally, a small smile returning to her lips.

"Very captain-like of you."

"Don't start."

Bryan warned, though there was less edge to his voice than before.

Farrah's smile widened, a teasing light entering her eyes.

"What? I'm just saying you're growing into the role. It's a compliment."

"It's unnecessary."

Bryan replied, but found himself relaxing slightly despite his words.

"What's your favorite color?"

Farrah asked suddenly, the abrupt change of topic catching Bryan off-guard.

"What?"

"Your favorite color."

She repeated, as she played with a strand of her hair.

"Everyone has one."

Bryan stared at her, momentarily at a loss. He'd never considered such a trivial preference before. In the Inquisition, such personal preferences were irrelevant.

What kind of question was that? For a moment, his mind went blank. A color?

He's never once entertained the thought. Not once had anyone bothered to ask him.

But then again, Farrah had always asked him questions. Ones that he had never once be spoken in the Inquisition. They were not there to gather like some social event. And if they were, he was not included.

He knew there were a few things he enjoyed, but a color?

"I... don't know."

"You must have one."

Farrah insisted, her green eyes fixed on him.

"Think about it. What color do you find yourself drawn to? What looks right to you?"

Bryan considered the question seriously, searching his feelings for a preference he'd never acknowledged. His eyes drifted to the darkening sky above them, where the first stars were beginning to appear.

"Blue."

He said.

"Dark blue, like the sky just after sunset."

Farrah smiled, looking pleased with his answer.

"See? Was that so hard?"

"What's yours?"

Bryan found himself asking, curious despite himself.

"Green."

She replied without hesitation, her fingers brushing against the grass beneath them.

"The deep green of forest leaves in summer."

The sky had darkened further, the first stars beginning to appear. Neither made a move to leave.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of nearby trees, creating a soft rustling backdrop to their conversation.

"What are you afraid of?"

Farrah asked, her voice softer now. She'd shifted again, lying back on the grass to look up at the emerging stars.

Bryan tensed slightly, his fingers curling against the cool grass beneath him.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. Everyone fears something."

Bryan's first instinct was to deny having fears—weakness was not something he acknowledged, let alone shared. But in the growing darkness, with only Farrah beside him, he felt he could reveal the growing worry that haunted him these last few days.

"Not knowing who I really am."

He said quietly. The fear had been growing since his conversation with Gloria, the suspicion that his entire identity might be built on lies.

Farrah rolled onto her side to face him, her expression thoughtful in the fading light. A strand of her dark hair fell across her cheek, but she made no move to brush it away.

"I think."

She said carefully, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That who you are isn't something fixed. It's something you discover day by day, choice by choice."

A sudden breeze swept across the grass, sending Farrah's dark curls dancing. Several strands blew across Bryan's face, tickling his skin. Farrah laughed, the sound light and genuine as she reached to brush her hair away, her fingers accidentally brushing against his cheek.

"Sorry."

She said, still smiling, her hand lingering near his face for a moment before withdrawing.

"It's not that funny."

Bryan remarked, though he found the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

"You should see your face."

Farrah replied, her laughter subsiding to a warm smile. In the dim light, her eyes seemed to glow with an inner light, reflecting the first stars appearing overhead.

She was close now, having shifted while fixing her hair. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, could catch the subtle floral scent of her perfume.

Farrah's hand found his on the grass, her fingers intertwining with his. The contact sent an unexpected warmth through Bryan's chest.

Her skin was soft against his callused palm, her touch gentle but certain.

"Is this okay?"

She asked softly, her eyes searching his face in the growing darkness.

Bryan nodded as he closed his fingers around hers. He didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. This wasn't part of any plan, any mission. This was something else entirely—something he hadn't prepared for, something that made his heart rate increase in a way that had nothing to do with danger.

Farrah lifted his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

In that second, he felt his breathing stop. Bryan Blackwood, the cold-hearted Inquisition agent—who was taught to keep his distance, and keep to conquer his fear—was afraid.

Afraid that this moment was just a figment of his imagination. Afraid that if he moved or said the wrong thing, he'd ruin this one moment.

A moment that felt special to him, even if he'd never admit it out loud.

"I like who you are, Bryan."

She whispered, her breath warm against his skin.

"Even if you're still figuring it out yourself."

Before Bryan could respond, movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. He turned his head slightly and froze.

Zoltan.

The black mouse sat on a nearby rock, purple eyes fixed on Bryan with an intensity that seemed impossible for such a small creature. After weeks of absence, he was suddenly there, watching silently.

"What is it?"

Farrah asked, noticing his distraction. Her hand still held his, thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles.

Bryan blinked, and in that instant, Zoltan darted away, disappearing into a nearby bush. The movement was so quick, so fluid, that Bryan questioned whether he'd seen anything at all.

"Nothing."

He said, turning back to Farrah.

"Just thought I saw something."

But doubt lingered in his mind. Was Zoltan really back? Or was his mind creating visions now, alongside the wall of notes that had never existed?

Farrah studied his face, concern crossing her features. She released his hand, sitting up and brushing grass from her skirt.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Just tired."

Bryan replied, pulling his hand gently from hers and sitting up. The moment between them had broken, as if it never existed in the first place.

"It's getting late. We should head back."

Disappointment flickered across Farrah's face, but she nodded.

She reached down to collect her discarded jacket, slipping it over her shoulders.

"You're right. We have early training tomorrow."

As they walked back toward the dormitories, Bryan cast one last glance toward the bush where he thought he'd seen Zoltan. Nothing moved, nothing suggested the mouse had ever been there.

"Bryan?"

Farrah's voice drew his attention back. She walked beside him, her steps matching his, her face partially illuminated by the lights from the dormitory ahead.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He looked at her—really looked at her—and felt something shift inside him. Whatever game was being played with his memories, whatever manipulation might be happening around him, Farrah's concern felt genuine. The warmth in her eyes, the gentle pressure of her hand when she'd held his—those things felt real in a way few things did anymore.

"I'm fine."

He said, and for the moment, he almost believed it.

As Rose Garden dormitory came into view, a companionable silence fell between them. The night air had grown cooler, carrying the faint scent of the roses that gave the dormitory its name.

"My youngest brother is like that sometimes."

Farrah said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was thoughtful, as if continuing a conversation they'd been having all along.

"Thinks he has to handle everything alone. My mother says it's a sign of pride, not strength."

Bryan glanced at her, surprised by the return to their earlier topic. The soft glow from the dormitory lights caught in her eyes, turning them a deeper shade of green.

"You have brothers?"

He asked, genuinely curious. Despite their growing closeness over the past weeks, family was a subject they rarely discussed in depth—perhaps out of mutual understanding of its complexity.

"Two brothers, three sisters."

Farrah confirmed, smiling as she adjusted her jacket against the evening chill.

"Big family, even by dark elf standards. I'm right in the middle."

"That must be... chaotic."

Bryan said, trying to imagine what such a household would be like. Six children under one roof, each with their own personalities and needs.

It reminded him of his days at the orphanage. So many children, and the adults knew little of what was happening under their own roof. If they did, they showed no sign of interfering.

Except one.

Farrah laughed, the sound carrying through the quiet evening air. A passing student turned to look, then quickly continued on their way when they recognized Bryan.

"That's one word for it. Our house in Dynosis is always full of noise—arguments, laughter, someone always getting into fights they have no business being in."

Bryan tried to imagine such a scene but found it difficult to picture. His own childhood memories—the ones he could access without pain—were filled with solitary training sessions and quiet instruction. No siblings to argue with or laugh alongside. No mother to mediate disputes or offer comfort.

Just endless drills, evaluations, and the constant pressure to improve.

"My mother might visit when the official term starts."

Farrah continued, seemingly unaware of his inner thoughts. She tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear, her movements graceful even in such a simple gesture.

"She's curious about the academy, and she wants to see how I'm doing."

"She must care about you a great deal."

Bryan observed, noting how Farrah's expression softened at the mention of her mother. It was different from how she spoke of her father or siblings—there was a deeper connection there, a special bond.

"She does. All my family does, in their way."

Farrah paused at the dormitory entrance, turning to face him fully. Her expression grew more serious, hesitant.

"What about yours?"

The familiar throb of pain pulsed behind Bryan's temples, but it was duller than before, manageable. Since his confrontation with Gloria, these moments of memory disruption had become both more frequent and less intense—as if whatever barriers had been erected in his mind were slowly eroding.

"My father... is distant."

He said carefully, selecting details that felt true without triggering the worst of the pain. The image of High Inquisitor Veron came to mind—stern, demanding, always expecting more.

"His work keeps him away most of the time."

"That must have been lonely."

Farrah said softly, her eyes reflecting genuine empathy.

Bryan considered her words. The concept of loneliness wasn't one he'd applied to his childhood before. It was simply how things were—training, missions, evaluations. There was no space for loneliness.

"I never thought of it as lonely. It was just... how things were."

"And your mother?"

Farrah asked gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

"She died when I was young."

Bryan replied, the words feeling simultaneously true and false in his mouth. A flash of a woman's face—kind eyes, gentle hands—appeared in his mind before dissolving into nothing.

"I don't remember her clearly."

Farrah's expression softened, her eyes holding his.

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

Bryan said.

They reached the dormitory entrance, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps where they stood.

"I should go."

Farrah said, though she made no immediate move to leave. Her eyes remained on his face, as if searching for something.

"Early training tomorrow."

Bryan nodded, suddenly aware of how long they'd been standing there.

"Goodnight, Farrah."

"Goodnight, Bryan."

She replied, a small smile playing at her lips. She hesitated for a moment longer, then turned and walked into the dormitory, her dark curls bouncing slightly with each step.

Bryan remained outside for a moment, watching her go. The evening's conversation replayed in his mind—her touch, her laughter, the kiss pressed to his knuckles. Real or not, the memory of it settled somewhere deep inside him, a warmth he couldn't quite explain.

As he finally turned to enter the building, Bryan made a decision. If Zoltan had truly returned, he would find Bryan soon enough. Until then, he would focus on what he could verify, what he could touch—the upcoming Forest Trial, Alexander's deteriorating condition, Julius's interest in him, and now, this connection with Farrah.

***

Ashern City - Reinhart Institute of War, 8th of Brightforge, year 315 UC

Bryan glanced across the room and saw Alessia seated against the far wall, a book open in her lap. She didn’t look up. Just read in silence.

He ducked under a holographic blade, then countered with two crescent arcs of blood that tore clean through the nearest construct. The last hologram flickered and vanished.

A chime signaled the next wave was about to begin—programmed to increase in number and aggression by ten percent.

He hadn’t planned on company. The entire day was meant to be his—alone.

Yet here she was.

Alessia wasn’t a bother. She didn’t try to talk to him, didn’t hover or interrupt. Still, why here? Of all the places she could’ve gone on a free weekend, why this training room?

They weren’t friends. Not really. He didn’t think she considered him one either. But she had still chosen to be here—within proximity. Not close enough to intrude, but not far enough to ignore.

As the next set of holograms appeared, Bryan moved. Blood sliced the air in curved patterns, carving down constructs before they could press in.

From her corner, Alessia glanced up. Her eyes followed his movements, calm and quiet, before returning to the page.

He noticed.

And ignored it.

The next hologram rushed in.

"Your left side drops when you pivot."

Her voice came casually, eyes still on her book.

Bryan’s jaw twitched. He hadn’t asked for advice—especially not from someone who still needed a glove to keep her magic in check. But as another construct swept in from his left, he realized she was right.

There was a weakness in his stance.

"Your book must be riveting."

He said, correcting his posture and dispatching three enemies with smooth, exacting strikes.

"What is it? Complexities of the mind? Or are you just hiding from your team?"

Alessia flipped a page.

"Both, actually. Team Four is touring the noble quarter. Julius insisted."

Silence settled again. The artificial sounds of battle buzzed in the background. Between them, something unspoken passed—an understanding they shared without ever naming it.

"You could’ve gone on your own."

Bryan said, ducking beneath a swing, blood lashing out to meet it.

"So could you."

She replied.

She closed the book gently, her gloved fingers brushing over the embossed title.

“But we both know... It’s easier to be alone somewhere familiar than surrounded by strangers.”

Bryan didn’t answer.

Ten more holograms surrounded him.

He shifted. The blood around him thickened, forming a compact sphere—then exploded outward, annihilating everything in its radius.

"Program complete."

The system announced.

"Difficulty increased by twenty percent for next session."

He exhaled slowly, sweat lining his brow. Across the room, Alessia had returned to her book, legs tucked neatly beneath her.

“Your control’s improving.”

She said without looking up.

Bryan wiped his face with a towel.

“So is yours. You’re only wearing one glove today.”

At that, she paused—just briefly—and then nodded, gaze drifting to the title on her book cover.

“Yes. So it would seem. I took your advice from yesterday. Wanted to see if it made any difference.”

She flexed her bare fingers slightly.

“Doesn’t feel any different, really.”

Bryan canceled the next training cycle.

Yesterday, he’d told her the truth: her issue wasn’t power. It was focus. When she concentrated, she had full control. The danger came when she didn’t. When her mind slipped, her magic followed.

It wasn’t about holding on. It was about not letting go.

Her erosion magic was unpredictable—destroying anything she touched at random. She didn’t know the exact triggers, but the decay always worsened when she was upset.

So Bryan offered a simple solution:

Stop fearing your power. Let it be.

Simple to say. Hard to do. Her abilities were tied to memories, trauma, and guilt. If Julius was right, it all traced back to when she was younger—when her magic spiraled out of control and killed people. A lot of them.

That’s what she feared. Doing it again.

She was always thinking about it. Subconsciously gripping her own power like a leash she didn’t trust herself to hold. The irony was cruel—her effort to suppress it often made it worse.

He'd been wrong to say she lacked control. Alessia was too controlled. Constantly braced for failure.

She needed to let go.

The first attempt was a disaster, just like he expected. Fortunately, Alexander and Christopher were still busy with the training drill he’d assigned, so only he had been close when it happened.

The second time didn’t go any better. Nor the third. Or the fourth.

So he handed her a drink.

“Let it sit for ten minutes.”

He said.

“Then try again.”

She did. And this time… it worked.

He even had her touch his hand—bare skin to bare skin. She hesitated.

He didn’t flinch.

If anything happened, he could just heal it. But for her, it was a monumental step. A line she hadn’t crossed in years.

He made her do it.

Nothing happened.

She was more relieved than he was. It might’ve been the first time she’d touched someone without gloves in… who knows how long.

Alessia finally closed her book and set it aside.

“What did you put in that drink?”

She asked.

“I’ve had specialists from two different kingdoms try to help me with this… curse.”

Bryan crossed the training room and took a seat a few feet away—close, but still giving her space.

“Nothing special.”

He said.

“Calimine tea.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Your problem isn’t magical, it’s psychological. You’re so afraid of losing control that the fear itself triggers what you’re trying to avoid.”

She stared down at her bare hand, flexing her fingers slowly.

“So… you drugged me?”

“I helped you get out of your own way."

Bryan replied without a trace of guilt.

“There’s nothing wrong with a drug every now and then. It’s illegal in name only. Even the military encourages its use.”

“I don’t care who uses it!”

Alessia snapped.

“I don’t want any of that garbage in my body. You do know how toxic it is, right?”

He shrugged.

“Bit late now.”

She glared at him. He didn’t blink.

“Yes, I know it’s harmful.”

He said.

“But did it help—yes or no?”

She narrowed her eyes further.

“That’s a cornering question, and you know it. If I say yes, you’ll feel justified in how you went about it. And I’ll look like a hypocrite. But if I say no, you’ll just point out that I’m sitting here, glove off, touching nothing, harming nothing… which would make me a liar.”

Bryan smirked.

“What’s so funny?”

She asked, still fuming.

He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Bryan said, smirking faintly. “

You were just… thorough with your analysis. You're more talkative when your mind’s at ease. The tea cut off your anxiety loop—made it easier for you to stop overthinking and just exist in the moment.”

Alessia’s eyes narrowed.

“No apology? Not even a mention of one?”

“For what?”

Bryan replied, unapologetic.

“Apologizing would mean I was wrong. I wasn’t. You found the root of your problem. Now all that’s left is figuring out a permanent solution.”

He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought:

“I’ll admit, my method for getting you to take it was a little underhanded.”

That was as far as he was willing to go.

It wasn’t like he forced her. She’d wanted help. He helped.

Did the method really matter?

One drink wouldn’t hurt her. He was certain of that. Calimine was strong, sure—and misuse could become a problem—but Alessia wasn’t the type. She had discipline. She lived with her power like someone walking a tightrope every day.

If anyone could use something to take the edge off now and then, it was her.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

They sat in silence for a long time.

Then Alessia spoke again.

“Julius told you my story, didn’t he?”

She didn’t ask it like a question. More like an observation finally voiced.

"My mother died because of this power."

She said.

"I reached for her during a nightmare. By morning, half the room was… gone."

Bryan didn’t react. He’d already suspected as much. The confession wasn’t surprising.

Alessia let out a hollow laugh. It had no warmth.

“I was supposed to be a prodigy. Better than Rashaka Reinhart. You’ve heard the stories, I’m sure—golden child of the Reinharts. Greatest mage in decades. She awakened at ten. Rare. But a blessing to her family.”

“I awakened at eleven. And in return, I lost everything in a single night.”

She shook her head, brown hair slipping loose across her cheek.

“No one blamed me. Not really. No one expected it. I wasn’t special. It just… happened. And somehow, I was supposed to be happy about it.”

“Pure destruction, at a scale unheard of for someone my age. Suddenly, I was destined to be the greatest mage in history. My family’s status soared. The world changed overnight. But no one ever asked me how I felt about any of it.”

Her voice dropped lower.

“Do you know what it’s like to lose your mother? To be the reason she’s gone?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“There was nothing but praise. Everyone moved on. Like it was just another Tuesday. They pushed me to be better. To do more. As if I wasn't just a little girl who wanted her mom to tuck her in at night.”

She raised her ungloved hand, watching it move slowly in front of her face—like it belonged to someone else.

“I never asked for this.”

Bryan listened. But he didn’t comfort her.

He wasn’t the type. And she didn’t need it.

What could he say that hadn’t already been said? What comfort would matter now?

This wasn’t Alessia—not completely. It was the tea, loosening her grip on all the things she kept buried. Making her say the quiet things out loud.

With her mind finally at ease, it was as if a weight had slipped off her shoulders—and all the things she’d been holding back came pouring out.

It didn’t have to be him sitting there. It could’ve been anyone. The tea did the heavy lifting, loosening her grip just enough to let the dam break.

Still, her words stuck with him.

“When we’re young.”

Bryan began.

“We all dream of becoming mages. Think about all the cool things we can do. No one talks about the awakening. Not really. Not what it costs.”

He kept his gaze ahead, voice low.

“For some, it’s nothing. A small spark, a flicker. For others, it’s lethal. One minute you're hugging a friend, a sibling… and the next, they're ash. Or gone.”

He paused.

“There are too many stories like that. Every awakening is different. And some people don’t even survive theirs. The spell’s too strong for their body to contain.”

He turned toward her.

“But for you? Every time you’ve used your power since, you think about that moment. Every time you touch something, you're waiting for it to crumble.”

Alessia’s voice came soft, almost a whisper.

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No.”

Bryan’s answer was immediate.

“I’d learn to accept it as part of myself.”

Alessia gave a dry, humorless laugh.

“Easy for you to say. Your magic listens to you.”

Bryan raised his hand. A sphere of blood formed above his palm, suspended in the air—stable, pulsing gently.

“Because I don’t fight its nature.”

He let the sphere dissolve, the blood retreating into his skin.

“I don’t try to make it something it’s not.”

He stood, brushing invisible dust from his pants.

“The tea will wear off soon. When it does… don’t reach for the glove right away. Just sit with the feeling. Remember what it’s like to not be afraid.”

He gathered his things, walking toward the exit. Alessia remained seated, her hand still exposed.

Before reaching the door, Bryan paused.

He let out a quiet sigh, then looked over his shoulder.

“…Sorry.”

Alessia blinked, caught off guard.

“For what?”

“For drugging you.”

There was a beat of silence—then a small smile tugged at her lips.

“If you say I said that, I’ll deny it ever happened.”

He added.