I swallowed, stunned. “So you… absorbed it? For me?” I blinked. “But—does it hurt you?”

  Before I could stop myself, I reached for his hand. I told myself it was curiosity, concern. But the truth was, I needed to feel something solid. Needed proof he wasn’t suffering in silence.

  His palm was warm, rough with calluses that spoke of years in the field. Gently, I turned it over, tracing the curve of his fingers, searching for signs of damage—burns, bruises, anything. But there was only skin. Skin and the faint hum of magic still echoing between us.

  The sensation startled me. Not painful. Not dangerous. Just… intimate. As if something inside me still recognized his touch as safe.

  “You’re worried about me?” he asked, half-teasing—but quiet. His voice had lost its usual edge.

  I realized then how tightly I was holding his hand. I dropped it fast, pulse spiking, cheeks warm. I didn’t trust what I might do if I didn’t.

  But Toru only smiled—small, genuine. “I’ve endured worse,” he said. “The war demanded more than this. Absorbing your magic? It doesn’t weaken me. If anything, it reminds me why I trained—to protect things that matter.”

  Things that matter.

  He didn’t say you. But he didn’t have to.

  Because that was what he meant.

  And the ache in my chest wasn’t fear anymore.

  It was something deeper. Something I wasn’t ready to name.

  But I knew one thing with painful clarity: he hadn’t just taken my power.

  He’d carried my pain.

  For me.

  I dropped my gaze, afraid he’d see too much.

  Toru reached out, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly along my cheekbone. “Elara,” he said softly, “you and I… this bond between us—it’s more than shared magic. It’s a tether. A power and a liability. I won’t let anything touch you.”

  His touch was gentle, but his promise was fierce. And I believed him. I always had. “I know you mean that,” I said quietly. “But you won’t always be here.” He opened his mouth to argue, and I instinctively reached for his arm to stop him. My hand wrapped around his forearm like it belonged there. I didn’t know why I touched him—only that I didn’t want to let go. That he made the world feel steadier.

  “I need to learn to control it,” I added, fingers tightening slightly. “So I don’t end up hurting someone. So I don’t hurt myself.”

  He nodded, voice steady and warm. “Tonight. After dinner, we’ll start your training.”

  I blinked. “Where?”

  His mouth curved—subtle, unreadable. “I’ll come to your room,” he said. “We’ll need privacy. No distractions.”

  A flicker of heat curled low in my stomach. I told myself it was nerves. That it was only about the magic. But something about the way he said privacy made my thoughts scatter. This was Toru—my friend, my anchor. And still, this felt different. Charged. Unfamiliar.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you back before you pass out from hunger. I swear your stomach just threatened me.”

  I let out a reluctant laugh and fell into step beside him as the sun dipped lower behind the towers of the Academy, casting gold along the stone paths.

  We didn’t get far before I noticed it.

  The stares.

  People turned to look—some openly, some with not-so-subtle whispers. Students paused in doorways, heads tilted. Others elbowed friends or angled their glances over cups of tea and parchment scrolls.

  I stiffened.

  The attention wasn’t on him. It was on us.

  Toru, predictably, didn’t react. He walked like he always did—casual, unaffected, like the entire world could be burning down and he’d still stop to tie his bootlaces just to make a point. His indifference was infuriating. And magnetic.

  I envied it. The way he could carry the weight of other people’s eyes and never flinch. The way the rumors never seemed to touch him. I envied how easy it was for him to stand in his power—while I felt like I was still clawing toward mine.

  I stole a glance at him, searching for cracks in the mask. Nothing. Not a twitch, not a shift in his gaze.

  He didn’t care what they thought.

  And that scared me most of all—because I cared too much.

  For the first time, I wasn’t sure I truly knew the man walking beside me. Toru had always been a mystery, but that mystery had once felt like comfort—like knowing the stars would always be there even if you couldn’t name them all. Now, it felt like walking alongside a storm you hoped wouldn’t turn your way.

  I returned to the Institute with a head full of questions, and a body strung tight with nerves. The familiar spires of the building rose in the distance, bathed in the final hues of sunset, their shadows long across the marble paths. I used to feel awe walking through these gates. Now I just wanted a moment to breathe without eyes following me.

  Back in the safety of the dorms, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. The room welcomed me like an old friend—soft candlelight flickering across the celestial charts on my walls, the scent of dried lavender and starfruit tea lingering in the air. My sanctuary. My escape. And tonight… a waiting room for something I wasn’t ready to name.

  I set the water running and peeled off the day with every layer I shed. The hot spray hit my skin, and I braced myself against the tiled wall, letting it ground me. Steam curled around me like a shield, and for a moment, I wasn’t a girl with unstable magic or a bond she didn’t understand. I was just Elara—flesh and bone and breath.

  But Toru’s voice echoed in my head. “I’ll stop by your room.”

  The promise clung to me, heavy and electric. I didn’t know if I was more afraid of what I’d learn tonight—or of how much I wanted to see him again.

  After the shower, I dressed slowly, fingers lingering too long on soft fabric, trying to delay the inevitable. I sat at my desk with damp hair wrapped in a towel, flipping through my notes half-heartedly. They were just scribbles. Nothing in them could prepare me for tonight.

  My magic was changing. I was changing.

  And Toru? He was at the center of it all.

  The quiet offered something rare: time to think. To untangle the knots inside me. My life, once simple in its longing for purpose, now pulsed with celestial magic, complicated loyalties, and questions I didn’t have the courage to answer. Arrowhead lingered in the back of my thoughts—half memory, half ghost. What really happened to her? And did anyone actually know?

  A distant bell echoed through the stone corridors of the Institute, melodic and commanding. My stomach answered before I could, rumbling loud enough to startle me from my reverie.

  Dinner.

  I closed my books, the snap of each cover like a full stop on my overthinking. Shedding the comfort of my robe, I adjusted the academy uniform I’d changed into post-shower. As soft and warm as the robe was, there was no way I’d risk Toru catching me in it downstairs. He’d have a field day.

  Then again… the thought made me smirk. Maybe one day I would test him. Just to prove he didn’t own every version of me.

  Sliding into my shoes, I stepped into the dim corridor, lit by star-glass sconces and moonlit panes. Other students were trickling out of their dorms, footsteps rhythmic and unified, like stars orbiting toward the same gravitational pull.

  Among the small crowd, I spotted Vespera—her inky hair catching the light like water under a full moon. I matched pace beside her, grateful for the familiar presence.

  The savory aroma of the evening meal hit us just before we reached the dining hall doors—roasted root vegetables, cardamom and clove, warm bread, and something with a distinctly celestial spice I couldn’t name. It wrapped around me like a memory I hadn’t lived.

  The dining hall opened before us in all its grandeur—long tables gleaming with polished silver, crystal chandeliers suspended like constellations overhead, and students murmuring with the kind of end-of-day relief that made the place feel like a sanctuary.

  We slid into an empty spot at a half-filled table. I hadn’t realized how much I needed her company until she was beside me.

  Platters began arriving. Roasted squash with spiced honey glaze. Braised meat draped in crimson sauce. Even the bread rolls were delicate, dusted with something that sparkled faintly under the chandeliers. It felt like a feast in a storybook.

  I’d just finished savoring a bite when Vespera tilted her head toward me. “So?” she said carefully. “What happened with you and Toru? He looked… murderous.”

  I nearly dropped my fork.

  Swallowing, I tried to keep my tone casual. “He’s… complicated,” I said. “A close family friend. He’s always been protective. Like a big brother, sort of.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “He didn’t look brotherly. More like someone ready to fight the room.”

  I gave a forced laugh. “He’s just intense. It’s nothing.”

  “Is it?”

  I stabbed a carrot. “Yes.”

  But Vespera leaned in, voice low and teasing. “He watches you like you’re his favorite secret.”

  I looked away, suddenly very focused on buttering a roll. “He’s my protector,” I repeated. “My grandfather took him in when we were kids. He’s always been…there.”

  Vespera sipped her drink, studying me over the rim. “He’s kind of hot, you know.”

  I choked. “Don’t⁠—”

  “I’m just saying,” she grinned. “If my ‘big brother’ looked at me the way he looks at you…”

  “He doesn’t.”

  She lifted a brow. “Right. And I’m not training in celestial blade work next semester.”

  Before I could defend myself further, a soft shadow fell across our table. I looked up.

  The headmistress’s aide stood before me, hands clasped in front of her robes. Her voice was gentle, but unmistakable. “Ms. Hawthorne? The headmistress requests your presence. Immediately.”

  I blinked. “Now?”

  She nodded.

  I turned to Vespera, who only shrugged, mouth full of bread.

  Of course. What now?

  Twenty-Four

  The girl with the bright blue eyes and raven-black hair led me beneath a towering archway and into the Institute’s vast library. My breath caught. It wasn’t just a room—it was a cathedral of knowledge. Shelves stretched skyward, crammed with ancient tomes and magical manuscripts, their spines whispering secrets I hadn’t yet earned the right to know. The ceiling arched like the sky itself, and the soft rustle of pages was broken only by the low hum of students murmuring over their texts.

  I recognized some of the faces. Other contestants. Other would-be Guardians. Each of them absorbed in their studies, their expressions sharpened by focus and ambition. I should’ve been reassured—we were all here for the same reason. But instead, doubt crept in like a chill breeze. They all looked so capable. So sure. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I felt the same.

  My gaze skimmed the room, searching for one particular face. Callum.

  But he wasn’t here.

  I didn’t know why I was surprised—or why I felt a flicker of disappointment twist in my chest. After everything that happened, part of me had hoped to see him.

  Before I could dwell on it, the energy in the room shifted. A wave of silence rippled across the library as a figure stepped forward.

  The headmistress.

  She stood like a monument carved from marble—elegant, unyielding, powerful. Her presence seemed to command the very air around her. Conversations faltered. Books were quietly shut. Even the candle flames flickered lower, as if sensing her authority.

  I found a seat at one of the long study tables just as others began filing in around me. Three students sat nearby—my direct competition for the title of Sagittarius Guardian. We were all here for the same thing, and yet… I had no idea what they saw when they looked at me. Did I seem confident? Capable? Or just another girl who didn’t belong?

  To my left, a girl with hair like wildfire leaned back in her chair, green eyes glinting with barely restrained intensity. There was something fearless about her—something that made me sit up straighter. She looked like someone who didn’t know how to back down.

  Across from me sat a boy built like a fortress. Every inch of him looked like it had been carved in battle. Cropped hair. Thick arms. Eyes that studied everything and gave nothing away. Scars laced his forearms like whispers of what he’d survived. He hadn’t come here to play games.

  And beside him, a girl who didn’t seem quite real. Her silver hair shimmered with every movement, and her presence felt like the calm before a storm—or maybe the eye of one. She barely moved, but when her gaze lifted and met mine, I felt it like a ripple through my chest. There was age in her eyes. Not years, but centuries of knowing.

  I looked down at my hands, suddenly unsure what I was doing here. Then I looked back up, spine straightening.

  I was here because I had something they didn’t.

  And I intended to prove it.

  “Elara, right?” the girl with silver hair asked, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “You came here with Hideo Toru, didn’t you? Are you two… together?”

  The question hit like a slap wrapped in silk. I felt every set of eyes at the table shift toward me, their curiosity pressing down like a weight.

  “Hideo Toru is a family friend,” I said carefully, my voice even though my pulse wasn’t. “We’re not together.”

  Technically, we were married. But not together. Not in the way they meant. Not in any way that made sense anymore.

  It was complicated.

  Too complicated.

  I exhaled slowly, fighting the familiar frustration that rose in my chest. I’d thought about divorce more times than I could count, even though the word alone would probably set Toru off. He’d never allow it—not really. But it would make everything so much simpler.

  The boy across from me gave a low, derisive snort. “Of course they’re not together, Amber,” he said, smirking faintly. “Elara’s grandfather was Kennyth Brown—the man who took Toru in after the war.”

  The name landed between us like a ghost.

  My grandfather.

  My chest tightened, and I bit my lip to keep from saying something defensive. I hated that my legacy was always his legacy. That I only ever existed in the shadow of his name—or Toru’s. I came here to do something different. To be something different. But right now, I didn’t feel like either.

  The auburn-haired girl—Raphina, I thought—leaned forward, her voice low and conspiratorial. “I heard a rumor,” she said. “You started a fire in class today. Is that true?”

  All attention turned to me.

  “I—”

  Before I could answer, Amber cut in, her silver hair glinting as she tossed it back. “I heard it was the professor. Nightshade. Apparently, she and Elara were fighting over him. She’s obsessed, you know. It’s honestly pathetic. He screwed her up forever—and she was a Guardian.”

  The words hit like ice water down my spine.

  A Guardian.

  Once, that word had meant something sacred. Now it just sounded like a warning.

  The boy—Aiden, if I remembered correctly—leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “The Guardians aren’t untouchable,” he said, his voice quiet but certain. “That’s why we’re here. The Sagittarius Guardian was killed.”

  Raphina nodded, lowering her voice. “I overheard she was hunting a celestial artifact when it happened. No body. No trace. Just gone.”

  Amber’s silver eyes glittered with intrigue. “I heard there was betrayal. From someone on her team. But no one’s proven it.”

  A chill rippled through me.

  The murdered Guardian. The whispers. The unanswered questions.

  That was supposed to be my investigation. My purpose for coming here. But then my magic had flared—wild, uncontrollable—and everything shifted.

  I couldn’t even trust myself, let alone solve a mystery that powerful mages couldn’t.

  Before I could dwell on it, the headmistress’s voice cut cleanly through the murmurs. A single, measured throat-clear, and the entire library went still. Her silvery eyes swept across the room, commanding silence as easily as breathing.

  The air thickened with reverence.

  Aiden leaned forward again, his voice barely a whisper now. “The strange part,” he murmured, “is that she was supposed to be at the Placement Ceremony. But she never arrived. It’s like she just—” He hesitated. “Vanished. Until her body showed up.”

  The word lingered between us, and for a heartbeat, I could swear the candles flickered.

  Like even they didn’t want to hear it spoken aloud.

  I was about to press for more details when the sound of deliberate footsteps silenced the room. The headmistress stepped forward, her long robes whispering against the marble floor as she took her place at the front.

  Instantly, every conversation died. Even the air seemed to still.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she began, her voice calm but carrying the kind of authority that didn’t need to be raised to be obeyed.

  Her presence filled the space like starlight—soft, commanding, and utterly inescapable.

  “Now that we’ve all settled in,” she continued, “I want to go over what it means to be a Guardian of the Sagittarius Stone. This role is not to be taken lightly. It is both a tremendous responsibility and a profound honor.”

  I straightened in my chair, my pen poised above a blank page I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fill.

  “Each of you has been chosen for a reason,” the headmistress said. “You now carry the weight of celestial destiny on your shoulders.”