Lorik braced. The floor cracked under his boots. His shadows rose to meet my fire, colliding midair in a burst of gold and indigo. The blast sent waves of heat across the mirrored hall.
He pushed again, shadow expanding, expanding lightning spearing through the blaze. I pushed back harder, heart hammering, the world collapsing into light and dark. Only him. No mirrors. No audience.
“Good!” he shouted through the noise. “Now, control it!”
I clenched my jaw, drawing the magic inward. The flames tightened, forming a golden shield around me. His lightning struck it, ricocheted, and that could shatter all the glass along the walls if they weren’t imbued with ancient magic.
Lorik stepped through the haze, eyes gleaming, shadow curling from his fingers. “Now attack.”
I did.
We collided, magic against magic, a surge of heat and shadow that split the air open. His darkness struck from above, mine blazed from below, and for one suspended breath we hung between them—sun and night, fire and void, burning and breaking in equal measure.
Then came the explosion. The Hall shuddered as a ring of fire erupted from my hands, a flare so fierce it drowned the world in gold. For an instant, there was no darkness, no shape, no sound, only light. I had done it. The brightest, fiercest blaze I had ever summoned.
When the flames ebbed, I found myself on my knees, smoke rising from my palms. Across the floor, Lorik stood untouched; his silhouette edged in shadows. He had shielded himself. Shadows coiled around him like armor, perfect and unbroken.
I’d given everything I had, poured every ounce of fire into that one strike. And still, he was standing. My magic was gone,my body trembling with exhaustion but even as the last embers faded, a wild spark of pride flared inside me. I had done it.
He walked toward me slowly, shadows dimming around his hands.
“Not bad,” he said quietly.
I looked down at my hands, still trembling, and heat bleeding into the floor. “Not bad? That’s all you will say? I gave everything I had.”
“You might not be able to beat me yet or maybe ever,” Lorik said, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “But this is a good start.”
Lorik then extended his hand toward me, wordless and unwavering.
I stared at it, jaw tight.
Even after everything he’d helped me channel my magic, after he’d seen I was more than a Solenhart. I wasn’t taking his hand.
I would stand on my own.
Every muscle screamed as I pushed myself upward. My knees trembled, smoke curling from my fingertips, exhaustion clinging to my lungs, but I still rose. Stubborn to the bone. I could have used the help. I might have even wanted the help. But I didn’t take it.
And I didn’t look away from him once.
He stood just inches away.
“You are so self-centered, you really think I could never beat you?” I asked with an edge of challenge.
“I’m just being realistic,” he said. “You’re not going to beat me. But maybe next time you’ll learn how to control your magic infront of a wildweaver and you’ll definitely be able to scorch your boyfriend’s ass when you decide to defend a commoner.”
This time, he actually smiled. He didn’t bother hiding it, as if he genuinely believed this was the highest praise he could offer.
And I knew exactly what he was referring to. He’d seen, just like everyone else, the moment I stood between Jan and Thalen when Thalen’s superiority and jealousy had boiled over, and I refused to let him treat a commoner like he was beneath him. Lorik had also watched all of it.
This didn’t mean we were anywhere close to resolving our differences. We were still miles apart on the scale of loathing and for reasons neither of us could deny. But this… this was something else. A shift. A hairline fracture in the story he’d already written about me.
I had proven him wrong.
I wasn’t cruel.
I wasn’t my family.
I believed commoners weren’t less than nobles.
