Delphia stepped into the practice hall after another week completed at The Academy, for her next scheduled magic session, heart thrumming with unwanted excitement.
Another day at the Magic Tower, another opportunity to refine her skills without the prying eyes of her stepfamily. Yet she couldn't entirely ignore the tangle of emotions roiling in her chest. Zypher Thorne had—somehow, without explicit formality—taken the role of her instructor for a majority of her lessons.
He was already there, waiting near the runic diagrams etched into the floor, posture casual yet commanding; Other learners milled about at a respectable distance. Over the past lessons with him, Delphia had become accustomed to the hush that fell whenever he began to demonstrate a spell or elaborate on theory. He seemed to gather attention simply by speaking, the undercurrent of his mana—Eighth Circle—speaking even louder than his words.
"Lady Vosswell," he greeted, dipping his head in polite acknowledgment. "I trust you're prepared for today's exercises?"
On the outside, Delphia kept her expression serene. Inside, a small storm brewed: she knew this man as the 'villain' she'd once been fascinated by, the very character fated to die off-page before the novel's final arc. Being in contact with him during this short time has been overstimulating for her senses, but she would miss it if it were gone. She swallowed and forced her tone to remain light.
"Of course," she replied. "I've practiced the layering technique you showed us last time."
"Excellent." Zypher's maroon eyes flicked over her, assessing as usual, as if searching for fractures in her carefully composed exterior. "I'd like to see how you're applying that technique in a real demonstration. Let's start with the synergy we discussed—air element with a mild Dark overlay. You recall the amplitude threshold?"
Delphia nodded, stepping onto the runic circle he indicated. The faint glow of containment wards pulsed at her feet, a quiet reminder of the Tower's careful regulation of volatile magic. I can't let him see how unsteady I feel, she reminded herself. If he caught even a hint of hesitation, it would be another thing to focus on and slowly dissect the reason.
And she needed to keep her priorities in order: avoid the plot, stay alive.
She inhaled slowly, channeling her air element first, then attempting to weave in a measured thread of Dark synergy. Immediately, the shift unsettled her. Unlike Light, which had once yielded to her with relative ease, Dark mana slithered at the edges of her control—resistant, weighty, pulsing like a living thing. The twisting breeze at her fingertips dimmed, dark tendrils threading unevenly through it, disrupting the balance.
It felt… unwieldy. The instability was clear. The currents trembled, edges fraying where her concentration wavered.
Zypher circled her like a predator dissecting weakness. "Your foundation is there," he observed, his voice even. "But you're overcorrecting. Dark mana doesn't bend the same way as Light—it isn't passive. It moves with intention. Right now, you're trying to force it into submission."
Delphia bit back frustration. "I'm aware," she said, sharper than intended. "It's not reacting the way I want."
Zypher studied the unraveling spell with a keen eye before making a small gesture. The unstable currents stilled at once, bending to his will with effortless control.
"You're treating it like a support, when it wants to lead," he said. "Dark magic doesn't 'flow' the way Light does. It clings. It consumes. You have to guide it differently—think of it less as a supporting weave and more as the foundation."
She exhaled, resetting her stance, then tried again. This time, she adjusted her focus, letting Dark mana settle first before layering in air, rather than forcing it to conform to her usual method. The result was far from perfect—still rough, still stubborn—but it no longer fought her as violently. The currents didn't flicker as erratically, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a connection to the element that had once felt foreign to her.
Zypher studied her work, then gave a single nod. "Better. Not controlled yet, but you're learning how to let it move withyou instead of against you."
Delphia dispelled the mana with a sharp breath, tension still coiled tight in her muscles. She wasn't satisfied—not yet. But she had made progress, and that alone was enough to keep her pushing forward.
The rest of the session unfolded in a rhythm that had almost become familiar: Zypher's voice low and deliberate, guiding her through layered theory and correction with a precision that never quite veered into harshness. His coaching was firm, incisive—but threaded with an attentiveness that made it feel almost personal.
Around them, the room hummed with restrained activity. Other students continued their own work, casting minor elemental forms or taking turns with containment circles, but Delphia could feel the shift in the atmosphere. Glances flickered toward her whenever Zypher paused to adjust her stance or offer an observation meant only for her ears. A few hushed whispers passed between pairs at the far edge of the room—none overtly hostile, but colored with curiosity, and perhaps something sharper.
They weren't excluded, exactly. Yet with every moment Zypher spent shadowing her movements, every time he corrected her form with a word rather than a demonstration meant for all, it was clear where the center of gravity in the room had moved.
Delphia caught the stiff posture of a girl from House Meredyn who had, only a week ago, confidently led a session's opening demonstration. Today, she cast furtive glances at Zypher but received no more than a nod. Another boy reset his runes three times in a row, jaw tight, his gaze flicking between Delphia and the instructor he clearly wished would return to broader teaching.
Delphia's hands remained steady, her expression serene, but beneath the surface her thoughts tangled.
Does he notice? She wondered, not for the first time. How easily he's become mine—not by declaration, but by repetition, by focus.
If anyone resented her sudden "private" lessons, they had the grace to keep silent. Still, she felt the tension radiating from the periphery like heat from wardfire. Every subtle deviation in Zypher's attention only made it worse.
And yet—gods, she relished it. Even as her cheeks warmed under the weight of his praise, even as she forced herself to nod with studious composure rather than beam like the girl she once was, curled in bed devouring pages about this man's rise and ruin.
The high of learning from him was still there, dulled only by the dread she couldn't shake.
He'll die soon, the voice inside her reminded, bitter and relentless. Unless I can divert the course. Unless something I do changes everything.
But those were thoughts meant for silence. So instead, she offered a demure smile each time Zypher noted her progress, and met every caution about volatile synergy with an obedient nod. Calm. Collected. The picture of a diligent apprentice.
All while her pulse thrummed with the knowledge that every moment of his attention might be borrowed time.
When they concluded for the day, Zypher took a measured step back. "Your progress is commendable," he said, tone mild as ever, yet Delphia detected the faintest curve of a satisfied smile. "At this rate, you'll surpass the intermediate complexities sooner than most."
"Thank you," she replied softly, fighting the urge to ask a dozen questions about his own approach. She wanted so badlyto know more about him, his motives, his knowledge—why he'd singled her out, why he tested her so relentlessly. The old Delphia would have demanded answers; The new Delphia tried to remain composed, not wanting to get so involved.
He gave her one last, assessing look. "I'll see you at your next session, Lady Vosswell." Then he turned, acknowledging a couple of younger mages waiting with questions of their own.
Delphia gathered her notes, heart still pounding. Another day in The Tower, another lesson overshadowed by Zypher's quietly intense scrutiny. At least tomorrow, she thought with a swirl of both relief and anxiety, I wouldn't be in this practice hall. I'd be in The Academy.
She pressed her notebook to her chest and walked away, tension lingering like static under her skin. This arrangement—this "teacher-student" dynamic—would do for now. But she knew she couldn't keep her inner turmoil hidden forever, not with Zypher's probing gaze dissecting her every incremental progress.
***
It was a few days later when Delphia returned to the Magic Tower on another off-day from the Academy. The corridors buzzed with a familiar flow of robed mages, and she quietly relished the structured hum of arcane study.
Today's session would build on the synergy concepts she'd practiced, but her real anxiety lay in who might be waiting when she arrived. She paused in the atrium, scanning the posted announcements regarding upcoming workshops. A few novices flitted by, carrying scrolls. Then, from behind her, a warm voice spoke up:
"Looking for something in particular, Lady Vosswell?"
She turned to see Zypher standing with his signature poise—one hand casually at his side, the other holding a short list of Tower schedules. His maroon eyes seemed to glow under the gentle lamplight.
Her breath caught, though she forced an even expression. "Not exactly," she replied, glancing at the parchment in his hand. "Just seeing if there's anything new." That was only partly true; if she were honest, she was bracing for whatever he might ask next.
He stepped closer, offering a small half-smile. "There's some advanced synergy classes coming up, a few illusion lectures… even something about resource reserves, if that's your sort of thing." His tone was effortlessly friendly, but she sensed the subtle curiosity behind it, as though each word she spoke would be weighed and studied.
She shrugged lightly. "I might attend one or two in the future. But first, I need to master the basics."
His eyes flickered with mild amusement. "Don't underestimate your progress, Delphia." He tilted the schedule in her direction. "You could likely keep up with advanced lessons soon."
She pretended to study the words but couldn't help noticing the closeness—how his presence filled her peripheral vision.
"I'd rather be sure of my foundation before leaping ahead," she said, injecting a calmness into her voice. "Is that the next class we're headed to?" She pointed to a line reading Elemental Reinforcement Lab: midday.
Zypher nodded. "That's the one. Would you like to walk together, or do you prefer to settle in first?"
Her heart fluttered, though she kept it hidden behind a polite nod. "I'll walk with you."
They strode side by side through the Tower's hallways. Unlike the crisp, formal Academy, the Tower's environment felt more open—yet the tension between them never fully eased. She asked a few questions about the lessons, weaving in a cautious detachment. He, in turn, answered with a wry charm that skimmed over everything and nothing: faint references to the kingdom's political state, minor gossip about the Tower's older Elders, bits of arcane knowledge he'd gleaned in his travels.
"It's surprising," she admitted at one point, "how different the Tower is compared to what I'd read—or heard. Less rigid, more… fluid."
"Fluid suits you," he said mildly, shooting her a passing glance, "given your air alignment. And—how you've changed."
His words hung on that last phrase, as though inviting her to confirm or deny a deeper meaning. Delphia feigned indifference. "We all change. It's inevitable," she replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
Before long, they reached the Elemental Reinforcement Lab. Other mages formed small groups, adjusting runic apparatuses that glimmered with built-up mana. The instructor, an older woman with spectacles perched on her nose, greeted them warmly. Delphia welcomed the interruption from their conversation, uncertain how much longer she could gracefully dodge Zypher's subtle probing.
*
When class ended, a bustle of activity followed—students comparing notes, tidying leftover mana threads, or chatting about personal breakthroughs. Delphia stayed behind to make a final note of the runic diagram they'd just used, only to realize Zypher lingered as well.
He approached once more, setting aside a half-finished conversation with another Mage.
"How was your reinforcement practice?" He asked, voice low enough that the departing students wouldn't overhear.
Delphia looked up from her notebook. "Challenging," she admitted honestly. "But manageable. My synergy's getting better… slowly."
He offered a small, knowing smile. "I can see that. You've gained confidence. Not just in magic, but in how you carry yourself."
Her stomach turned at the hint of suspicion that laced his words. He's gleaning something every time we speak, she realized. But she answered only with a polite dip of her head. "I've found the Tower's approach helpful."
They fell into a brief silence—comfortable on the surface, but alive with unspoken tension. She wondered if he'd press further about her change or her motivations. Instead, he brought up the growing unrest along the kingdom's borders, and a rumor about rogue mages. The conversation drifted from politics to mana resource scarcity and diplomatic strain. Delphia gave mild, thoughtful responses, careful not to overreach.
Finally, she shut her notebook, gaze sweeping the now nearly empty lab. "I should go," she said, forcing a composed half-smile. "I wanted to grab a cup of coffee before I attend another lecture I signed up for."
Zypher's response came with only the faintest delay. "There's a place not far from here," he said casually. "The Lunar Veil Café. They've just restocked with Ariden beans—very rich, very sharp. You might like it."
Delphia blinked. "I didn't know you frequented cafés."
"I don't. But I make exceptions." His gaze flicked to hers. "Would you mind company?"
She hesitated—not out of suspicion, but surprise. Something about his tone was different now. Softer. Like he was setting aside the usual push and pull.
Delphia gave the smallest nod, her voice quiet. "I wouldn't mind."
Zypher's smile came slow and sincere. "Then let me lead the way."
As they stepped out of the lab and into the sun-warmed Tower halls, Delphia couldn't help the faint pull of curiosity tugging beneath her composed exterior.