Chapter six: The One the Stars Chose
Elara had barely recovered from her humiliating frost orb performance when her class was herded into the Spellforge Arena — a sky-domed training field where clouds changed color depending on your mood.
Today, the clouds were a moody, judgmental purple.
Students circled up, sparring in pairs under the watchful eye of Professor Zephyra. Lightning licked the corners of the dome as spells collided in bursts of light and chaos. Elara, still unsure whether she had any actual talent, mostly dodged and tried not to trip over her own feet.
Then the wind changed. Not just the weather — the energy in the room.
Heads turned.
Lysander Vale had entered the arena.
He walked like he owned the storm.
Golden hair perfectly tousled, his eyes glinting silver like polished blades, and a long dark coat trailing behind him like the wings of a fallen angel. Students stepped aside. Even the clouds above pulsed brighter.
"Elara," Caelin muttered at her side, "behold: Mr. Charming."
"I've seen him," Elara replied, crossing her arms. "He insulted my snowflake."
"Oh, then you've already had the full Lysander experience."
Professor Zephyra straightened. "Vale. Join us."
Lysander nodded once, then scanned the group. His eyes landed on Elara. Something in his gaze changed — the same way water changes when it starts to freeze.
"Pair me with her," he said.
Elara blinked. "What?"
"I want to see what she can do."
Zephyra raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Miss Elara, do you accept the challenge?"
She wanted to say no. She really wanted to say no. But her pride had its own ideas.
"Fine."
The group widened the circle. Elara and Lysander stood across from each other, the air thick with electricity.
"Try not to melt," Lysander said with a smirk.
Elara narrowed her eyes. "Try not to slip."
Zephyra raised her hand. "Begin."
Lysander moved first, fast and smooth — a streak of silver magic curling from his palm. Elara instinctively ducked, rolling to the side. Her pulse thundered. She focused, calling that same chill she'd felt in the crystal orb.
This time, it answered.
Frost snaked along her fingertips. She flung her hand forward and a shard of ice shot across the arena — clumsy but real.
Lysander deflected it with a flick, but his eyes widened — just a fraction.
"You're improving," he said.
"Try not to sound so surprised."
They danced — ice against light, raw instinct against years of honed power. Elara couldn't keep up, not really, but she didn't back down. Not once.
At last, Zephyra called an end. Both students lowered their hands, panting.
"Enough," she said. "Interesting match."
Lysander looked at Elara. "You fight like someone with something to prove."
She met his gaze. "Don't we all?"
He hesitated. Just long enough for Elara to see something flicker behind his arrogance — a shadow. Fear?
Later, as the students dispersed, Caelin caught up to her.
"You know," she said, "for someone who walks around like prophecy incarnate, Lysander never volunteers to spar. Especially not with people he thinks are beneath him."
Elara frowned. "So why me?"
"I don't know. But you rattled him."
Across the arena, Lysander stood alone. Watching the sky.
And his hands — the ones always so steady was trembling