Selene Virellia was not used to being approached without reason. Not unless someone wanted something.
So when Kael Riven approached her near the rose courtyard with a casual,
"You know, I think you're the only one here who actually reads the history texts,"
she blinked.
Once. Slowly.
"That's… not true," she replied, folding her arms. "Half my peers pretend to. It's different."
Kael gave the faintest grin. "Didn't say they didn't own the books."
He walked beside her then, as if it were the most natural thing. No explanation, no awkwardness. Just quiet steps under blooming branches, letting her curiosity simmer.
Selene tilted her head. "And why are you suddenly interested in my reading habits?"
"Observation," Kael replied. "I'm bored lately. Thought I'd study something new."
"You study people?"
"Sometimes."
"And you chose me first?"
"No," he said. "I chose you now."
There was no flirtation in his voice—no honeyed edge. It wasn't praise. It was interest. Quiet. Measured. Real.
Selene found her brow twitching, not sure if she was amused or annoyed. "You're strange."
Kael shrugged. "Most interesting things are."
He left it at that, walking ahead slightly before turning toward the training hall.
Selene stood in place for a moment longer than she meant to.
From that day, it became routine.
Kael didn't hover. He didn't linger.
But he appeared. In the library. Near the archery range. Outside the alchemy tower. Always at odd hours, always with something to say—not always clever, never empty.
"Did you know your handwriting changes when you're annoyed?"
"That girl you glare at in class—does she know you're glaring?"
"You always pick the second option when given a choice. Safe bet or old habit?"
Selene began to grow wary—not from suspicion, but from being seen. And not the kind of seeing she was used to. Not admiration. Not calculation.
Recognition.
He never brought up Lucien. Never asked about her lineage. Never bowed to her name or recoiled from it.
He didn't even ask why she sometimes stayed late on the astronomy balcony, staring at the sky like she was waiting for it to answer back.
And that unsettled her most of all.
Meanwhile, Kael kept listening.
Not to her words—those were carefully woven, as all nobles' were—but to the weight of them. The cadence. The whisper beneath the voice.
It wasn't the same as that day in the healing chambers—but it was the same soul. He knew it now with certainty. He'd felt it in the wild before—when prey disguised itself, when predators stalked in silence.
Aura wasn't the only thing that could mark someone.
Intent did, too.
And hers… hers had reached through the veil between death and life to drag him back.
Not for glory.
Not for applause.
But because someone—Selene—had wanted him to live.
He didn't know why.
Yet.
On the seventh day of his quiet study, she finally stopped him.
He'd made a passing comment as they crossed paths near the herbal gardens:
"You always pause before entering rooms. Counting something?"
She looked at him, this time not with coldness—but curiosity, sharp and cautious.
"You keep appearing like this. Following me with words. Testing."
Kael tilted his head. "Would you believe me if I said it's not personal?"
"No," Selene said. "Because it is."
A pause.
Then her eyes narrowed—not in anger, but calculation.
"What are you trying to figure out?"
Kael looked at her then. Really looked. The sun behind her caught the silver in her hair, the subtle crease of wariness in her brow.
He smiled faintly.
"Something I don't think you realize you gave me."
Then he walked off, leaving her alone with a heartbeat too loud in her ears.
That night, Selene sat on her bed, brushing her hair in silence.
She hated puzzles she didn't understand.
And Kael Riven was now the sharpest one in the academy.
Midterms arrived like a storm.
Spells flew. Blades clashed. The Academy grounds buzzed with tension as noble heirs and elite talents fought tooth and nail to prove themselves. It wasn't just about grades—it was reputation, legacy, survival.
Everyone bled effort on the training fields.
Everyone but two.
They had been quietly exempted from the practical portion of the midterms.
No protest. No fanfare.
Just a formal notice pinned to the announcement board outside the Great Hall:
Due to considerations regarding overwhelming combat capacity and the potential disruption to peer evaluations, students Kael Riven and Lucien Thorne are excused from this cycle's practical assessments.
No one questioned it out loud.
But whispers spread like wildfire.
Kael and Lucien hadn't just fought. They had shattered expectations. Magic, aura, raw force—unheard of at their age. Rumors said it had taken three Saint-rank healers to stabilize Lucien. And Kael? He had walked the edge of death and clawed his way back with no aid from titles or names.
That kind of power didn't go unnoticed.
And the Academy didn't want a repeat.
Midterms brought a restless, feverish energy.
Combat fields turned into exam sites. Students sprinted across campus in full gear. Spell-casting circles flared at every corner while professors barked feedback and scrawled grades on floating glyphs.
Except for two students.
Kael Riven and Lucien Thorne had nothing to do.
They lingered on the sun-warmed steps outside the south courtyard. The breeze stirred fallen petals from the high gardens above. A few younger students gawked at them in passing, but neither paid it much mind.
Lucien tossed a pebble back and forth between his fingers, watching a group of second-years rehearse a flawed sword pattern.
Kael, leaning back on his elbows beside him, spoke without looking.
"…What kind of gifts do noble girls usually like?"
Lucien fumbled the pebble.
It clattered onto the stone steps.
"…What?"
Kael didn't repeat himself.
Lucien sat up slightly, one eyebrow arched. "That's... not something I ever thought I'd hear from you."
Kael was quiet.
Lucien tilted his head. "Well… it depends. Most noble girls grow up drowning in silk and jewels. They've had their fill of expensive things. So unless it's rare or custom-made, luxury stuff doesn't leave much of a mark."
Kael's brow twitched slightly. "So what does?"
Lucien shrugged, thoughtful. "Things that show you were paying attention. A book she mentioned in passing. A flower from her childhood home. Something personal. Something with thought behind it."
Kael looked ahead again, as if committing it to memory.
Lucien gave him a sideways glance. "…You're not thinking of actually—?"
Kael cut him off before the question finished. "Just wondering."
Lucien smirked. "Right. Just wondering. Must be a hell of a hypothetical girl."
Kael didn't answer.
But in the quiet between them, something unspoken passed.
Not friendship. Not yet. But a strange sort of respect. The kind forged not in shared values—but shared scars.
And as students trained, shouted, and stumbled all around them—Kael Riven sat still… thinking of a voice only he had heard.