Caelan arrived three days later.
He was everything Alisha wasn't—controlled, composed, flawless in execution. His moon-scripts glowed with perfect symmetry. His shields never flickered.
And he did not hide his disdain.
"Raw power without restraint destroys more than it saves," he said sharply after watching her training.
Alisha snapped back, exhausted and sore. "Then stop watching and help."
Their sparring cracked stone.
Light clashed against light until the sand trembled.
Later that night, shadows breached a minor ward.
Without hesitation, Caelan stepped beside her. Their magic aligned instinctively, shields weaving together seamlessly.
Afterward, he stared at her, breathing hard.
"You're reckless," he admitted. "But… you adapt."
She met his gaze. "And you're rigid. But reliable."
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
Not friends.
Not yet.
But no longer enemies.