Kael stopped speaking to her.
Not abruptly. Not cruelly.
He simply… closed.
When Elara greeted him in passing, he inclined his head but did not slow his steps. When she trained nearby, his gaze never lingered. His shadows stayed tight and disciplined, no longer reacting to her presence as they once had.
It was as if he had taken everything dangerous inside him—care, longing, hope—and buried it somewhere so deep even he could not reach it again.
The academy noticed the change.
"See?" someone whispered. "Even he knows his place now."
Elara noticed something else.
Kael stopped correcting her form during drills. Stopped intervening unless absolutely necessary. When danger rose, he acted with brutal efficiency—but never with softness.
Never for her alone.
It hurt in a way she couldn't explain to anyone.
Lucien filled the space Kael left behind.
He walked her to meals. Sat beside her during lectures. Spoke warmly of futures and duty and light. People smiled at them like they were already a story written to its perfect end.
"You seem distracted lately," Lucien said one evening, fingers brushing her sleeve. "Is something troubling you?"
She thought of Kael standing alone at the wardstones, bloodied and silent.
"I'm fine," she lied.
Lucien smiled. "Good. I worry when you disappear into your thoughts. It's not safe."
The word scraped her nerves.
Safe.
That night, the alarms rang again.
This time, it wasn't a creature—it was sabotage. Wards collapsed in sequence, precise and deliberate. Panic spread.
Kael moved first.
He didn't look for Elara.
He sealed breaches, redirected power, absorbed backlash that would have killed others. His movements were sharp, efficient, empty of hesitation.
Elara saw it clearly then.
He wasn't protecting the academy.
He was punishing himself.
When the chaos settled, Lucien stood at the center, light blazing.
"We were attacked," he announced. "But we endured."
Cheers followed.
Kael leaned against a pillar at the edge of the courtyard, breathing hard, blood dark at his collar.
No one noticed.
Elara did.
She didn't run to him.
She walked.
Quietly. Deliberately.
Every step toward him felt like crossing an invisible line.
"Kael," she said softly.
He didn't answer.
"You're hurt."
"It doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
That got his attention.
Slowly, he looked at her—not with warmth, not with longing, but with something shut tight and locked away.
"You shouldn't be here," he said flatly. "You made your choice."
"So did you," she replied. "You chose to disappear."
His jaw tightened. "I chose control."
"And you're bleeding for it."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and aching.
"I don't stand beside you anymore," Elara continued quietly. "I don't defend you publicly. I don't say your name when they curse it."
He flinched.
"But every time they praise him," she said, voice steady despite the pain, "I see you instead."
Kael looked away.
"You don't get to save me by erasing yourself," she said.
"I do," he answered. "Because if I don't—"
"You might want something," she finished.
He went still.
"For the first time," Elara whispered, "I'm choosing you. Not loudly. Not where they can see. But here."
She placed her hand over his wounded arm.
He didn't pull away.
He didn't lean in either.
The restraint was devastating.
"You don't understand," Kael said hoarsely. "If this ends badly—"
"It already hurts," she replied. "At least let it be honest."
For a long moment, the villain and the girl the world loved stood together in shadow.
Not touching.
Not letting go.
From across the courtyard, Lucien watched them.
And for the first time, the hero did not smile.
Because Elara's choice had begun—
quietly, painfully—
and it was no longer his to control.