The academy was quiet again. Too quiet for dawn.
The wind brushed against the old spires, carrying the faint scent of burnt stone. Taren stood by the east wall, cloak undone, staring at the first stripe of gold climbing over the valley. His fingers twitched against the cold railing — every movement leaving faint traces of ember under his skin.
Footsteps. Soft. Familiar.
"You're up early," Serin said.
He didn't turn. "Didn't really sleep."
"I figured."
Her voice was steady, but her eyes weren't. She looked like someone who'd seen a storm and still felt the thunder hiding under her ribs.
Taren smirked faintly. "You should be in the north dorm. Kael would throw a fit if he finds you here."
She leaned against the railing beside him. "Then let him."
Silence again. The kind that held a thousand unspoken things — questions neither of them dared to say first.
Finally, she whispered, "You felt it again, didn't you?"
He hesitated. "I don't know what I felt."
"You do," she said softly. "You just don't want to say it."
He looked at her now. Really looked. The pale dawn light caught in her silver hair, and for a moment, the mark on her wrist glowed faintly — the same pulse as his. "Kael said to keep our distance," he muttered. "This probably counts as disobedience."
Serin gave a small laugh. "Since when did you ever listen to him?"
"Since my last firestorm almost burned a training field."
"Almost," she corrected. "You stopped it."
He exhaled, rubbing his temple. "No. You stopped it."
Her gaze softened. "We both did."
---
The wind moved around them — gentle, aware, listening. Neither noticed at first how the air hummed between them, a quiet vibration that matched the rhythm of their breathing.
Taren felt it first. That subtle warmth crawling under his palm. He clenched his fist instinctively, hiding it.
"Still burning?" Serin asked, eyes lowering to his hand.
He shook his head. "Still pretending not to."
She smiled faintly, but her tone was low. "You don't have to."
---
A moment passed before she spoke again. "Kael's worried. He thinks the resonance is changing."
"Changing how?"
"He didn't say," she admitted. "Just that it's adapting… like it has a will."
"Great," he said dryly. "Now it's a living thing."
Her eyes met his. "Maybe it always was."
---
The sound of boots echoed from behind them — measured, deliberate. They turned at the same time.
Instructor Kael stood by the archway, coat half-buttoned, eyes sharp even under the soft light. But he wasn't alone.
A woman followed him — tall, dark cloak, insignia gleaming silver across her shoulder. Her presence alone bent the air around her, calm yet dangerous.
"Taren. Serin," Kael said. "This is Council Envoy Lys. She arrived before sunrise."
Lys's gaze swept over them — first to Taren's palm, then to Serin's wrist. Her eyes narrowed just slightly. "So it's true."
Taren frowned. "What's true?"
"That two Aether frequencies merged without catalyst. That alone should be impossible."
Serin stepped forward. "We didn't do it intentionally."
"I know," Lys said calmly. "That's what makes it worse."
---
Kael shot her a warning look, but she continued anyway.
"The Council has been monitoring fluctuations across the region. Last night's resonance storm registered beyond the academy's barrier. You two triggered it."
Taren crossed his arms. "You're welcome."
Lys ignored the sarcasm. "This is not a victory, boy. It's a warning."
Kael's voice lowered. "Envoy Lys has been sent to observe the situation — nothing more."
"Observe," Taren repeated. "Or control?"
The woman's expression didn't change. "That depends on what you become."
Her words cut sharper than steel.
Serin's voice trembled slightly. "You talk like we're a weapon."
"You could be," Lys replied. "And weapons are rarely left unsupervised."
---
Kael finally stepped between them. "That's enough for today. The Council will receive a report when I say it's ready."
Lys's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I hope you're not hiding things again, Kael. Last time the Academy tried that, it didn't end well."
He didn't answer. Neither did Taren or Serin. The envoy turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the marble hall until they vanished into silence.
When she was gone, Kael rubbed his forehead. "Listen to me carefully — both of you. Keep your distance until further notice. And if anything… strange happens again, you come to me immediately."
Taren sighed. "Define strange."
"You'll know," Kael said quietly.
He walked away, leaving them under the soft dawn light, shadows long and cold.
---
Serin was the first to speak. "You're thinking of ignoring him again."
He gave a tired smirk. "You're thinking of following anyway."
Her lips curved slightly. "You're not wrong."
He looked at her then, eyes half-lit by the sunrise. "You know, one day this habit of ours will probably kill us."
"Maybe," she said. "But until then, it's keeping us alive."
The wind stirred between them — faint, familiar. The marks on their skin pulsed once in perfect rhythm.
Neither moved.
Neither dared to.
Kael didn't return to his quarters right away.
He stood in the corridor long after they'd gone, hand pressed against the cold windowpane. The valley outside was drowned in light, but his thoughts weren't.
The resonance sphere on his desk still pulsed faintly through the glass walls of the tower. He could feel it — two frequencies weaving just beyond the edge of understanding.
When Rhea's voice broke through the silence, he didn't turn.
"You're hiding them again."
Kael exhaled, half a sigh, half a tired laugh. "I'm protecting them."
"From what? Themselves?"
He finally looked at her. "From the Council."
Rhea leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You really think Lys came here just to observe?"
"She's here to measure risk," Kael said. "And if she finds it…"
"She'll erase it," Rhea finished, flatly. "Just like before."
Kael didn't deny it. His gaze drifted back to the mountains — to the shimmer of Aether that rose with every gust of wind. "Not this time," he said quietly. "I won't let them repeat it."
---
Later that evening
The academy felt restless — like a bird that couldn't decide whether to fly or hide.
Students moved in hushed tones through the courtyards. Word had already spread: the Council sent an envoy.
In the training yard, Taren hurled a sphere of flame into the dusk, watching it scatter into harmless sparks before fading. He was supposed to stop for the night. He didn't.
The fire didn't tire him anymore — it pulsed like something alive, feeding off his heartbeat.
"Still ignoring Kael?"
The voice came from behind. Calm. Familiar.
He turned. Serin stood by the steps, cloak half slipping off one shoulder. "You shouldn't be here," he said automatically.
"Then neither should you."
He stared for a moment, then sighed. "You make it hard to argue."
"I make it easy to understand," she replied.
---
She walked closer, and for a moment neither spoke. The quiet between them wasn't awkward — it was heavy, deliberate. Every breath seemed to shape the air.
"You're scared," she said finally.
Taren scoffed. "Of what? Some Council officer with a fancy badge?"
"Not her," Serin said. "Yourself."
That stopped him.
Her tone was gentle, but it cut deeper than anything Lys had said.
He looked away. "I know what happens when I lose control."
"And this time," she said softly, "you didn't."
He laughed under his breath. "You sure about that? Because it doesn't feel like control. It feels like falling — and liking it."
Serin's eyes met his. "Then maybe stop fighting it for a second."
---
He stared at her, heat crawling up his throat. "You think that's easy?"
"I think it's necessary," she said. "You keep trying to cage the fire, but it's not meant to be caged. Not if it's connected to the wind."
The space between them hummed — faint, almost invisible. Her mark flickered once beneath her wrist; his palm answered.
The resonance came uninvited. Not as a surge this time, but as a whisper.
They both felt it — a heartbeat that wasn't one or the other, but both.
Serin blinked, eyes wide. "You feel that?"
"Yeah," he breathed. "And it's not stopping."
They stood perfectly still. The torches lining the yard bent inward, their flames curving toward them.
---
"Stop," Taren said, half to himself. "Stop, damn it—"
"Don't," Serin whispered. "You'll break it."
The pulse grew louder — no heat, no wind, just resonance. It wrapped around them like sound turned into light.
Taren's breath hitched. "Serin…"
"I'm here."
"Then tell me what this is."
"I don't know," she whispered, voice trembling. "But it feels like it's choosing us."
He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself. "Or binding us."
"Same thing, maybe."
Her hand lifted, unthinking. His did too. Their fingers didn't touch — just hovered close enough for the air to spark.
The mark on her wrist pulsed again — once, twice — and he felt each beat against his own chest.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
---
The silence that followed was different. Not empty — sated.
Serin exhaled slowly. "It didn't hurt this time."
Taren nodded, still dazed. "No… it didn't."
She tilted her head. "You were scared, weren't you?"
He almost smiled. "You're getting annoyingly good at reading me."
"I'm not reading," she said. "I'm feeling."
---
The courtyard wind stirred, brushing against them both before carrying upward, scattering faint silver sparks into the air.
Taren looked up, following them with his eyes. "You think Kael knows this happened?"
"Probably."
"You think he'll tell the Council?"
She hesitated. "No. He looked more afraid of them than of us."
He gave a small, tired grin. "That's new."
"Maybe he remembers what happened the last time," she said softly.
He turned to her. "The last time what?"
She didn't answer. Her gaze drifted past him — toward the tower where Kael's light still burned in the window.
The faintest shiver passed through her, like the wind carrying someone else's memory.
---
Inside the tower, Kael was indeed watching.
The resonance sphere pulsed again — slower now, but stronger. Stable. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Rhea's voice came from the shadows. "They're synchronizing again."
"I know."
"You're not stopping it."
Kael's hand tightened around the edge of the desk. "Because maybe it's not meant to be stopped."
---
Back in the courtyard, Serin's cloak fluttered softly as she turned to leave. "You should rest, Taren."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Because that's been working so well."
She gave a small laugh, then started walking toward the dorms.
Halfway there, she paused. "Taren?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't fight it next time."
He didn't answer — not out loud. But the ember in his palm flickered once, and somewhere along the breeze, the wind answered.
The candlelight in Kael's office trembled as if eavesdropping.
Rain had started outside, soft at first — not a storm, just the kind that whispered against windows like it had something to say.
Kael didn't move. He stood by the crystal sphere again, watching the two threads of light pulsing inside it. They no longer clashed. They danced.
The door opened without a knock.
"Still awake," Lys said, stepping in. "Old habits, Kael."
He didn't look up. "You always preferred watching people in their worst hours."
"That's when they're honest," she replied, shutting the door behind her.
Her eyes drifted to the sphere. "You should have destroyed it."
Kael's jaw flexed. "And erase the only proof of what's happening?"
"Proof?" Lys repeated, walking closer. "Or temptation?"
He met her gaze finally. "You didn't come here to observe, Lys. You came to see if the rumors were true."
"And they are," she said simply. "Two frequencies merging, one flame, one wind… I saw the readings. It's almost poetic."
"It's dangerous."
"Everything worth remembering is."
---
He turned away, the tension in his shoulders coiling tighter. "You think this is something you can catalogue for the Council?"
"I already have."
He froze. "You didn't—"
"Relax," Lys said softly. "I didn't use their names. I called it Prototype 01."
Kael's breath caught. The term hit like a blade unsheathed. "You didn't just make that up."
She tilted her head. "You remember the old records, don't you?"
"Don't pretend you do," he snapped.
"Oh, I do," she said, her tone turning almost wistful. "Two centuries ago. The same phenomenon. A resonance strong enough to rewrite Aether itself. The scholars called it divine. The victims called it fate."
"They died," Kael said quietly. "All of them."
Lys's lips curved faintly. "Depends on how you define 'died.'"
---
Kael stared at her. "Don't romanticize it. Whatever happened then broke the fabric of balance. The academy spent generations hiding it for a reason."
"And yet here it is," she said, pointing to the sphere. "You can't bury what wants to live."
He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're not going to tell them, are you?"
"I haven't decided."
"Decide fast," he said. "Because if the Council gets wind of what this really is—"
"They'll eliminate the source," she finished for him. "Yes. I know."
Her voice was quiet now. "That's why I came to you first."
He frowned. "You're warning me?"
"No," she said. "I'm asking you to choose. If this resonance evolves… do you intend to study it, or protect it?"
Kael's answer came without hesitation. "Both."
Lys smiled — a small, sharp thing. "I thought so."
She turned to leave, but paused by the door. "One last thing."
"What?"
"Those two," she said. "Vale and Aeris. Keep them apart, and you'll break them. Keep them together…"
"And?" he pressed.
She looked back, eyes glinting like someone who'd already read the ending. "Then pray your academy survives what's coming."
The door shut behind her.
---
Elsewhere — North Dorms
Serin lay awake.
Rain slid down the glass beside her bed, tracing crooked lines that caught the faint green shimmer of her Aether mark.
Every drop of water sounded like a breath that wasn't hers.
And every few heartbeats, a warmth pulsed under her skin — the echo of fire.
She whispered into the dark. "Taren…?"
No answer.
But her chest tightened anyway, as if someone had just exhaled far away.
She closed her eyes. Go to sleep.
Except she couldn't. Because the moment she did, she felt him.
Not words. Not thoughts.
Just the shape of him — restless, awake, pacing.
---
South Wing
Taren was doing exactly that.
He paced across the dim dorm room, hands buried in his hair, every nerve humming. His body wanted rest. His mind refused.
He stopped by the window, staring at the rain. It reminded him of her — calm but never still.
And then he felt it.
A flicker across his chest — light, almost like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
He frowned, pressing a hand over it. "Serin?"
The word slipped out without thinking.
A second later, the ember under his skin pulsed twice — faint, deliberate.
He froze. "You're not serious…"
But the pulse came again.
He blinked hard, whispering into the quiet, "If you can hear me, say something."
Nothing.
Then — warmth.
Not sound, not sight — just the unmistakable feeling of laughter.
He whispered, half to himself, "You're laughing? You—"
The warmth intensified, as if answering, You're impossible.
Taren's lips twitched into a reluctant grin. "Yeah, well… welcome to my head."
---
For the first time in days, he sat down — actually sat — and let the silence breathe around him.
Outside, the rain kept whispering against the window.
He didn't know how long it lasted — seconds, minutes, forever — but eventually, his eyes grew heavy.
The last thing he felt before drifting off wasn't exhaustion.
It was presence.
The soft hum of someone else's heartbeat blending with his.
Morning came without light.
The rain hadn't stopped — it just learned to fall quieter.
Kael sat at his desk, a cup of untouched tea cooling beside the resonance sphere. He hadn't slept. The sphere pulsed once every few seconds — steady now, calm — like the breathing of something alive.
He told himself it was a trick of perception.
He didn't believe it.
When he finally looked down, he noticed the file Lys had left behind.
Its cover was torn at the corner, edges marked with ink that wasn't his. One phrase was written across the top in the old Aetherian script:
> Prototype: 01 — Echo Symmetry.
He opened it carefully.
Inside were diagrams, notes, fragments of equations — some familiar, others older than the academy itself. The last page carried a simple annotation, faded with age:
> If the resonance completes, they will no longer be two.
Kael closed the file slowly, his hands shaking.
He didn't notice the sphere flicker behind him — red and silver threads weaving tighter, pulsing once, as if listening.
---
Meanwhile — North Dorms
Serin woke to the sound of wind tapping against glass.
The storm had moved on, but the air still trembled — the kind of silence that came after something unseen had passed.
Her breath came slow, her heartbeat slower.
For a second, she didn't know where she was.
The sheets smelled faintly of smoke.
That didn't make sense.
She sat up, blinking. The mark on her wrist glowed faintly, a soft green like dawn through leaves. It pulsed once — and in that instant, she felt it.
Warmth.
Not her own.
Someone else's heartbeat, faint, steady, echoing from somewhere far but not far enough.
Her fingers pressed over her chest. The pulse faded, but its echo lingered.
"...Taren?" she whispered.
No answer. Only the soft rustle of the curtains, moving as if something invisible had just slipped past them.
---
South Wing
Taren woke the same way — not from noise, but from absence.
His room felt wrong, slightly tilted, like he'd been pulled out of a dream he couldn't remember.
His palm burned faintly — not pain, just a dull warmth.
He lifted it to the light. The ember under his skin glowed once, in rhythm with something he couldn't name.
He rubbed his eyes, muttering, "Great. Now I'm dreaming while awake."
Except he remembered something. Not an image — a feeling.
Wind brushing his face. A voice that wasn't a voice, whispering words that didn't exist but meant stay.
And then — silence.
---
He stepped outside.
The courtyard was washed clean by rain, the air sharp with the smell of wet stone. Sunlight broke through the clouds in scattered streaks, and for the first time in days, it didn't feel heavy.
Serin was already there, standing under one of the arches, her hair still damp from the morning.
"You couldn't sleep either?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I saw something. Or… felt something."
He frowned. "A dream?"
"I don't know." She looked down at her hands, at the faint shimmer still there. "It felt real."
He stared at her for a moment, then quietly said, "What did it feel like?"
She hesitated. "Like I wasn't alone. Like someone else was… breathing for me."
Taren froze.
She caught his expression. "You too?"
He didn't answer — but that was enough.
Their silence said more than words could.
---
The wind shifted.
A single petal drifted between them, torn loose from the academy's glass trees. It glowed faintly as it fell, catching both colors — red and silver — before vanishing into the puddle at their feet.
Taren stared at it. "You ever think the world's trying to tell us something?"
Serin smiled faintly. "It's been trying. We're just terrible listeners."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "That sounds like something Kael would say."
"Then maybe he's not wrong."
They stood there for a while — no words, no explanations. Just the wind brushing past, carrying that same quiet hum neither could name.
---
From the tower above, Kael watched them from the window, unseen.
He'd seen the pulse again — faint, synchronizing without contact.
He whispered under his breath,
> "It's starting earlier than it should…"
The resonance sphere on his desk flickered once more.
Two threads of light spiraled inside it, closer now — not merging, not yet — but searching for the point where they'd meet.
The hum that filled the room wasn't sound.
It was heartbeat.
The day stretched on, calm on the surface, but the academy could feel it — that strange stillness before something new begins.
Every hallway hummed just slightly, like walls remembering a song no one taught them.
Kael walked those halls with a pace that wasn't slow, but cautious. He carried the folder — Prototype 01: Echo Symmetry — under his arm.
Every step made the papers inside whisper.
---
Kael's Office
He placed the folder on his desk, next to the resonance sphere, and activated the recording quill. The faint hum of Aether filled the air.
"Observation log, day six," he murmured. "Subjects: Vale, Taren. Aeris, Serin. Resonant stability remains consistent even after enforced separation. Possible subconscious synchronization noted. Unknown trigger — possibly emotional frequency alignment."
He paused, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "In short… they're connecting even when they shouldn't be."
The quill scratched the words automatically as he spoke.
He stared at the sphere. Two faint lights — red and silver — twined lazily inside, pulsing in rhythm.
Then, for the first time, he noticed something else.
A third pulse. Smaller. Fainter.
Out of sync — like an echo between them.
He whispered, "What are you?"
The sphere flickered. The pulse vanished.
Kael leaned back, uneasy. "Don't tell me it's learning."
---
South Wing — Afternoon
Taren sat on the training platform, legs stretched out, the sun hitting his face. He should've been meditating. He wasn't.
He had a pebble in his hand — just one — and every time he focused, it lifted an inch before falling again. His control was fine. His focus wasn't.
He muttered, "You ever stop thinking for one damn minute…"
"Who are you talking to?"
He looked up. Serin stood there again, her shadow cutting through the sunlight.
He blinked. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Neither are you."
"You keep saying that."
"Because you keep needing to hear it."
He smiled faintly, tossing the pebble aside. "You're starting to sound like my conscience."
She sat beside him, cross-legged. "Maybe I am."
---
They didn't talk for a while. The sun warmed the stone under them, the kind of quiet that didn't need filling.
Then Serin spoke, her tone almost casual. "Something strange happened this morning."
Taren didn't look at her. "Define strange."
"I felt… someone else's emotion. Like—" she paused, struggling to find the word, "—like sadness. But it wasn't mine."
He blinked slowly. "When?"
"Right before sunrise. It passed in seconds."
He hesitated. "I woke up feeling the same."
Her eyes lifted to his. "Then it was you."
He frowned. "Or you."
They both laughed — not because it was funny, but because the alternative was too strange to process.
---
She leaned back on her hands, eyes on the clouds. "Kael's going to lose his mind if he figures this out."
"He already has," Taren muttered.
"Still," she said quietly, "if this keeps happening…"
"What?"
Her voice softened. "We'll stop knowing where one of us ends."
He didn't answer for a long moment. Then, almost a whisper, "Maybe that's not always bad."
She turned toward him. "You don't mean that."
He looked away. "Maybe I don't know what I mean anymore."
The wind stirred between them. It didn't rush or swirl — it listened.
---
Kael's Tower — Evening
Kael studied the sphere again, brows furrowed. The readings fluctuated faster now, reacting to something outside his room.
He glanced out the window toward the south wing — the direction of the training platforms. The pulse spiked.
The quill scribbled furiously on its own:
> Resonant overlap increasing. Emotional frequency surge detected. Synchronization ratio nearing threshold.
Kael whispered, "No… it's too soon."
But the sphere pulsed again — three beats, perfectly aligned.
Then four.
Then one long, low hum that made every torch in the room flicker.
He backed away slightly, his voice barely a breath. "You're feeding on them."
---
Back at the platform
Taren winced suddenly, clutching his chest. "Did you—?"
Serin nodded, breath catching. "Yeah… I felt it."
"What was that?"
Her voice trembled. "It felt like… us."
He stared at her, trying to steady his breathing. "Whatever this is, it's getting stronger."
Serin swallowed hard. "And closer."
He nodded once. "Maybe Kael's right. Maybe we should keep our distance."
She smiled faintly. "And you're saying that with your hand still glowing."
He looked down — his palm burned faintly red again. The same pulse shimmered under her wrist.
This time, neither hid it.
---
The air around them shimmered, light bending slightly, faint ripples spreading through the space.
The sound it made wasn't wind — it was heartbeat.
Two rhythms. One echo.
Serin whispered, "You feel it too, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"It's not hurting."
"Not yet."
They sat in silence, watching the glow fade — not gone, just sleeping.
Above them, the clouds parted. Two streaks of light — one silver, one gold — cut through the sky, meeting for a second before drifting apart again.
Neither of them noticed.
But Kael did.
And his heart sank.
Night crept in without warning.
The academy lights dimmed one by one until only the towers glowed faintly against the sky, their sigils pulsing like heartbeat marks across stone.
The rain had stopped.
But the air still carried the memory of it — that damp, metallic scent that always followed change.
Taren lay awake again.
Sleep came close, then slipped away like a shy creature. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes — not of faces, but feelings. Warmth. Wind. Silver light bending around fire.
He rolled onto his side, muttering, "You're not here. You're not."
The ember under his skin flickered anyway.
---
North Dorms
Serin wasn't sleeping either.
She sat by the window, chin resting on her knees, staring at the courtyard below.
The lamps there looked softer tonight — halos of light instead of fire.
Her breath fogged the glass. She traced a circle on it absentmindedly.
Halfway through, her hand stopped.
There — reflected in the window's faint shimmer — stood a figure behind her.
Tall, blurred, indistinct.
Not threatening. Just… familiar.
She turned quickly.
No one.
Her pulse quickened. She faced the glass again.
The reflection was gone.
But her mark — the one on her wrist — glowed faintly in the shape of two intersecting spirals.
She covered it with her sleeve, whispering, "Not again."
The wind outside rose softly, brushing her hair across her face.
For a second, it carried warmth instead of chill.
And then — the whisper.
Not sound, not language — just presence.
Serin…
She froze.
Her heart skipped once. "Taren?"
No answer.
But she felt him — the emotion, raw and quiet. Sadness.
Like someone who'd been searching in a dream and couldn't find the door back.
---
South Wing
Taren's eyes snapped open.
His breath came short, as if someone had just said his name.
The air in his room shimmered faintly, carrying a silver tinge.
He stood up slowly, every sense alert.
The ember in his palm glowed, bright enough to light the walls in soft red.
"Serin?" he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him.
The flame pulsed once.
Then again.
And in the still air, her whisper reached him — faint, trembling, but real.
> "I see you."
He froze. "Serin—?"
But before the word left his mouth, the world shifted.
---
The Dream
The courtyard wasn't the courtyard anymore.
It was endless — the ground made of mirrored light, the air filled with slow-moving dust that shimmered like stars caught in wind.
Taren stood in the center of it, barefoot, unsure if he was dreaming or remembering.
When he looked down, he saw two shadows on the reflective ground — one his, one not.
"Serin?" he called softly.
The echo answered before she did.
Then she appeared.
She stood a few steps away, her hair moving though there was no wind. Her eyes glowed faintly, silver and soft.
Neither spoke at first.
The space between them rippled faintly, as if reality itself was trying to remember the right distance.
Taren whispered, "Is this a dream?"
Serin shook her head. "I don't think so."
He took a step closer. The light beneath their feet brightened.
"Then what is it?"
Her voice was barely a breath. "Something that remembers us."
They stood there — two silhouettes painted in the reflection of stars, the air humming softly with invisible rhythm.
When she reached out, her hand didn't touch his. It passed through light, through warmth — and the space between them sang.
A tone so pure it hurt to feel.
Neither flinched.
Serin closed her eyes. "It feels like the world is breathing."
He nodded, voice trembling. "With us."
---
The dream began to fade — not vanish, but blur.
The sound dissolved into something like a heartbeat far away.
As the light dimmed, their shadows merged for the briefest second. One outline. One pulse.
Then the dream shattered.
---
Back in the waking world
Serin woke with a gasp. The room was still dark, but her pulse hammered in her chest. She clutched her wrist — her mark burned faintly, fading to normal after a few seconds.
Her whisper was almost inaudible. "What are you doing to us?"
---
Taren woke the same moment.
His hand was glowing again. The ember flickered wildly before calming into a steady, faint rhythm — one, two, one, two.
He exhaled, trying to steady his breath. But deep down, he knew something had changed.
The fire didn't feel like his anymore.
It felt… shared.
---
Kael's Tower — Pre-dawn
Kael sat with his head in his hands. The resonance sphere on his desk had gone dark — no light, no hum.
For the first time since this began, silence.
He looked up at the faint outline of dawn through the tower window.
"Please," he whispered to no one, "don't let this repeat itself."
The sphere pulsed once — faint, silver and red.
Kael froze.
He stepped closer. The pulse repeated, slower, deliberate.
And just before it dimmed again, faint letters formed along the glass surface — not written, but etched in light.
> "They have found each other."
Kael's breath caught.
The message faded before he could speak.
Outside, dawn broke — quiet, pale, and too early.