The training chamber was not a room.
It was a compromise.
Stone walls reinforced with old magic. No windows. No decorations. Only faint golden lines etched into the floor — safeguards, Caelan had said.
"Those will stop it if you lose control," he added, then paused.
"In theory."
Avelyncè stared at the lines.
"…I don't like the words in theory."
---
They were alone.
No council. No guards.
The throne itself was far away — deliberately so.
And yet, the warmth in her chest remained.
"Close your eyes," Caelan instructed.
She did.
The moment she did, the warmth flared.
Not violently.
Eagerly.
Avelyncè sucked in a breath.
"It's… listening."
"Don't command it," Caelan said. "Just feel."
She focused.
Beneath the warmth was something deeper.
Old.
Patient.
Watching.
"It's tired," she whispered.
Caelan frowned. "Tired?"
"Yes. Of choosing wrong."
---
The lines on the floor glowed faintly.
Avelyncè opened her eyes.
"I didn't ask it to do that."
"That's the problem," Caelan said. "You don't have to."
---
She lifted her hand experimentally.
The air shifted.
The golden lines brightened.
Avelyncè gasped, pain spiking through her chest like a warning.
She dropped her hand instantly.
"…It hurts," she said, voice shaking.
Caelan was beside her in an instant.
"That's your limit."
She swallowed. "What happens if I ignore it?"
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
---
They tried again.
Slower.
Breathing together.
Matching rhythm.
The warmth steadied, no longer pulling — just present.
Avelyncè exhaled.
"This feels… wrong."
"In what way?"
"Like it's borrowing me."
Caelan stiffened.
"That's what he wanted," he said quietly.
"Who?"
"The one who was rejected."
The air cooled.
---
A sudden pressure slammed into the chamber.
The golden lines flared blindingly bright.
Avelyncè screamed, clutching her chest as the warmth turned sharp — defensive.
Caelan wrapped his arms around her without thinking.
"Stop," he whispered fiercely. "You're here. Not it. You."
The pressure eased.
The lines dimmed.
Silence fell.
---
Avelyncè sagged against him, breath uneven.
"…I don't want to be a door," she said softly.
Caelan held her steady.
"Then we make sure you're not."
Far below the palace, a shard of gold cracked.
Lord Sevrin Kael frowned for the first time.
"That wasn't supposed to happen."