Ranvir frowned across the plains in front of the school. They were much like he’d seen over the last few days, the grooves of tentative rituals carved into loose dirt. They couldn’t have sustained a charge of mana, but would be enough to prove a point. Over the last couple days, Kirs had finalized the channels to draw the stone mana when she needed it. They were, at the moment, inactive, as they didn’t want to reveal the option to any potential watchers.

That most at the school already knew was bad enough. Especially when someone like Captain Tulaiha would go back to the Sleeping Sons in short order.

Footsteps reached Ranvir’s ears as a student approached. Female from the vague scent that wafted ahead of her. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Ranvir closed his eyes. They burned as he shut out the light. But the student didn’t stop behind him. She continued past.

“Dovar,” her voice called, Belnavir translating into Fiyan. “I have a question.” Steps sped up as Dovar’s slowed down. Their voices blurring as he stopped paying attention to them. The translation-field seemed to be randomly picking between Elensk and Fiyan. Sometimes lasting for a week, others not even a full day.

Kirs wasn’t outside today. He’d have noticed that if he’d been paying closer attention. Rolling his shoulders, his wings rustled against the doorway as it turned into a full body stretch.

Walking back into the school, he raised a hand to cover his mouth. An eye-watering yawn that pulled something loose from deep in chest and shook him as much as the stretch had passed right by the barrier of his flesh.

“Good morning to you as well,” Pashar said, smirking at him. He attempted to body-check her, but she nimbly slid around him. “Too slow.”

Wiping his eyes, Ranvir couldn’t muster a worthy reply before she’d passed around the corner of the hallway. As she did, however, a much heavier, almost brutish footstep came the other way.

Estrid strode down the hallway. Her dark-hair had been cut short, ending just below her jaw. Her eyes were firm, jaw set, and fists clenched as she stalked down the hall. Ranvir felt her attention, like an obsidian boulder, settle on his shoulder.

“Ranvir.”

He slowed to a full stop, turning toward her approaching form. A thick sluggish paste of translucent white covered his mind, muting his emotions and slowing his reactions. Yet, the determination in her eyes, and the set of her soul, made a wary yellow burn through the slurry.

She stopped in front of him, taking in a shaky breath and looking him up and down. “Are you okay?”

“Ah…” Pashar’s shushed voice slipped distantly into Ranvir’s ears.

Glancing briefly toward the Ankirian woman standing behind the corner, he nodded to Estrid. The woman’s advances had slowed down over the last couple of weeks. Hopefully, she realized he wasn’t interested.

“I’m fine. A little tired.”

“That’s good. I guess I’ve never seen you tired.” Her eyes grew a little distant as she pondered the issue. She shook herself, refocusing. “Ranvir.” She swallowed and peered into his eyes.

She stood close, just outside of arm’s reach, he realized. Her eyes wide and dark and vulnerable. Fingers rough from hard work and training, fidgeted at a button on her military uniform. Her tongue, glistening in the glyph-light, wet her lips. They were fuller—

Than who? Get yourself together, Ranvir, he cursed mentally, his own breath growing a tad shaky. You’re not interested in either of them. The thought rang hollow and the sudden churning in of the paste, further colors peeking through, called him a liar.

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Her fingers rasped over her knuckles. “Would you li—“

“Ranvir!” Pashar cut in, stepping up to them. She’d gotten close enough that her shoulders brushed both their arms.

When had she gotten so close? Ranvir thought, alarm dispersing the white paste into a thin spider’s net barely covering his alarm. Whether he meant of Pashar or Estrid, he wasn’t sure.

Estrid leapt away until her back touched the wall. Mana flowing into her, eyes wide and furious. Her spirit fairly seared with rage, Discipline emerging from her smoothly. Cloak swept over Pashar like rain buffered by an umbrella.

Her soul welled up as well, though she didn’t go so far as to push against the younger woman. Smoke seemed to boil beneath the surface of her skin, particles of something deadlier weaving between the clouds.

“Kirs asked me to send for you. She’s down in the basement.”

Ranvir gazed from her to Estrid. A flush came over the obsidian woman’s cheeks and she shook her head. Clearing his throat, he nodded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Estrid hissed, her voice so full of vitriol it might bite Pashar. Ranvir had barely gotten around the corner before she’d begun.

“That’s not going to end well. For any of us.” Pashar's voice was dry and scornful.

“What do you mean?”

“Please, don’t act like you don’t know.”

“How is our relationship any of your business?”

Ranvir hesitated. If he continued further away, he would soon lose the conversation, but if he lingered, then Pashar would undoubtedly notice him. Worrying at his lip, he closed his eyes to think, rubbing them gingerly. They were still sore and burning.

“It’s everyone’s concern. Trouble is brewing, and we need everyone to work at their maximum capacity. Especially him.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Estrid sounded defensive.

“Yeah, you’re famous for reliable relationships and no volatility at all. You thought he’d come if you crooked your finger and know you’re obsessed.”

“Obsessed?” Estrid laughed. “Are we going to be fighting you as well? You wanna hang pretty on his arm?”

Oh Goddess… Ranvir couldn’t stop a groan of worry.

“No.” Pashar spoke with derision of someone realizing their opponent is an individual of such challenged intellect, calling them an imbecile would be an insult to all the morons and idiots roaming the world.

Despite everything, a little spark of red hurt cut through the sleep-slurry’s obfuscation. Didn’t have to say it like that.

Estrid scoffed weakly, taking a step back from Pashar. “Then, why?”

“Why? Because Ranvir already has the emotional stability of a tortoise on its back, balanced on a tower of progressively smaller pebbles. He… We don’t need you to kick him into emotional unrest.”

Fire roared within Ranvir. Red the flames licked towards the sky, burning at the ever-growing haze that covered his mind. Despite the ferocity of the sparks, it was all cold. A burn that froze his stomach and back, knotted his hands into glacial masses.

“No,” his voice rolled down the hallway, blowing their back from their faces. He stared down at them. “No. You’re making decisions for me, Pashar. You cannot and you never will. Again, you overstep. I am not,” the word cracked on the stone, water and wind splashing his face like needles. “Am not weakly trapped in my bed anymore. Even if I was, Pashar, you still could not speak for me.”

His eyes truly burned now. He towered over her. Staring into her narrowed eyes. Vein on her forehead standing out. Her temple twitched with the tension in her jaw. His hands itched fiercely, yearning to grab her. Bones creaked with the effort of keeping them still.

Distantly, he noticed the storm he heard was not as fierce as the storm he felt. Yet, he could not pull away now. “I am not, and have never been, your doll. To play with and throw aside as you please. You have the most cruel way of forging the path you want.” He straightened, turning away from her. Her dark-skin had paled, and she closed her eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He ignored her, the storm in his head still raging. Distantly, he thought of waves slapping against stone, the rippling of waves all around.

“Ranvir,” Estrid said, sounding off. Strange to his ears. He gazed at her intently, seeing her truly. Her uniform cut the shape of her form crudely. Emphasizing by way of loose and tight fits. A mens uniform, loose in the shoulder, tight in the chest, loose at the stomach, and straining at the waist.

“No, Estrid. I am not interested.” The lie was distant on his tongue. His lips should’ve tasted of salt water.

He strode off, waiting for a sharp bite of mana. Shear, and vicious, and cold, and clean. But it never came. He didn’t see where he was going, nor did he understand where the halls he passed were. He only walked, fighting against a storm that only lived in his memories.

It raged and bit at him, not at all, yet he felt as if every step would tear his heart out through sheer effort. Suddenly, he was outside, startled cries surrounding him. In the distance, a power flared high, yet it was too ephemeral to threaten.

Threads of space pulled into thin lines of purple behind him, growing thicker and stronger until they spun around him, a cocoon behind which no one in the world could find him.