The spikes of earth surrounding Taron slowly crumbled, and I couldn’t help but keep the smirk plastered on my face. It was rare to see an Arcanist so shaken. I let the silence hang in the air a moment longer, savoring the confusion in his eyes. Arcanists, always so composed, always so sure of themselves.

  Finally, he straightened, dusting off his tunic. His green eyes sharpened, clearly assessing me—likely wondering who I was and why I was here. “You’ve got a peculiar way of helping,” he said, his voice steady, but there was an edge to it. Defensive. Predictable.

  I chuckled softly, crossing my arms. “That’s gratitude for you, huh? I save your life, and you criticize my methods.”

  His brow furrowed, the slightest twitch of frustration crossing his face. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  "Clearly," I shot back, glancing at the spikes of earth he’d raised. "But unless you plan on playing statues with your rocks, I figured someone should step in before you became Furybeast dinner."

  He narrowed his eyes, clearly unamused. "I had it under control."

  I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Sure you did. That’s why I’m the one standing here and not the Furybeast.”

  He fell silent for a beat, weighing his next words. Arcanists always liked to think before they spoke—made them slow in conversations, easy to throw off balance. The Sylphar here, though, had more bite than most.

  "And you are?" he finally asked, as if realizing he didn’t even know who had just saved him.

  “Thorian,” I said, letting the name hang between us, waiting for any flicker of recognition. I doubted it. My name wasn’t known in Aether—yet. “And you’re welcome.”

  His jaw clenched ever so slightly, but then he seemed to relax. His composure returned, that calm air slipping back into place. “Well, Thorian,” he said, his voice measured now, “I appreciate the... intervention. But I could’ve handled it.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Taron, by the way. Figured we should know each other’s names, since you seem so eager to jump into my battles.”

  “Of course,” I said, taking a step closer, making sure my presence was felt. “But I didn’t feel like watching you test that theory, Taron. Seemed like a waste of a good fight.” I let his name hang in the air, gauging his reaction. "And besides, introductions usually work better when you’re still in one piece."

  A spark of something crossed his face—was it amusement? Hard to tell. Either way, he wasn’t as stiff as he had been a moment ago. Progress.

  We stood there in a strange silence, neither of us moving. His energy was focused, guarded. I could feel it. He wasn’t sure if I was friend or foe. But what fascinated me was the restraint—Arcanists usually met the unknown with arrogance or aggression. This one was different.

  Before either of us could speak again, a guttural growl cut through the forest.

  The Furybeast I had thrown had managed to drag itself back into the clearing. Blood matted its thick fur, and one of its legs looked twisted, but it was very much still alive. Its glowing, venomous eyes locked onto us, and I felt the familiar twinge of adrenaline returning. I could feel Taron tense beside me.

  And then more growls echoed from the treeline.

  “Well,” I said, casting a quick glance at Taron, “looks like we’ve got company.”

  No sooner had the words left my mouth than two more Furybeasts slunk out of the shadows. They were bigger than the first, their crystalline horns catching what little light filtered through the canopy above. Their low snarls made the air around us hum with tension.

  Taron exhaled slowly, raising his hand, already gathering the air around him. “Any more heroic rescues up your sleeve, Thorian?” he muttered, eyes never leaving the approaching beasts.

  I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar stir of shadows rising at my command. “I’ll try not to show off too much. Wouldn’t want to hurt your pride.”

  Taron let out a snort—his first sign of humor—and for a brief moment, we shared something. Not trust, not even understanding, but an unspoken acknowledgment. We’d fight side by side for now, if only because survival demanded it.

  As the Furybeasts closed in, I grinned, the shadows at my feet twisting and coiling with purpose. Dark energy solidified around my hands, forming sleek, razor-sharp blades from the surrounding shadows.

  “Ready?”

  Taron glanced at me, his smirk fading briefly as his eyes flicked to my hands, a flash of alarm crossing his face. It was subtle, but I saw it. Still, he recovered quickly, the smirk returning, though with a sharper edge. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

  And then, the beasts attacked.

  The first Furybeast lunged with terrifying speed, its crystalline horns gleaming as it crashed toward us. Taron reacted instantly, raising his hand as a gust of wind slammed into the creature, knocking it off balance. I was already in motion, stepping in as shadows coiled around my arms, extending into sharp, lethal blades. I swiped at the beast, my shadow blade cutting into its thick hide, but the strike was off—too shallow.

  “Little more force next time,” Taron called, breathless but grinning as he sent a spike of earth into another beast’s path, knocking it sideways.

  “You trying to give me lessons?” I shot back, sidestepping as a third Furybeast barreled toward me, my blades slicing through the air. The creature roared as I slashed its flank, but it recovered quickly, snapping its venomous jaws inches from my head.

  “Someone’s gotta teach you how to handle these things,” Taron quipped, sending a wall of wind to push the beast off course.

  But our coordination was messy. My shadows collided with his wind more than once, throwing off the flow of our attacks. Taron’s earth spikes nearly impaled me at least twice, and I might’ve knocked him off his feet with a misplaced blast of shadow more than once.

  "Watch it!" he shouted, narrowly dodging one of my blades as it whizzed past his shoulder.

  "Maybe if you didn't get in my way!" I retorted, deflecting a horned attack from another Furybeast, my blade grazing its jaw.

  Two of the beasts reared back, but a third came in from the side, claws outstretched, aiming for Taron’s back. I flicked my wrist, sending a wave of shadow energy crashing into it. The beast was thrown into a nearby tree, but not before it left a deep scratch on Taron’s arm. He hissed, grabbing his arm but quickly pulled it together.

  “Well, that was a bit sloppy,” Taron grunted, sending a tremor through the earth that momentarily stunned the remaining beasts.

  Before I could respond, more screeches erupted from the forest. Three more Furybeasts emerged from the shadows, each one larger than the last. They kept coming, their hulking forms growing wider and wider, as if there was no end to how much space they could fill, until the entire clearing seemed dwarfed by their massive presence.

  “Fantastic,” I muttered, feeling the weight of the situation shift. Playtime was over.

  We exchanged a brief glance, the humor fading from both our faces as the reality of the fight set in. Taron, bleeding but focused, stepped closer to me.

  “No more jokes,” he said, his tone serious now. “We need to be smart.”

  “Agreed,” I replied, my voice low. I felt the shadows surge within me, responding to the urgency. “You cover the left; I’ll take the right.”

  And so, we moved. The clumsy coordination from earlier began to disappear as our instincts kicked in. Taron used the wind to throw one of the beasts off balance, and I followed up with a strike, my shadow blade cutting deep into its side. When another beast charged at me, Taron was there, sending spikes of earth to halt its advance.

  We were still getting hit—claws raking across our skin, fangs barely missing our throats—but we were adapting. Each move I made, Taron seemed to anticipate, and every time he faltered, I was there to cover him.

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  One of the larger Furybeasts leapt high, aiming straight for Taron. He raised a shield of wind, but I could see it wouldn’t be enough. Without thinking, I extended my shadows, wrapping them around the creature’s legs mid-air, yanking it to the ground. Taron seized the moment, driving an earthen spike through its chest.

  He glanced at me, and for the first time, I saw something beyond annoyance.

  "Not bad," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  "Likewise," I replied, panting as I deflected another incoming attack with a swift slash of my shadow blades.

  The beasts weren’t giving up, and neither were we. Each move became smoother, more efficient.

  But somewhere, deep down, the conflict gnawed at me. Fighting side by side with an Arcanist. It felt wrong. It was unnatural, a betrayal to everything I’d been raised to believe. And now here I was, matching his movements, trusting him with my back. The thought made my skin crawl, but I couldn't deny the rhythm we had found. As much as I hated the idea, there was a strange thrill to it, a pull toward the ease of our coordination.

  I caught myself grinning, despite the bitterness rising in my chest. “Didn’t think I’d be saving your skin this many times today,” I called out, letting the arrogance slip into my tone as I sliced through another Furybeast.

  Taron shot back without missing a beat, “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ve still got plenty of tricks up my sleeve.”

  It was infuriating. The way our powers synced, the way we moved—it made sense in a way that it shouldn’t.

  I hated how much I enjoyed the banter, the dynamic, but there was no time to dwell on it. The beasts were relentless, and as much as I wanted to hate this moment, there was something undeniable about the way we fought together.

  We were covered in scratches and bruises, blood trickling from wounds that stung with every motion, but the adrenaline pushed us forward.

  Another beast lunged, and I lashed out with my blades, catching its neck. Taron followed up, slamming the earth beneath its feet, sending it crashing to the ground. We barely had time to catch our breath before the last Furybeast charged, more desperate than the others. Taron gathered a swirling storm of air, and I called on the deepest shadows at my command.

  And together, we unleashed it.

  The beast never stood a chance. It was torn apart by the force of our combined attack, its body collapsing in a heap of fur and crystal shards.

  For a moment, the forest fell silent. The air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat. We stood there, side by side, breathing heavily, bruised but victorious.

  Taron turned to me, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, tired smirk. “Guess we didn’t do too bad.”

  I wiped the blood from my brow and gave him a sideways glance, my own smirk matching his. “Looks like you can keep up after all.”

  “Well, for someone who doesn’t like following orders, you’re surprisingly good at working together.”

  “Who said anything about following orders? I was just keeping you alive because you’re amusing.”

  Taron raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Right. And here I thought you were just enjoying the challenge.”

  I shrugged casually, not bothering to deny it. He had a point. The fight had been a rush, and I couldn’t deny there was something about the way our powers had meshed. But this wasn’t the moment for me to admit that—not to an Arcanist.

  He shifted, glancing at me with a more thoughtful look, the kind that wasn’t just surface-level. “Your magic... it’s different,” he said, carefully diplomatic. “I’ve never seen anyone use shadows like that before.”

  There it was. He wasn’t just curious—he was digging. I could feel it in the way he spoke, like he was circling a question without asking it directly. I folded my arms and met his gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him uncomfortable.

  “You fishing for compliments, Taron? Or trying to figure out what kind of trouble you’ve just gotten yourself into?” I tilted my head, the smirk still lingering.

  Taron’s eyes narrowed slightly, not at all thrown by my teasing. “Just curious,” he replied smoothly. “You handled yourself well back there. It’s rare to see someone with that level of control.”

  “Flattery? Really?” I raised an eyebrow, amused. “You can just ask, you know. I don’t bite.”

  He paused, his gaze calculating. “I suppose I could. But you’re not exactly making it easy.”

  I laughed softly. “I’m not in the business of being easy, Taron.”

  He chuckled, but I could see the gears turning in his head. Arcanists were always careful with their words, trying to pull strings without getting their hands dirty. He was no different. Still, there was something less rigid about him than I expected, something that made this exchange... tolerable. Enjoyable, even.

  “Alright then,” he said, the diplomacy still there but now edged with a touch of sharpness. “Who are you, really? You’re not just some wanderer with a knack for shadow magic.”

  I didn’t answer immediately, letting the moment hang between us. He was inching closer to the truth, but there was no need to give it away so easily. I could see the curiosity in his eyes, but also the caution—the realization that he was poking at something bigger.

  “You’re asking the wrong question,” I said, taking a step closer to him. My voice lowered just slightly. “It’s not who I am, Sylphar. It’s what I am.”

  His expression shifted, that calculating mind of his putting the pieces together. He didn’t ask the next question directly, but I could see it in his eyes. He already knew.

  Shadow Celestials weren’t common knowledge in Aether. We were myths, whispers in dark corners—remnants of a past that most of his kind liked to pretend didn’t exist. But the moment I saw that flicker of realization in his gaze, I knew he understood.

  “Your control over shadows… I’ve heard stories,” he said, his voice careful. “But I didn’t think they were real.”

  “Most of your kind doesn’t,” I replied, my tone more serious now. “Makes it easier to forget what you’ve done.”

  Taron’s expression hardened for a moment, but he didn’t rise to the bait. "Aether’s not perfect, but I’ve always stood by it."

  Thorian: "I know," I said, studying him. "That’s what makes you dangerous."

  The silence between us thickened, more dangerous than before. I could feel the weight of what I had just revealed, but it didn’t land with the hostility I had expected. There was curiosity in him, yes, but also something else—something more measured. He wasn’t treating me like a threat. Not yet.

  And that unsettled me more than anything, even if it was the outcome I wanted. It made him harder to predict, harder to push. He wasn’t reacting with the aggression I expected. Instead, he listened, and that, more than any open defiance, was dangerous.

  Before I could pull away from the moment, he spoke again, his tone shifting to something more direct. “You should come with me. There’s someone I need to introduce you to.”

  I raised an eyebrow, my instincts immediately flaring up. “And why would I do that?”

  “Because,” he said, meeting my gaze without hesitation, “if you’re half as good as you seem, you belong in Aether.”

  I scoffed, shaking my head. “Aether? You think they’d welcome me with open arms?”

  “I’ll convince them. One way or another.” Taron replied, and I could hear the confidence in his voice now. “I’ll talk to Maelor. He’ll listen.”

  “Maelor, huh?” I crossed my arms, leaning back slightly. “Big name. And you think he’s just going to accept a Shadow Celestial into his precious Aether, no questions asked?”

  Taron’s eyes flicked toward the ground for a moment, as if weighing his answer carefully. “He’ll have questions. And he’ll be cautious. But... we need people like you.”

  I looked at him, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. He didn’t realize it, but he was pulling me deeper into the heart of Aether, closer to where paths would inevitably converge. But instead of feeling triumphant, there was a strange pull at my chest—an unexpected weight, like the worlds I was caught between were pulling me apart, slowly.

  Still, I couldn’t help but push him just a little more.

  “And what if I say no?” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper.

  Taron didn’t flinch. “Then you’re on your own.”

  I studied him, letting the silence stretch, my eyes narrowing just slightly. He was calm—too calm, considering what he was asking of me. A part of me wanted to push back harder, test the limits of that composure. But the other part, the one that had spent too long alone in the shadows, was intrigued.

  “You don’t seem the type to give up easily, Taron,” I said finally, keeping my tone light but sharp. “Even when you should.”

  He shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. “It’s worked so far.”

  There was a moment of quiet between us, the tension still there, but now it was laced with something else—something that felt... less like animosity and more like understanding. It unnerved me. I wasn’t supposed to feel this comfortable in the presence of an Arcanist.

  “You know, for someone who fights like he’s got the world on his shoulders, you’re surprisingly optimistic,” I said, almost absently.

  “I’ve learned not to underestimate people. Even the ones I’m not supposed to trust,” Taron replied, his green eyes watching me closely. “That includes you.”

  I couldn’t help the faint smirk that crossed my face. He was sharp. I liked that. But it didn’t change the fact that he was trying to pull me into the one place I’d been avoiding all my life—Aether. And the irony wasn’t lost on me.

  “You trust me now?” I asked, the mockery in my voice barely concealed. “After one fight?”

  “I trust what I’ve seen,” Taron said, his tone steady. “And I’ve seen enough to know you’re not someone to underestimate. Whatever your past is, it’s not my concern.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “So, what? You take me to Aether, parade me in front of Maelor, and everything’s fine? Seems a bit naive.”

  He smiled faintly, but there was something guarded in his eyes now. “Not naive. Calculated.”

  Ah. There it was. The real Sylphar—always a step ahead. He wasn’t being reckless by offering me this chance. He was gambling, and he knew exactly what was at stake.

  “And what happens when Maelor finds out what I am?” I asked, my voice soft but dangerous. “When he realizes he’s invited a Shadow Celestial into Aether?”

  Taron’s gaze didn’t waver. “Maelor isn’t a fool. He’ll be cautious, sure. But he’ll listen. And when he sees what you can do... he’ll understand.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head. “You put a lot of faith in people. Must be exhausting.”

  He shrugged again, that same calm smile lingering. “You’d be surprised how often it pays off.”

  I didn’t respond immediately, letting his words sink in. Aether was everything I’d spent years avoiding, and yet... it was also exactly where I needed to be. But this? This was wrong.

  There was a part of me, the one always steeped in bitterness, that wanted to reject his offer out of sheer spite. But then there was the other part, the one that had just fought side by side with him—an Arcanist—and didn’t hate it. Didn’t hate the connection, the rhythm I’ve never had.

  Maybe Taron wasn’t like the others.

  But that didn’t mean I was ready to trust him. Not yet.

  I took a slow breath, stepping back, my expression unreadable. “Fine. Take me to Maelor,” I said, my voice calm but guarded. “But don’t think for a second this means I’m part of your little circle of trust.”

  Taron nodded, something in his eyes softening—just a fraction. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  I smirked, the tension between us still there, but now tinged with something that I preferred to push to the back of my mind.

  This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. But for now, I’d follow. After all, I had my own reasons for wanting to get close to Aether.

  And if Taron wanted to walk me right to the heart of it, who was I to say no?

  "Lead the way, then," I said, flicking the shadows off my fingers. "Let’s see what Maelor makes of me."