# Chapter 5: The Inquisitor's Warning

The obsidian sand was still hot enough to hiss against the hem of Dorian’s frost-rimed robes, but he did not pull away from the woman trembling in his arms.

In the wake of the plasma-burst, the Sparring Arena had become a graveyard of cooling glass. The forest of frozen steam pillars Dorian had conjured stood as silent, jagged sentinels around them, refracting the bruised purple light of the Starfall sky. He could feel Mira’s breath—ragged, shallow, and terrifyingly hot—against the sensitive skin of his neck. Her magic was spent, a guttering candle in a drafty hall, and his own was a sluggish, gray river. Yet the tether between them was shouting, a resonant frequency that demanded he keep his hands locked around her waist. 

If he let go, he feared the sudden vacuum of her heat would cause his very marrow to crystallize, a biological rejection of the void left by their combined depletion.

"Chancellor! Mira!" Kaelen’s voice cut through the ringing in Dorian’s ears. 

The proctor was sprinting across the sand, his face a mask of terror. Behind him, Lyra moved with more cautious haste, her blue spectacles cracked and dangling from one ear. 

Dorian felt Mira stiffen. The instinctive, raw vulnerability that had allowed her to slump against him vanished, replaced by the rigid spine of a leader who could not afford to be seen falling. She pushed against his chest. 

The separation was physical agony, a visceral hollow clawing at his chest as their shared stabilization snapped. As her heat retreated, a violent chill slammed into Dorian’s core. It wasn't the clean, controlled cold of his own element; it was a hollow, biting hunger necessitated by the Starfall exhaustion. His fingers convulsed, nearly reaching out to snag the crimson silk of her sleeve to bring the warmth back. He forced his hands into the folds of his robes, clenching them into fists to hide the tremors.

"Aric? Elara?" Mira’s voice was a ghost of its usual roar, cracked and dry. She stumbled toward the proctors, her gaze fixed on the two unconscious students.

"They’re breathing," Lyra said, her voice trembling as she knelt by Elara. "But the Starfall contamination... Dorian, their mana-veins are scorched. They’ll need a stabilization bath in the Spire’s deep-frost chambers immediately."

"Do it," Dorian commanded, his voice raspy but gaining its edge. "Kaelen, coordinate with the Spire’s transport team. Use the Imperial Waygate. Don't worry about the cost-credits."

"Actually, Chancellor," a new voice drawled from the shadows of the arena’s archway, "I believe the 'cost' is exactly what we need to discuss."

The temperature in the arena didn’t drop, but the air suddenly felt thin, as if the oxygen had been sucked out by a predatory vacuum. Dorian turned, his heart sinking into a cold pit. 

A detachment of Imperial Iron-Guards stood at the entrance, their black-and-gold plate shimmering with a dull, menacing light. In their center stood a man who looked like he was carved from high-altitude granite. He wore the long, charcoal-gray mantle of the Ministry of Oversight, cinched with a belt of heavy silver keys.

High Inquisitor Vane.

Vane didn't walk into the arena; he surveyed it like a crime scene. His eyes, the color of wet slate, raked over the shattered Mercury-Glass urn, the jagged crystal pillars, and finally, the two Chancellors who looked as if they had just crawled out of a landslide.

"High Inquisitor," Dorian said, stepping forward to intercept the man before he could reach Mira. He smoothed his robes, masking the scorch marks on his sleeves that had let out the smoke only hours before. "Your arrival is... ahead of schedule."

"The Emperor’s patience is rarely on a fixed timetable, Solas," Vane replied. He stopped five feet away, the distance felt intentional—the space of an executioner. He looked at Mira, who was standing the way a wounded predator stands—shoulders back, chin up, ready to bite even if her legs were shaking. "And you, Chancellor Mira. I was told the Pyre was a place of 'unbridled kinetic potential.' I see you’ve managed to turn that potential into a demolition project."

Mira’s amber eyes flared with a spark of her old fire. "We had a Starfall pocket drift over the arena, Inquisitor. The ley-lines fluctuated. My students—"

"Your students," Vane interrupted, "are currently a liability to the Crown. As are you."

Dorian felt the tether pulse—a sharp, jagged spike of Mira’s fury. He knew that if she spoke now, if she let her temper dictate the narrative, Vane would have the schools shuttered and the two of them in iron collars before the sun hit the meridian. Through the bond, Dorian reached for her—not with his hands, but with his mind, projecting a singular, freezing command: Be silent. Let me lead.

Mira’s jaw tightened. He felt her resentment, hot and biting, but she didn't speak.

"The Inquisitor is naturally concerned by the visual evidence," Dorian said, his voice a masterpiece of Spire-bred diplomacy. He stepped into Vane’s line of sight, forcing the man to focus on him. "But he lacks the context of the experiment."

Vane’s eyebrows rose. "Experiment? You call the near-atomization of two Imperial citizens an experiment, Chancellor?"

"A controlled synthesis test," Dorian corrected smoothly. He felt Mira’s shock through the tether, followed by a begrudging ripple of admiration. "The Starfall Accord requires not just the merging of student bodies, but the synthesis of elemental extremes. Chancellor Mira and I were testing the somatic thresholds required to convert Starfall energy into a stabilized lattice. The pillars you see around you are the result of a successful, albeit violent, phase-transition."

Vane looked at the jagged mountainous ice forest. "A successful test? That urn is a hundred thousand credits of Mercury-Glass reduced to vapor."

"A small price," Mira chimed in, her voice catching the rhythm of Dorian’s lie with the instinct of a seasoned survivor, "to prove that the Union can anchor a Starfall breach. We didn't just 'survive' the explosion, Inquisitor. We harnessed it."

She stepped to Dorian’s side. The tether sang as their shoulders brushed. The thermal hunger Dorian had felt earlier intensified, a magnetic pull driven by his depleted core seeking the stability of her flame. He felt her hand sneak into the crook of his elbow—a public display of intimacy that was entirely out of character for the 'Glacial Dean' and the 'Firebrand of the Reach.'

Vane’s eyes dropped to their linked arms. He was a man who lived on the detection of fraud. He looked for the flinch, the hesitation, the lie. 

Dorian didn't flinch. He leaned into her slightly, projecting a wave of protective, almost possessive calm. "The toll on our personal mana-reserves was significant, as you can see. We were... recovering our equilibrium when you arrived."

Vane was silent for a long, agonizing minute. The only sound was the distant moaning of the wind through the arena’s vents and the soft, crystalline tinkling of the ice pillars beginning to melt. 

"The Emperor sent me here to ensure the Accord was not a waste of time," Vane said, his voice low. "He believes that if the two strongest mages in the realm cannot find common ground, perhaps the ground should be cleared for others."

"We have found more than common ground," Dorian said, his voice dropping to a low, resonant register. He felt Mira’s fingers tighten on his arm, her pulse jumping against his bicep. "We have found a common heart."

He nearly choked on the sentiment, his internal voice sneering at the melodrama he was forced to perform, but he delivered it with the iron conviction of a man whose life depended on the lie.

Vane’s mouth thinned into what might have been a smile, though it lacked any warmth. "A touching sentiment, Solas. Perhaps. But I am not here for poetry. I am here for results. Since you claim this disaster was a successful 'test,' I shall require a full demonstration of this synthesis within forty-eight hours. Until then, I shall be conducting a stage-one audit of your administrative integration."

Mira cleared her throat. "We have already begun the curriculum merger, Inquisitor. Our staff—"

"I am not interested in your staff," Vane said, turning toward the exit. "I am interested in the two of you. The Emperor provided the Sanctum for your joint leadership. As of this moment, I am commandeering the lower apartments of the Chancellor's wing. I will be observing your nocturnal stability. If the two 'anchors' cannot remain in proximity without the academy shaking apart at the seams, I will know."

Dorian felt the blood drain from his face. The "nocturnal stability" check was a polite way of saying the Inquisitor would be watching to see if they actually slept in the shared suite or if they were retreating to their separate towers behind the Ministry's back. 

"As you wish," Dorian said, bowing his head.

Vane gestured to his Iron-Guards. "And since the Sanctum is now a site of 'high-level synthesis research,' I am placing an Imperial Seal on the doors. This seal restricts all access to your proctors and administrative staff so you may be isolated for observation. You will have total privacy to perfect your... synthesis."

The Inquisitor turned on his heel and marched out of the arena, his gray mantle snapping behind him. The Iron-Guards followed, leaving a silence that was heavier than the heat of the caldera.

The moment the last guard vanished through the arch, Mira ripped her arm away from Dorian’s. 

"A 'common heart'?" she hissed, though there was no weight to her anger; it was the frantic cover of a woman who was over-stimulated and exhausted. "Where do you come up with this rubbish, Dorian? You sounded like a cheap romance broadsheet."

"I came up with it," Dorian snapped, the chill returning to his voice as his magic struggled to reassert its boundaries, "because the alternative was a summary execution. Would you have preferred I told him we accidentally blew up our students because we're so poorly integrated that your temper makes my water boil?"

Mira rubbed her face with her hands, smearing soot across her forehead. "No. I wouldn't. But Vane... he’s a shark. He didn't believe a word of it. He’s just giving us enough rope to hang each other."

"Then we had better learn to knit," Dorian said. He looked at the injured students being lifted onto stretchers. "Kaelen, Lyra—take them to the Waygate. Ensure the medical report is scrubbed of any mention of mana-inverted plasma. It was an 'environmental Starfall fluctuation.' Nothing more."

The proctors nodded, their faces grim, and hurried away. 

Dorian looked back at Mira. She was standing in the center of the sand, surrounded by the ice he had made with her fire. She looked small against the crystal pillars, her crimson robes torn at the shoulder, her skin the color of ash. 

"We have to go back," he said softy. "The seal is probably already on the door."

"I hate him," Mira whispered. "I hate the Emperor for this. I hate the Spire for needing my fire, and I hate myself for... for trusting you to catch me."

"Then we are in accord on one thing at last," Dorian replied. 

He didn't offer her his arm this time, but as they walked up the long, basalt stairs toward the Sanctum, he maintained a distance of exactly three feet—close enough that the tether hummed a steady, comforting rhythm to stabilize their depleted reserves, but far enough that he didn't have to acknowledge the way his skin hungered for the burn of her touch.

***

The Chancellor’s Sanctum had been transformed into a gilded cage.

Two Imperial Iron-Guards stood outside the massive oak and brass doors, their halberds Crossed. When Mira and Dorian approached, the guards stepped aside without a word, and the heavy doors groaned open. 

Floating in the air across the seam of the door was a glowing purple ribbon of light—the Imperial Censure Seal. Once they stepped through, the seal would close behind them. It wasn't just a lock; it was a magical tripwire. 

Mira stepped over the threshold first, her boots clicking on the stone. Dorian followed, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way that felt dangerously similar to her own. 

As the doors thudded shut behind them, the lilac light of the seal solidified. 

Inside, the Sanctum was quiet. The Great Hearth was low, providing only a dull orange glow that didn't reach the corners of the room. The neutrality lattice—that silver ring on the floor—was flickering, its mana-cells drained by the day’s chaos. 

Mira didn't go to her desk. She went to the window, staring out at the Volcanic Reach. The lava flows in the distance looked like veins of liquid gold against the black mountain. 

"We’re trapped," she said.

"We are integrated," Dorian corrected, though the word felt like a lie. He walked to the sideboard, his hands shaking as he poured two glasses of fortified wine. He didn't ask if she wanted one; he simply held the glass out as he approached her.

Mira took the wine, her fingers brushing his. The contact sent a jolt of renewed somatic bleed through Dorian’s system—a sudden, sharp reminder of the plasma-storm they had shared. He saw her eyes flicker, her pupils dilating as she felt the same thing. 

"He’s going to watch us, Dorian," she said, her voice a low murmur. "Vane. He didn't just take the lower apartments to keep an eye on the curriculum. He wants to see if we're actually... intimate. He knows that the only way two mages of our level can stabilize a Starfall is through total somatic synchronization."

Dorian took a long swallow of the wine, the heat of the alcohol clashing with the cold of his core. "Then we give him what he wants. We perform."

"Perform?" Mira turned to him, a bitter smile on her lips. "How? Do you want to practice your 'common heart' speeches? Or should we just take turns boiling the water?"

"We found a way to save those students," Dorian reminded her, his voice low and intense. He stepped into her space, closing the distance until the heat of her body was a physical pressure against his chest. "That plasma-transition... I have never felt anything like it. It wasn't fire, and it wasn't ice. It was... everything."

Mira’s breath hitched. She didn't pull away. "It was terrifying."

"It was," Dorian agreed. "But it was also the first time since the Accord was signed that the tether didn't feel like a leash. It felt like... power."

He reached out, his hand hovering near her face. He wanted to touch her—not to ground his magic, not to save a student, but simply to see if she was real. To see if the fire he felt through the bond was as beautiful as the woman standing in the shadows of the hearth. 

Mira leaned into the space he’d created, her forehead almost touching his. "If we do this... if we lie to Vane, we're not just saving the schools. We're committing treason. If he finds out the 'synthesis' was an accident—"

"He won't," Dorian whispered. "Because it won't be an accident next time. We are going to learn how to do it on command. We are going to become exactly what the Emperor fears."

"A Union," Mira said.

"A weapon," Dorian corrected.

He finally let his hand drop, his fingers grazing the scorched linen of her shoulder. For a second, the somatic bleed was total. He felt her exhaustion, her fear, and beneath it all, a blossoming, terrifying hope. 

Mira looked at the door, at the lilac glow of the Imperial Seal. "He thinks he’s locked us in here to break us. He thinks he’s trapped two enemies in a room until they tear each other apart."

"He has made a grave tactical error," Dorian said. 

He walked to the hearth, picking up a heavy iron poker and stirring the coals. The fire flared up, casting its warm, flickering light across the room. He looked back at her—the firebrand of the Pyre, the woman whose pulse was now his own.

"He didn't trap us with each other," Dorian said, the cold of his voice finally melting into something dark and determined. "He trapped himself outside."

Mira walked to the door, her hand hovering just inches from the Imperial Seal. She didn't touch it, but the heat from her palm made the lilac light waver and hiss. 

"Goodnight, Chancellor," she said, her voice a low challenge.

"Goodnight, Mira."

Dorian watched her walk toward the adjoining suite, the tether between them humming a low, vibrant note of anticipation. He looked down at the sideboard, at the Imperial Inquisitor’s seal that had been placed on the heavy brass handle. 

The seal was a heavy, leaden thing, embossed with the Emperor’s winged eye. It glowed with the sterile, dead cold of the Ministry, a rhythmic purple light that pulsed with the regularity of a tombstone. Dorian reached out and touched the seal. It was lifeless compared to his own pristine frost. He let his magic flare, a localized frost-burn that clouded the purple light until the eye of the Emperor was blinded by a layer of white, opaque ice.

Above them, in the heart of the Sanctum, the Imperial Inquisitor’s seal rested on the locked brass handle of their shared quarters, the glowing purple eye of the Emperor staring blindly into the dark.