Chapter 10: Midnight Practices

The frost on the courtyard cobblestones didn’t melt when Dorian’s boots hit them; it turned to jagged, beautiful glass. 

Mira watched him from the shadows of the arched walkway, her heartbeat a rhythmic thrum that matched the low, constant pulse of the Great Hearth deep within the school’s foundations. For weeks, they had been Chancellors of a fractured peace, signing treaties and merging curricula with the sterile precision of accountants. But the Accord demanded more than ink. It demanded The Weave—a synchronization of primal elements that neither of them had dared to attempt since the merger began.

"You’re late," Dorian said without turning around. His voice carried that familiar crystalline edge, smooth and dangerously cold. He stood in the center of the lunar circle, his silver-threaded cloak catching the moonlight. "I was beginning to think the fire in your veins had finally sputtered out."

Mira stepped into the light, the heat radiating from her skin shimmering in the frigid air. She didn't wear a cloak; the temperature was a suggestion she chose to ignore. "I had to ensure the students weren't wandering. Ever since your Cryomancy seniors started 'accidentally' freezing the soup, my house has been on edge."

"A little chill builds character, Mira." He finally turned, and the intensity in his sapphire eyes made her breath hitch. This wasn't the boardroom. There were no assistants, no scrolls, no audience. Just the two of them and the raw, unrefined magic of the solstice.

"Character is one thing. Hypothermia is another," she retorted, stopping exactly three feet from him. "Let’s get this over with. My mental defenses are already low enough from a day of listening to your complaints about the library humidity."

Dorian’s mouth quirked—a ghost of a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "To weave, the defenses cannot be 'low,' Mira. They must be non-existent. You have to let me in. All the way."

The weight of his words settled between them. The Weave required a total dissolution of the self. Fire and Ice weren't meant to sit side-by-side; they were meant to transform one another.

"I know how the ritual works, Dorian," she snapped, though her fingers trembled slightly. She began to unfasten the heavy bronze cuffs at her wrists, the sigils that helped her throttle her power during the day. As they fell to the stone with a heavy *thud*, the air around her began to warp with a sudden, violent heat.

Dorian mirrored the movement, removing his signet ring and the silver chain around his neck. The temperature in the courtyard plummeted instantly. A thin layer of rime began to climb the stone walls.

"Hold out your hands," he commanded.

Mira hesitated for a heartbeat, then reached out. When his fingers interlaced with hers, the sensation was a physical shock. It wasn't just cold; it was a vacuum, a pull that threatened to extinguish her flame. She instinctively surged back, her magic flaring white-hot.

"Easy," Dorian hissed, his grip tightening. He didn't pull away. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. "Don't fight the contrast. Find the center."

"It feels like I'm drowning in an iceberg," she whispered, her eyes locked on his.

"And you feel like a sun falling into my lap. It’s supposed to hurt, Mira. That’s the friction of the merger."

She forced herself to breathe, exhaling a plume of steam. She began to pull back the iron curtains in her mind. She showed him the flicker of her childhood—the first time she’d accidentally set the curtains ablaze and her father’s terrified face. She showed him the lonely years of mastery, where heat was the only thing that kept her company.

She felt his response—a sudden, rushing torrent of his own vulnerability. It wasn't the cold she expected. It was a vast, silent tundra. It was the crushing weight of expectation, the silence of a house where emotion was deemed a structural weakness. She felt his isolation, as vast and beautiful as a glacier.

"Dorian," she breathed, her voice breaking.

His eyes were no longer just blue; they were swirling with orange and gold. The Weave was beginning. 

Between their joined hands, a spark ignited. It wasn't a flame, and it wasn't a shard of ice. It was a spinning violet light, a bridge of pure energy that hummed with the frequency of a thousand bells. The power began to spiral up their arms, weaving through their clothes, stitching their auras together.

The banter was gone. There was no room for hostility when you could feel the other person’s soul screaming for the same thing you were: a moment of rest.

"You're so bright," he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. The contact grounded the spiraling magic. "I’ve spent my life trying to keep things still, Mira. You’re the first thing I’ve ever wanted to let move."

Mira shifted her grip, sliding her palms up to his forearms. The heat she was projecting was no longer a weapon; it was a hearth. She was warming the edges of his frozen world, and he was providing the structure her fire so desperately lacked. 

"Every time I looked at you across that council table," she admitted, her voice low and thick with the sudden, terrifying intimacy, "I wanted to burn your ridiculous treaties just to see you lose control."

"Believe me," Dorian said, his breath ghosting over her lips, "it took every ounce of my discipline not to let the room freeze over just to keep you there longer."

The violet light between them expanded, a dome of shimmering energy that shut out the rest of the world. In this space, there were no two schools. There was no rivalry. There was only the heat and the cold finding a perfect, impossible equilibrium.

Dorian moved one hand from her arm to her cheek. His skin was no longer freezing; it was energized, buzzing with the afterglow of the Weave. He traced the line of her jaw with a thumb, a gesture so tender it made Mira’s knees weak.

"We shouldn't," she whispered, even as she tilted her head into his touch. "The Accord specifies professional boundaries."

"The Accord is currently glowing violet and hovering three feet off the ground," Dorian countered, his voice dropping to a seductive growl. "I think we've moved past the fine print."

He didn't wait for her to bridge the gap. He pulled her in, and when their lips met, the Weave didn't just hum—it roared. It was a collision of worlds. The taste of winter mint and woodsmoke. The feeling of a wildfire meeting a blizzard and creating a storm that could reshape the stars.

Mira wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solid weight of him against her. The heat radiating from her was being swallowed by his chill, creating a cycle of endless energy. For the first time in years, the fire inside her didn't feel like it was consuming her. It felt like it was finally home.

They broke apart for air, both of them flushed and trembling. The violet light had settled into a soft, pulsing glow that clung to their skin like stardust.

Dorian looked at her, his composure finally shattered. His hair was mussed, his eyes were dark with a hunger he could no longer hide behind ice. "That wasn't in the curriculum."

"No," Mira said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face as she reached for the collar of his tunic. "I think we’re going to need a lot more private practice."

She pulled him back into the circle, but as their magic flared once more, a sharp, metallic *clink* echoed from the far end of the courtyard—the sound of a master key turning in the restricted gate.