# Chapter 7: Hearts in Flux

Dorian stood so still that for a moment I thought he had actually turned to ice, his hand frozen on the latch of the library’s restricted vault. The silence between us wasn’t the usual sharp-edged standoff; it was a heavy, suffocating weight that made the heat beneath my skin feel like a fever rather than a gift. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said, his voice a low fracture in the quiet. He didn’t turn around. He didn't have to. The frost crawling up the iron filigree of the door told me exactly where his head was.

“See what, Dorian? That you’ve been siphon-feeding the ley lines to stabilize the Pyri Academy dorms?” I stepped forward, my boots clicking too loudly on the salt-stained marble. I didn't care about the rules of the Accord in that moment. I didn't care that the merger was supposed to be a partnership of equals. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. “You told the Council the instability was a natural byproduct of the seasons. You lied to me.”

He turned then, and the look in his eyes wasn’t the cold arrogance I’d spent a decade hating. It was exhaustion. Deep, bone-deep weariness that made the silver-blue of his irises look like cracked glass. “I didn’t lie to you, Mira. I omitted the source to prevent a panic. If your students knew their rooms were being held together by Glacian threads, they would have burned this wing down out of pride. And if my faculty knew I was diverting our core resonance to save a fire-mage’s laboratory, they would have called for my resignation.”

“So you played the martyr instead?” I reached out, my fingers trembling. I caught the sleeve of his heavy wool coat, the fabric cold enough to sting. “While I spent the last month calling you a parasite? While I fought you on every single floor plan and curriculum change?”

“It was easier,” he whispered. He didn't pull away. In fact, he leaned almost imperceptibly into my space. The scent of him—ozone, cedar, and the sharp bite of a coming storm—overwhelmed the dusty parchment smell of the library. “It was easier to have you hate me than to have you owe me.”

“I don’t want to owe you, Dorian. I want to be with you.”

The admission hung in the air, glowing more brightly than the magelights overhead. My hand slid from his sleeve to his wrist, where his pulse jumped beneath my thumb. He was always so controlled, so perfectly tailored and chillingly calm, but his blood was racing. 

“Mira,” he warned, but the frost on the door began to melt, dripping into puddles that mirrored the gold of the lamps. 

“Don’t tell me to be sensible,” I said, closing the distance. The heat rolling off me was a living thing now, the Fire in my blood demanding to be felt. I felt the sweat start at his temples, the way his eyes tracked the movement of my throat as I swallowed. “We’ve spent ten years being sensible. We’ve spent ten years being the pillars of our respective traditions. Look where it got us. A crumbling school and a war of whispers.”

He finally moved, his hands coming up to cup my face. His palms were freezing, a shocking contrast to the flush of my cheeks, but I didn't flinch. I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding since the day the Accord was signed. 

“This will ruin the integration,” he murmured, even as his thumbs traced the line of my jaw with a reverence that made my knees weak. “If the students see the Chancellors like this…”

“Then let them see,” I countered. I reached up, tangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down. “Let them see that fire doesn’t always consume. Sometimes, it just keeps the winter at bay.”

When his lips finally met mine, it wasn't a collision; it was a restoration. 

It was the hiss of steam where the glacier meets the volcano. He tasted like mint and cold air, his kiss hesitant at first, as if he were waiting for me to shatter. I pressed closer, my body seeking the chill he offered, my own warmth bleeding into him until the line between our magics blurred. I felt the flicker of his power—not the sharp ice needles of a duel, but a soft, rhythmic pulse, like the turning of the tides. 

He groaned low in his throat, his grip tightening on my waist, pulling me flush against the hard planes of his body. For a moment, the library disappeared. The Council, the budget deficits, the angry parents, and the clashing legacies of our houses—none of it mattered. There was only the heat of my palms against his chest and the way he breathed my name against my mouth like it was a prayer he’d forgotten he knew.

We broke apart just an inch, our foreheads resting together. Dorian’s breathing was ragged, his usual composure completely dismantled. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since the summit in Oakhaven,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Five years ago. You were wearing that crimson silk, arguing for the rights of the scorched-earth practitioners. You looked like a goddess of war.”

I laughed, a wet, shaky sound. “And you were wearing that ridiculous high collar and looking at me like I was a smudge on your monocle.”

“I was terrified of you,” he said simply. “I still am.”

I stepped back, just enough to look him in the eye. The vault door behind him was no longer frozen; the iron was warm to the touch. The balance of the room had shifted. The school stayed standing not because of his secret siphoning, but because for the first time, the two poles of the building were in alignment. 

“The siphoning stops tonight,” I said, my voice regaining its Chancellor’s steel, though my hand still lingered in his. “We do this together. We merge the ley lines properly. No more secrets, Dorian. If the school falls, we let it fall so we can build something better on the ashes.”

He nodded, the silver light returning to his eyes, but this time it was clear, focused. “Together.”

He reached for the vault key, but stopped when a low, rhythmic thrumming began to vibrate through the floorboards. It wasn't the steady beat of the ley lines. It was a frantic, irregular pounding that came from the Great Hall. 

Then the bells began to ring—four sharp peals. The signal for a magical breach.

Dorian’s face went pale. “The containment wards at the Pyri dorms. I left them unattended when I followed you here.”

“They’re not just failing,” I said, sensing the sudden, violent spike in atmospheric temperature. The air in the library began to shimmer with an orange hue. “Someone is forcing them open.”

We ran. 

The corridors of The Starfall Accord were a labyrinth of old and new, stone and glass. As we rounded the corner into the central mezzanine, the smell of ozone was thick enough to choke on. Students were pouring out of their rooms, some in robes, some in nightshirts, their faces masks of terror. 

At the end of the hall, the door to the Fire-Mage dormitory didn't just open; it disintegrated into a shower of white-hot splinters. 

Standing in the center of the scorched threshold wasn't a monster or an intruder. It was Elias, my head of faculty, his eyes glowing with an unstable, sickly violet light. In his hands, he held the Starfall Relic—the very artifact we were supposed to use to cement the merger next week. 

“Elias, stop!” I shouted, my voice throwing a wave of heat that pushed the nearest students back toward the safety of the stairwells. “That relic isn't tuned for single-caster use! It’ll burn your core to ash!”

“It’s already burning, Mira!” Elias screamed, the violet light leaping to the tapestries on the walls. Cold blue ice shot past my ear, dousing a flame before it could reach a group of first-years. Dorian was beside me, his hands moving in a blur of complex silver patterns, weaving a frost-shield between the students and the rogue professor.

“He’s tapping into the deep-earth veins,” Dorian shouted over the roar of the fire. “He’s trying to reverse the Accord by force! If he detonates that relic, the entire North Wing goes.”

“I’ll take the high arc,” I said, not looking at him, trusting him implicitly for the first time in my life. “Drown the floor. Keep the foundations cool. I’m going to strip the heat from the relic.”

“Mira, that’s suicide,” Dorian caught my hand for a split second. “You can’t absorb that much raw energy.”

“I’m not going to absorb it,” I said, a grim smile touching my lips as I summoned every ounce of my heritage. “I’m going to give it somewhere else to go.”

I sprang forward, the floor cracking beneath my boots as I channeled the flame into a concentrated spear of light. Elias saw me coming and raised the relic, a scream of pure, unadulterated power tearing from his throat. The violet fire met my gold, and the world turned to blinding white.

Through the roar of the magical feedback, I felt Dorian’s presence behind me—a solid, icy anchor in the middle of the inferno. He wasn't just shielding the students; he had anchored his magic to mine, providing the thermal sink I needed to keep from vaporizing. 

*Push, Mira,* his voice echoed in my mind, a telepathic link forged in the heat of the moment. *I have you. I won’t let you burn.*

I reached into the heart of the relic’s light, my skin blistering, my vision swimming. I didn't see a rival. I didn't see a Chancellor. I saw the future we had glimpsed in the library—a world where we didn't have to fight the elements or each other. 

With a final, guttural cry, I twisted the flow of the magic. The violet fire spiraled upward, channeled into a harmless pillar of light that shot through the vaulted ceiling and disappeared into the night sky, illuminating the mountains for miles.

The relic shattered. Elias collapsed, the violet light fading from his eyes as he fell into unconsciousness. 

The silence that followed was absolute. The hallway was charred, the air thick with the scent of spent magic and singed wool. I stood trembling, my hands black with soot, my breath coming in ragged gasps. 

Dorian was there before I could fall. He caught me, his arms wrapping around me with a desperation that bypassed all decorum. He didn't care that the students were watching now. He didn't care that the faculty were emerging from the shadows with questions on their lips. 

He held me against his chest, his face buried in my hair, his body shaking with a terrifying tremor. 

“You’re insane,” he whispered into my ear, his voice breaking. “You absolute, reckless firebrand.”

“And you’re late,” I joked weakly, though I clung to him just as hard. “You were supposed to douse the floor five seconds earlier.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes searching mine. The ice in him was gone, replaced by a searing, honest devotion that terrified me more than the explosion had. 

“The school is a mess,” he said, looking at the scorched walls and the gaping hole in the roof. 

“We’ll fix it,” I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. 

“Mira,” he said, his tone shifting, becoming heavy with an urgent gravity. He pointed toward the center of the room where the relic had exploded.

I looked, and my heart stopped. 

Where the relic had shattered, the floor wasn't just burnt. A rift had opened in the very fabric of the ley lines—a jagged, pulsing tear that bled a color I had never seen before. And from the depths of that tear, a sound was emerging. 

It wasn't a scream, and it wasn't a roar. It was a heartbeat. 

And it was getting louder.