The Binding Season

The sun had just begun to dip when the Spiral of Seasons dance began.

At the edge of the ceremonial field, torches sparked to life with autumn-colored flame. Lines of glowing ore stretched across the ground, coiling outward from the center like veins of fire and crystal. Fallen leaves danced on the breeze as Earth and Metal Fae shaped the spiral path, turning the stonework lawn into a living circuit of color and texture.

It was beautiful, yes—but still, I felt… apart from it.

Spring Fae weren’t meant for the Fall. Everything about the season pulled in the opposite direction. Where we opened and reached forward, Fall curled inward and prepared to let go.

The celebration pulsed with reverence. But the magic here didn’t resonate in my bones the way it would for Garnexis or Orivian. Not in the same way.

That didn’t stop the others from soaking it in.

We stood near the edge of the field as the final preparations finished. Garnexis was just returning from laying stones alongside Orivian. Their arms had brushed more than once. Her face didn’t say much, but the air around her said plenty.

I adjusted my shawl and arched a brow at her. “Is it just me, or were you two a little too close to the ceremonial mound?”

Ardorion smirked. “Pretty sure I saw Orivian hand her a rock. That’s basically a marriage proposal for Metal Fae.”

Rielle sighed, but couldn’t help a quiet laugh. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“But not wrong,” I added with a smile.

Garnexis said nothing, which basically meant we’d nailed it.

The drumbeat deepened. Flutes joined in. Crystal chimes rang from the grove’s edges, and the spiral shimmered with rising magic.

We stepped forward together, our Goldspire quad, one from each season, feet moving in time with the path that had been shaped from stone and leaf.

The Spiral Form pulled us apart and reformed us again, weaving seasonal magic into alignment. I danced because I had to. Because I knew the steps. But my mind wasn’t on the ritual.

It was on the convergence point ahead.

By the time we reached the innermost ring, the field pulsed with magic like a second heartbeat. The ceremonial tree stood at the center, veined with light and poised to bloom.

The professors were already positioned around its base, robes layered and still, their faces unreadable in the shifting dusk. I recognized a few, but two stood out immediately.

Veyn.

And Isa.

Isa looked tired, more than usual. Like whatever she’d been holding up for the last few weeks had started to crack around the edges. Her shoulders were drawn back, her head held high, but the hollowness in her expression gave her away.

And Veyn… he wasn’t watching the tree or the other students.

He was watching me.

I kept my gaze forward, but I felt his eyes follow every step.

A breath passed through the crowd, and the central tree bloomed with multi-hued crystals all flaring at once. The magic rippled outward like a second heartbeat.

The convergence happened without a word. The seasons locked into one rhythm. Light and music and pulse.

And still, he didn’t look away.

There were other dances after the convergence. Other rituals. Seasonal callings. A weaving of movement that blended magic and intention. I moved through all of them.

But I don’t remember them.

Not clearly.

By the time the twilight bells chimed, the field had shifted. Music softened into meandering strings and wind, and the last official steps gave way to the open celebration dance.

The Twilight Waltz.

Around me, students slipped into pairs or trios. Some laughed. Some whispered. Some danced because they were expected to. Others because they needed to.

I didn’t move.

Instead, I wandered beneath the lanterns strung between the outer trees. The glow above made everything look golden, too warm for fall. Too kind.

I stopped beneath a cluster of birches, just far enough from the edge of the field to not be noticed. I watched the slow turns of the dancers. The soft exchanges of braided tokens and frost-woven charms.

And then I felt it.

The shift.

I turned.

Veyn stood several paces behind me, where the dark met the light. His robes were formal, layered in green and silver, but they hung heavier than usual. Like he carried something beneath them. Something he couldn’t put down.

His hair, always loose and tangled with his vines, looked more still than I’d ever seen it.

He didn’t speak right away when he joined me under the trees.

Just stood there, silent in the dusk, eyes scanning the field as the last of the dancers slowed their turns.

Then, softly—

“You’re not dancing with anyone.”

I didn’t answer.

“No one special in your life?”

My throat tightened. Of all the things he could’ve said, that was the cruelest. Because he already knew the answer.

He was the answer.

And we both knew there wouldn’t be anyone else.

A nearby couple spun past, wrapped in a magic that sparkled at their feet. I didn’t look at them. I looked at him.

The silence between us stretched, quiet, knowing, unfinished.

I could have said so many things. I said the one I knew he wouldn’t challenge.

“You gave me that leaf,” I said.

He nodded once.

“You knew it would lead to something.”

His eyes stayed on the field. “I hoped.”

“Why?”

He finally looked at me, and something in his expression tightened. His jaw worked like he was biting back words he didn’t trust himself to say.

“Don’t lie to me,” I said. My heart still ached with him having left me.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to, but there’s only so much I can say. So much that I can physically say.”

I frowned. Does he mean he’s magically sworn to silence? “Tell me whatever you can without activating the magic that binds you.”

Relief flashed across his eyes. “You were always the brightest among us. You’re also the best one at asking the right questions.”

My breath caught. Last time he told me to stop asking questions. What changed?

He had, subtly. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept well for several weeks.

But now he wanted my questions. Like he wanted me to keep asking even though he couldn’t answer.

I stepped closer.

His eyes flicked to my mouth and then away.

I felt the pull between us again, not magical. Just us. That same gravity that had always been there, even before we kissed in the library.

One I hadn’t forgotten.

“Why have you come back?” I asked quietly.

“I became a student.”

Nothing else. But gold lightened in his brown eyes, like encouragement.

I tapped my chin.

“A student. That means you learned something.” When the gold in his eyes brightened, excitement filled me. “Something you brought back with you. To teach us?”

His light dimmed, and the leaves of vines curled inward.

“Not to teach us, then. Or maybe... The knowledge gained is for something else. But for what?”

I was stumped. What does any of this have to do with Halven? “What you learned, it will help find Halven?”

Now the light dimmed completely, and Veyn just looked tired. He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed against mine, just once, like water tracing the edge of a leaf. Not a touch, exactly.

A promise.

One I wasn’t sure he could keep.

But I felt the truth in it anyway.

I didn’t reach for him.

And he didn’t step away.

The moment stretched like a held breath.

Then the wind shifted, carrying music from the other end of the field, and the lights flickered.

Finally, with regret lacing his voice, he said, “I should go.”

I nodded.

But neither of us moved.

Not right away.

And when I did, I didn’t look back.

Because I didn’t need to.

I already knew he’d been watching the whole time.