The Slow Burn of Metal

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.

The spiral path wasn’t built with magic. It was built with hands, mine among them.

As Fall Fae, Orivian and I placed the stones together, tracing the lines of metal-veined ore and setting them in formation along the ceremonial field. I chose each piece carefully, not because anyone would notice, but because it mattered. Earth and Metal should open the Spiral of Seasons with precision.

He knelt beside me, a coil of polished copper wire looped around his wrist. When he passed me a narrow shard of obsidian, he didn’t speak. Just gave me a half-smile like he was waiting for me to roll my eyes.

“You’re placing those like they’re weapons,” he said eventually.

I didn’t look at him. “Planning for trouble?”

“Always.”

We stood at the same time, our shoulders brushing briefly. I didn’t move away. Neither did he. All I could remember in that moment was the kiss I took from him by the lake. Is he thinking about the same thing?

The first beat of drums broke our stare, and I stepped back, turning toward my quad.

The dress moved differently than I was used to. Too fluid, too soft. It was deep gray, cut asymmetrically, all flowing fabric and open lines. I’d refused anything that glittered, but even so, the silk caught the firelight in ways I didn’t like. My arms were bare, save for a thin chain above one elbow that Orivian had insisted was “ceremonial.”

I’d given up my bracers for the night. I felt unarmored.

The dress moved like water. I didn’t move like water.

I moved like stone.

Other students had gathered at the edge of the field, each quad grouped by season. I joined mine.

The spiral lay open before us, etched in stone and shadow, traced in flickering veins of light. The ceremonial mound at the center shimmered with quiet energy.

Our quad stepped forward together—me, Ardorion, Shara, and Rielle. We’d done this before the year prior, but the weight of it felt different this year. Maybe because of Halven. Maybe because of everything.

Shara adjusted her shawl and arched a brow at me. “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 chuckled, too. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“But not wrong,” Shara said with a smile.

I didn’t bother answering. They could guess all they wanted.

The drumbeat deepened. Flutes joined in. Crystal chimes drifted from the edges of the grove as light began to spiral across the path we’d built. Our feet followed.

We moved into the Spiral Form, one quad among many now, drawn inward with every step. The ritual movement kept us apart, then swept us close again, pulling the seasons into harmony. The music pulled us forward, blending season against season.

I didn’t look for Orivian in the crowd, but I didn’t have to. I knew where he was.

By the time we reached the innermost ring, the air buzzed with gathered magic. Professors stood in a quiet line at the edge of the ceremonial tree. I caught sight of Veyn, green and gold robes, arms folded, expression intent on Shara.

Orivian was already near the ceremonial mound, his copper-threaded coat catching the light. He glanced at me once, then the convergence began.

Light pulsed through the field like breath, and the tree at the center shimmered, its branches blooming with multi-hued crystals. The Spiral of Seasons pulsed outward.

I should have watched the display. I didn’t.

He was still looking at me.

And I hated the dress a little less.

Later, after the convergence, the spiral broke. Dancers spread across the softly lit field, music softening into a free-flowing rhythm.

I hadn’t planned to stay long. But I stood at the edge of the dance floor during the open dance, the Twilight Waltz, watching the lights drift over the trees, when he found me.

He didn’t say anything. Just offered his hand.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not going to make a joke?”

He smiled. “I know when to shut up.”

We stepped into the waltz, slow and deliberate. His hand didn’t press, just rested lightly at my back. Mine hovered at his shoulder.

We didn’t talk at first.

I didn’t look at him, but I felt the pulse of the bond between us. I almost said something. Something like how we didn’t have to dance if we were just working together to help solve Halven’s disappearance.

But I didn’t say anything. I think because, for right now, I was okay with this fated thing between us.

It wasn’t until halfway through the second loop, when he asked quietly, “Have you learned anything more?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“Because I have,” he went on. “I found references—very old ones—to tunnels beneath Nivara Hall. Places cut deep under the lake. I think Halven might’ve gone there. But I haven’t found how to access them.”

I searched his face.

He wasn’t lying.

He didn’t know we’d already found the portal.

For some reason, my heart flipped and warmed at the same time. I always thought he was aristocrat who would always think he was better than anyone else, but that’s not who he was showing me.

So I nodded once. “There’s a passage. Hidden under the floor in the library. It’s sealed, but we found a way in.”

He blinked, not in surprise, but in confirmation. “I thought so.”

“And a glyph on a door,” I said. “One we couldn’t open.”

He drew a breath, shallow and careful. “You’re still letting me in.”

“Only when you earn it.”

“Am I earning it now?”

I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t walk away, either.

We danced until the song faded. Neither of us let go right away.

He was close. Closer than I let most people. His hand stayed where it had been the whole time, light, respectful, measured. But I felt its weight like metal pressing against skin.

I wanted more.

I wanted his hand lower. I wanted the press of his chest against mine, like when he’d pinned me at the lake. Not because of a fight. Because of something else. Something I hadn’t admitted out loud.

Heat curled low in my spine, and I swallowed it like steel.

I thought about saying something clever. Something flirtatious. Rielle could probably make it sound effortless. She’d smile, tilt her head just a little, maybe tease with a line that didn’t give too much away. I didn’t know how to do that. I never had.

I only knew how to want something and act like I didn’t.

And then there was the bond, that invisible tether between us. That ache beneath the ribs. I could feel it more with every breath we shared. Like the world was already writing us into the same sentence.

I’d never liked playing by anyone else’s rules. Not fate’s. Not tradition’s. Not even my own.

But I didn’t move away.

And when I finally looked up—really looked at him—I didn’t look away.