Where Fire Softens

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, Garnexis’s hands among them. And Orivian’s.

They moved with the kind of calm, deliberate precision that would’ve driven me up a wall in any other setting. But here, it kind of worked. Earth and Metal. Slow, grounded, methodical. I knew better than to mess with their ritual focus.

Still, I caught the moment. The way they stood. The way their shoulders almost brushed. And when Garnexis walked back to us, I couldn’t help myself.

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

I 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 added with a smile.

Garnexis didn’t dignify us with a response.

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.

I could feel the magic in the ground. Fire responding to ore. The pulse of it in my soles.

We moved into the Spiral Form, one group among many now, drawn inward with every step. The ritual dance split us, spun us, reunited us in new formations. Movement blurred, synchronized, aligned. The seasons folding in around each other.

I lost track of the others. Lost track of time. Everything narrowed to rhythm, breath, and heat.

By the time we reached the innermost ring, the air buzzed with magic so thick I could taste it, like cinder and wind.

The professors stood along the perimeter of the ceremonial tree. Veyn caught my eye for half a heartbeat, then turned his gaze to Shara. Not subtle, that one.

Then came the convergence.

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.

And there—right there in the center—was Aster.

She stood alone for a moment before the spiral shifted again, and we stepped together.

Fire and Water. Opposing by nature.

But her hand found mine.

And for once, I didn’t burn.

Her hair moved like slow water, curling and lifting as if caught in a current I couldn’t see. I’d seen it ripple before when she cast spells, but this was different, gentler. Like something in her had chosen stillness.

She didn’t let me go right away.

Her fingers stayed linked with mine even after the bloom faded and the spiral began to dissolve around us. Her grip wasn’t tight, just steady. Like she’d decided something.

When we finally stepped apart, the rest of the dancers were already shifting across the field, groups of two and three forming without words. There were other dances. Other rituals.

But I don’t remember them.

Not clearly.

Not once the sky had darkened and the final waltz began. The Twilight Waltz.

I stood there longer than I should’ve, watching the magic fade from the ceremonial tree, the echo of firelight still lingering on her skin.

She was already moving toward the outer path when she looked back at me, once, over her shoulder.

I followed.

She didn’t speak when I reached her. Just turned slightly, offering her hand again.

I took it.

The music was softer now. Slower. Free of pattern or ritual.

We moved together, not in rhythm at first, just steps that pulled us close, then slowed.

Her hand on my shoulder. Mine at her waist. Closer than we’d ever stood when we weren’t fighting.

She smelled like the edge of summer and seawater. A mix that shouldn’t have worked. But it did.

And it did something to me, making me forget how to control my own fire. I hadn’t realized I’d summoned a flicker of flame until she caught my hand and turned it over. The fire curled there, low and restless, like it didn’t know where to go.

“You’re still trying to burn your way through everything,” she said, voice low.

I huffed a laugh. “I don’t know how else to move forward.”

Magic flickered between us—her Water coaxing mine to still. She traced her fingers over my knuckles, and the fire dimmed.

“Start by breathing.”

I stared at her. “That easy?”

“No,” she said. “But it’s a start.”

We moved again, slower now.

For a moment, I wasn’t thinking about Halven. Or the glyph. Or the door that wouldn’t open no matter how I burned it.

I was thinking about her. Her hand. Her voice. The way she always looked at me like she saw something worth steadying.

“You’ve been looking into it too, haven’t you?” I said finally. “Halven.”

Her head tilted slightly, like she’d been waiting for me to ask.

“I have,” she said. “And I know you all have, too. Even after Isa’s warning.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to as she continued.

“Halven came to me. Before he disappeared. He was looking into more than just Emberglyphs. He wanted to know about Water Glyphs. That’s why I told you. In the library.”

I looked at her. Not the surface. The center. “I thought you were holding back.”

“I was,” she said. “I was afraid. Whatever happened to him... I know he wouldn’t have just left.”

My chest tightened thinking about my buddy and what could have happened. But Nythral was supposed to be a safe haven.

Either way, I understood her fear, but not why she was being open now. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to help. He was my friend, too.”

“And the ice cracks,” I said softly.

My words stir something fierce in her eyes. Not anger. Not fire. Something deeper, like purpose, resolve.

“Whatever you may think of me, I promise my loyalty to Halven will never waiver.”

“I have no doubt about that.” My hand tightened on her waist, and I lower my head closer to hers. “But I have other thoughts about you.”

Her gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes. My blood heated up in an instant.

I wanted to kiss her again.

More than that, I wanted to feel her again—her hands tangled in my robes, her mouth cold at first and then not, the way frost melted between us like it had in the library.

That moment had cracked something open. And I didn’t want it sealed again.

I thought about teasing her. Saying something cocky to cut the tension. But nothing came. My words burned out before they reached my tongue.

So instead, I pulled her a little closer. My hand moved over her hip to rest at the small of her back. She didn’t flinch. Her breath hitched, just once.

Her hair lifted, watery strands floating like they were caught between air and tide.

And then we moved together, quiet and slow, the world shrinking to the space between us.

I didn’t need a sign.

I already knew where this was going.

We were heading toward something we weren’t going to walk back from.

Not now.

Not next month.

Not ever.