RHEIN'S POINT OF VIEW
The silence between us stretched as we walked side by side through the academy grounds. The night air was cool, carrying the faint perfume of night-blooming flowers.
I hugged my cloak tighter around me, biting my lip as we reached the greenhouse. Its glass panes glimmered faintly under the moonlight, and inside, the warm glow of lanterns revealed rows upon rows of herbs, flowers, and strange magical plants that thrived even in the darkest hours. The air here was thicker, scented with earth and damp leaves. It felt safe enough to finally speak.
It's my first time coming here... quite beautiful.
As I listened to the sounds of our footsteps, I remembered something I had been meaning to ask.
"Dylan," I said carefully, breaking the silence. "About the meithi mnarillazas… I tried searching the library. I couldn't find a single book about it. Not one."
His eyes flickered toward me, unreadable.
"I think all the information is locked in the restricted section," I added, my voice low. "Do you think that's why no one understands your kind of power? Because it's being hidden?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as though weighing my words, then gave the faintest of shrugs.
I hesitated, then blurted out another question that had been bothering me since I first saw him bend the flow of time. "Can you… turn back time? I haven't seen you doing that."
"Curious? To be honest, I don't know what to feel right now, knowing that you want to know something about me." The corner of his mouth lifted in a humorless smile.
I faked a laugh. "Just answer me. You are overreacting."
"No," he said simply. "I can only stop it. That's the sole ability I have as a mnarillaza. It would've been far more useful if I could move backward into the past or forward into the future. It's like holding power over time… and yet, having no real power over it at all."
Something about the way he said it felt final, like a door slamming shut. I didn't press further. If he didn't want to explain more, I wouldn't force him.
A hush settled between us again, until Dylan spoke. His voice was quiet, but his words cut straight into me.
"Are you and Justin… together?"
My head snapped toward him. He was looking at me with that same casual smile, calm, unaffected. It hurt more than I expected. My chest tightened at the thought—was he really so unfazed? So unconcerned?
I clenched my fists. Dense. He's so unbearably dense.
"No," I answered firmly.
His eyes narrowed playfully. "Don't you like him?"
"No, I don't. I only see him as a friend." I drew in a breath, my heart racing at the words that were about to follow. "The truth is… I like someone else."
His brows rose. "Oh? And why don't I know about this?"
I gave him a look, heat rushing to my face. "Why would I tell you? That would be humiliating."
His smirk deepened. "So you don't want to say it, huh? Then maybe, I will just tell your sister instead."
I gasped. "Go ahead. You don't even know who it is."
"At least she will know you already like someone."
Two could play this game. I shot him a glare. "Then I will tell her you like her."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Liar. But fine—whatever you say. What matters is, she will know you have fallen for someone."
"I could always deny it."
"Really?" His grin widened, and before I could react, he slipped something from his pocket. A small, smooth stone. It glowed faintly, then—
My voice, from earlier, filled the air. "I like someone else."
My jaw dropped. "Wha—?! Were you recording me?!"
"It's called a memory stone," he said, smug. "A sound recorder. You read about it in one of those tech books, didn't you?"
"Unbelievable. Give that to me!" I lunged at him, trying to snatch the stone from his hand.
But he was quicker, easily leaning back, holding it out of reach with infuriating calm. "Not so fast."
I tried again, but every time, he dodged, his eyes glinting with amusement. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, and it was not long before I realized something—our faces were dangerously close. Too close.
Breath mingled. Eyes locked.
His smirk softened into something else entirely. His voice dropped, low and deliberate. "Tell me… are you trying to take this—" his fingers lifted the stone slightly, "—or are you trying to kiss me?"
"H-huh?!" I could feel my face went crimson. I jerked back, stammering, "N-no! Of course not!"
Mortified, I tried to put distance between us, but before I could, his hand shot out and caught me by the waist.
My breath caught. "D-Dylan, what are you doing—?"
I could feel it—my heart hammered so violently against my ribs I thought it might burst free. The heat in my chest spread like wildfire, leaving me trembling, caught between panic and something dangerously sweet.
His grip on my waist tightened, firm yet careful, as though he was afraid I might slip away if he let go. The weight of his hand grounded me, tethering me to this moment, to him. His other hand moved upward in a slow, deliberate trail, brushing against my side, leaving sparks in its wake until it finally came to rest at the back of my neck. His fingers spread, warm and steady, as though claiming me, pulling me closer into the gravity of his presence.
Before I could form another protest, he leaned in. And then his lips met mine.
My world stopped.
The greenhouse, the night, even the sound of my own breath—everything blurred away, leaving only the press of his lips, soft and sure, against mine.
And in that moment, one thought shattered through me like lightning: Dylan is not dense at all.
I did not resist. I couldn't. Instead, my body betrayed me in the most honest way it knew how. My hands rose on their own, trembling at first, before pressing against his chest—not to push him away, but to steady myself, to feel the rapid beat of his heart against my palm, as wild and frantic as mine.
And then, almost instinctively, as though pulled by a force far greater than either of us, I kissed him back.