The charm's weight sat heavy in Leon's palm as he walked the upper corridor. It had cooled, the faint magical heat fading the moment he'd tucked it into his coat pocket. But it still felt wrong — like a watchful eye that had been plucked mid-blink.
He took the rear hall toward the tower wing, away from where the servants moved during pre-dawn prep. His father wouldn't be awake for another hour, and the training yard was still dark. Only one person would be awake now.
The soft pulse of arcane light flickered ahead — faint blue rippling under the door frame.
Leon stopped.
Knocked once.
"Elena," he said, voice low.
No answer.
He waited.
The lock clicked. The door eased open.
Elena stood barefoot, robe open at the neck, fingers glowing faintly from a dispersal rune she was wiping off her forearm. Her black hair was tied messily behind her head. She blinked at him, clearly still halfway into her spellwork focus.
"Leon," she said. "You're early."
"You're awake."
Her lips curved slightly. "I'm always awake before sunrise. Magic doesn't like to sleep."
He pulled the charm from his pocket and held it up. "Do you recognize this?"
Elena's expression changed.
Not dramatically — just a slight narrowing of her eyes and a stillness in the way her fingers hovered mid-air. She reached out, slowly, and took the charm from his hand.
Her thumb brushed the edge. "Brass scrying focus. Scraped runes. Council work, maybe… or stolen Order metal. Whoever made this wanted eyes on a narrow space."
"It was wired to a tree. Eastern yard."
She frowned. "The grove?"
He nodded.
Elena looked at him again. "You weren't supposed to find this."
"I figured."
"No," she said. "I mean you — they didn't think you would be the one to find it."
Leon crossed his arms. "Because I'm supposed to be slow. Distracted. Still fat and full of wine."
Her gaze lingered on him, eyes sharp now. "You're changing too fast, Leon."
"You're the first person to say that like it's a problem."
"It is," she said, softer. "For people who don't want to ask why."
She turned, walked back to her desk. Her study was cluttered — scrolls, tomes, gem-lit focus rings. But everything was neat in its own way. Ordered chaos.
Elena sat.
"The runes scraped here... someone was trying to hide who originally bound it. If I trace this, I'll need time."
"You have it."
"Do I?" She looked up. "Because if I'm right, this was either placed by the Council, the Rift Order, or someone acting between them. And if they know you're tracking their signals—"
"I don't care."
"Then I do."
The words hit hard.
Not loud. Not angry.
Just clear.
Elena stood and stepped toward him, holding the charm like it was something alive. "You think you can carry all of this weight alone. You want to. Because the moment you stop moving, you'll feel it press down. I know that look. I've worn it too."
Leon met her eyes. "What do I do with that?"
"Start trusting someone," she said. "Start trusting me."
He didn't answer.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because the warmth in her voice cut deeper than steel.
Later that morning, Leon walked into the training yard where three guards were already running drills. His shirt was sweat-soaked from the early climb up the tower stair. His legs ached. His shoulders burned.
Good.
That meant he was awake.
Reece met him by the rack, tossing a wooden sword. "News from the envoy?"
"They left."
"And?"
"And someone else is watching."
Reece grimaced. "Course they are."
Leon began his drills.
The rhythm had changed in him — tighter core, more weight on his lead leg, guard transitions smoother. His left pivot still lagged slightly, the consequence of past weight. But every day he could feel more of himself returning. Not the old Leon — but the swordsman he could've been if he'd started sooner.
Elena watched from the second-floor balcony above, arms folded.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
By afternoon, a rider came — not from the Council, but from Harthwell estate.
An official seal.
A stamped invitation.
House Harthwell was holding a spell-duel exhibition for the nobles and high-tier mages of the region. Elena's name had been entered. But the note was addressed to Leon.
It wasn't a challenge.
It was bait.
Leon held the parchment while Elena read over his shoulder.
"They want to see if you'll appear beside me," she said.
"I thought you weren't part of the dueling circle anymore."
"I'm not," Elena said. "But I'm still a mage of record. And I've refused three invites this season."
Leon folded the letter. "They're setting a stage."
"For us."
He looked out at the dusk-lit yard.
"Then we show them how we walk through it."
That night, the charm pulsed once before dying in her palm.
Elena's tracing spell had worked.
The signal source was gone now.
But not before leaving a faint directional residue.
South-east.
Toward the old academy grounds.
Where the Council wasn't supposed to operate.
Leon remained at the edge of the stable yard well after the others had departed. The invitation on parchment remained folded in his hand, the wax seal only slightly broken. It was more than just a duel.
It was a message.
He could feel it in the wording, the way his name was written second — as if the nobles still couldn't decide whether to recognize him as Elena's escort or a threat.
The duel wasn't about magic.
It was about position.
"Still up?"
Leon turned slightly. Reece leaned against the post near the hitching rail, arms folded, brow raised.
"You think I shouldn't go?" Leon asked.
Reece didn't answer right away. "I think if you do, they'll measure you. Not just your footwork or how deep you can cut. They'll measure how close you stand to Elena."
Leon looked back at the night-dark sky. "Good."
Reece laughed once. "Dangerous."
Leon let the silence stretch.
The stars didn't blink. Neither did he.
In her room, Elena worked under a dim hovering crystal, etching counter runes onto the brass charm. The lines had faded, but the directional trail hadn't. It kept tugging southeast — not hard, not like a locator — but enough for her to know the signal had been artificial.
Someone had placed it to seem older than it was.
She dipped her brush again.
Whoever orchestrated this knew House Raiven's protocols. They knew exactly where Leon would train. Exactly what grove he'd inspect.
It wasn't Council.
This was someone personal.
And they didn't just want information.
They wanted reaction.
Elena stood, wiping the ink-stained cloth between her fingers. She moved to her window and looked down at the empty yard.
Leon was still there.
Still staring at the moon like it owed him something.
She watched him for a moment, then pressed her forehead to the glass.
He didn't know it yet.
But whoever was watching wasn't watching him.
They were watching them both.
And that meant her fire — the one she'd buried years ago — was about to burn again.
Whether she liked it or not.