The courtyard had been repaired.
Mostly.
Hairline cracks still traced the stone like faint scars, and Melissa noticed them the moment she stepped outside.
She always did—stone spoke to her more honestly than people ever had. It held the memory of every impact, every weight, every secret.
Leo sat alone near the edge of the fountain, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was staring at his hands with such intensity it looked as if he expected them to burst into flames or crumble into dust at any moment.
"You're going to strain your eyes if you glare at them like that," she said softly.
Leo startled, nearly sliding off the stone ledge. "Do you people ever announce yourselves? Or is 'creeping' a mandatory subject in Mage School?"
Melissa smiled faintly and sat beside him, leaving a careful, respectful distance between them. "You didn't ask us to leave when you saw us coming."
"I didn't ask you to stay either," Leo grumbled, though he didn't move away.
Fair enough.
They watched the courtyard in silence for a moment. The air was calm—too calm—like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the next disaster.
"During training today," Melissa said finally, her voice cutting through the quiet, "you weren't just controlling one element at a time."
Leo scoffed, rubbing his palms against his trousers. "I wasn't controlling anything. I was barely surviving the experience."
"That's the point."
He glanced at her, suspicious. "You're saying that like it's supposed to be impressive. I almost drowned the felix guy."
Melissa placed her palm flat against the stone floor. Beneath her touch, the earth responded instantly—warm, steady, and familiar.
"Most mages learn separation first," she explained. "Earth stays earth. Water stays water. They are tools that listen only when they are called by name."
Leo frowned, looking down at the cracks she was touching. "And?"
"You didn't call," she said quietly. "They came anyway."
Leo looked away, his jaw tightening. "Lucky accident. I'm a mess, Melissa. A dangerous, walking mess."
Melissa shook her head. "No. They weren't fighting each other inside you, Leo. They weren't competing for space."
That made him pause. He looked back at her, the skepticism in his eyes flickering.
"They were… aligning," she continued, her voice thoughtful. "Like they recognized something familiar. Something they'd been missing for a very long time."
Leo laughed once, a dry, humorless sound.
"You're talking like I'm some walking legend. I'm a blacksmith's apprentice who's good at not getting burned. That's it."
"I'm talking like you scared the elements," she said gently. "And despite being scared, they still chose to answer you."
He didn't respond. The weight of her words seemed to settle on his shoulders, heavier than any cloak.
Melissa stood up, brushing the dust from her clothes. "I don't think you're dangerous, Leo," she added, looking at him one last time. "I think you're untrained."
She hesitated, then added something softer, more piercing. "And you're scared. Anyone would be."
Leo stiffened, his shoulders squaring. "I'm not scared."
She didn't argue. She knew the lie of a brave face better than anyone.
That night, sleep refused him.
Leo lay on his back, staring at the unfamiliar, vaulted ceiling of his room. He listened to the distant, magical hum of a realm that still felt like a beautifully dressed lie.
Heir. Chosen. Balance.
Words people used when they wanted something from you. Words used to justify things that didn't make sense.
He flexed his fingers in the dark. Nothing happened. No sparks. No gusts of wind. No ripples in the floor.
Good.
"That's what I thought," he muttered to the darkness.
They wanted him to believe—because belief made obedience easier. Because belief made sacrifice sound noble.
He sat up abruptly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "If I really was all that," he whispered to the empty room, "why didn't anything happen before? Why let me starve? Why let me hide in the mud for eighteen years?"
No glowing signs had ever appeared in his forge. No voices had guided him through the cold winters. No miracles had saved him from the hunger. Just scars, cold nights, and running when trouble came too close.
He rubbed his wrist where the star-shaped mark rested beneath the skin. "A mark doesn't make me a king," he said firmly, his voice cracking. "It just makes me a target."
Outside his door, hidden in the shadows of the hallway, Melissa paused mid-step.
She rested her hand against the wall—not to eavesdrop, but simply to feel the vibrations of the house.
The stone was quiet, reflecting the boy's loneliness back at her.
But deep beneath the foundations, beneath the very crust of the realm, something ancient stirred. It wasn't loud. It wasn't demanding.
It was just waiting. And Melissa, for the first time in her life, was afraid of what might happen when it finally stopped waiting.