Nathan approached the casting arena with heavy steps. Ever since the incident during their last pairing, he'd dreaded having to face Roremand again in any practical lesson. Professor Brannock, however, clearly saw something beneficial in their strained partnership—perhaps hoping Nathan might gain discipline through proximity to the academy’s most structured and precise student.

  The arena was bathed in crisp, cool morning air, sunlight barely filtering through wisps of thin clouds overhead. The circular space felt uncomfortably small as Nathan took his place across from Roremand, who was already waiting, posture flawless, expression guarded. Their gazes met briefly before Nathan quickly looked away, feeling tension coil in his stomach.

  “Today’s exercise is about controlled intensity,” Brannock announced sternly, pacing slowly around the pairs of students. “You must be precise, focused, and above all, measured. Show me power—but only power you can fully control.”

  Nathan’s throat tightened. Control felt like the one thing he had never mastered, despite Varis’s constant teachings.

  Brannock gestured sharply. “Begin!”

  Roremand immediately began drawing runes with elegant precision, fluidly shaping patterns of metallic silver threads. Fire crackled sharply at his fingertips, precisely contained yet fiercely bright. Nathan took a shaky breath, quickly attempting to replicate the exercise, tracing runes for air, carefully blending gentle winds to control the flames.

  “Focus, Quinn!” Roremand snapped, his sharp gaze pinning Nathan in place. “This isn’t practice—this is expectation.”

  “I know,” Nathan muttered, struggling to stabilize the winds. The flames flickered erratically, threatening to spiral out of control.

  Roremand sighed in frustration. “Stop trying to overpower it. Guide your elements, don’t force them.”

  Nathan felt his patience slipping. “I’m trying—”

  “You’re panicking!” Roremand shouted sharply, eyes blazing. “You’ve done this exercise dozens of times, yet you still can’t trust yourself. Stop doubting your magic!”

  Nathan grit his teeth, frustration and anger surging dangerously. Without realizing it, his emotional turbulence began seeping into the spell. The gentle winds twisted abruptly, merging violently with Roremand’s flames, spinning wildly out of control.

  A violent burst of heat erupted from the blended spell, shattering the delicate threads of magic and sending fiery sparks spiraling across the arena. Students cried out, scattering quickly. Professor Brannock intervened instantly, shielding the nearby students with a sharply cast barrier.

  Nathan stumbled backward, horror freezing his limbs. Roremand’s expression darkened dangerously, flames dancing angrily at his fingertips.

  “Enough!” Brannock roared, stepping forward angrily. “Nathan! Explain!”

  Nathan shook his head desperately, voice strained. “I—I lost control. I’m sorry.”

  “You always lose control!” Roremand shouted furiously, stepping closer, eyes narrowed with barely restrained anger. “How can anyone trust you with magic when you can’t even trust yourself?”

  Nathan flinched, embarrassment burning painfully in his chest. “I’m trying, Roremand.”

  Roremand scoffed harshly. “Trying isn’t good enough anymore. You’re reckless. Your power is meaningless if you refuse to master it.”

  Brannock’s voice cut sharply between them. “That’s enough. Both of you—my office, immediately.”

  Nathan’s shoulders slumped as he followed silently behind Roremand, the other students watching cautiously, whispers filling the empty space left behind.

  Inside Brannock’s office, tension thickened unbearably. The professor glared angrily, pacing behind his desk, frustration clear on his face.

  “Nathan,” he began harshly, “you continually endanger yourself and your classmates. This reckless casting cannot continue. Control yourself—or you will face serious consequences.”

  Nathan’s voice shook slightly. “I’ll do better. I swear.”

  Brannock exhaled sharply, glancing toward Roremand. “You will continue overseeing Nathan’s casting. Clearly, he requires closer guidance. I expect results—quickly.”

  Roremand’s jaw tightened visibly, but he nodded stiffly. “Yes, professor.”

  Brannock dismissed them with an irritated wave. “Out.”

  As they exited, Nathan moved quietly beside Roremand, pulse racing nervously. “Listen—I’m sorry—”

  Roremand whirled sharply, anger clear in every line of his body. “You don’t get to apologize again, Nathan. You’ve done enough.”

  Nathan swallowed painfully. “Please—I just lost control. I didn’t mean—”

  “You never mean it!” Roremand snapped harshly, voice trembling slightly beneath fierce anger. “But intention doesn’t matter. You’re dangerous. You keep acting like your power excuses you from consequences.”

  Nathan’s voice tightened, defensive. “That’s not fair. I never asked for any of this.”

  “Neither did anyone else!” Roremand shouted, stepping closer, eyes bright with anger and hurt. “Your magic isn’t a gift—it’s a burden. And you’re not strong enough to carry it.”

  Nathan recoiled sharply, breath catching painfully. “I—I’ll learn.”

  “Then learn faster,” Roremand whispered harshly. “Before someone gets hurt.”

  Roremand turned abruptly, walking swiftly away, leaving Nathan standing frozen, chest aching, heart racing unevenly.

  Nathan wandered numbly toward the gardens, heart heavy and mind spinning. He sank quietly onto a bench, burying his face in his hands, trying to steady his breathing. Noctisolar appeared silently, settling gently beside him, its shimmering form glowing softly beneath the pale sun.

  “You saw?” Nathan whispered softly, voice shaking. Noctisolar responded with a soft hum, gentle warmth radiating carefully from its scales, quietly reassuring.

  Nathan sighed, leaning against the dragon’s comforting presence. “He’s right. I’m dangerous. My magic is uncontrollable—I shouldn’t even be here.”

  A soft rustle made Nathan glance up sharply. Krit approached quietly, eyes gentle with careful sympathy.

  “You’re wrong,” Krit said quietly, stopping a respectful distance away. “You belong here, Nathan. More than most.”

  Nathan shook his head, exhausted. “I nearly hurt people today. I lost control again—like always.”

  Krit stepped closer, voice calm yet firm. “Then we keep practicing until control feels natural. You’re not alone, Nathan. Stop trying to carry this alone.”

  Nathan sighed deeply, weariness clear in his voice. “Roremand hates me now.”

  Krit’s expression softened gently. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s scared, Nathan. Not just for others—for you.”

  Nathan glanced up sharply, confused. “Scared?”

  Krit nodded gently. “Your magic scares him, but not just because of what you could do to others. He sees something powerful in you—something special. And that scares him because it means you matter to him.”

  Nathan shook his head softly. “I doubt that.”

  Krit smiled faintly, kind yet firm. “Believe it or not, Nathan, Roremand cares. His anger isn’t because he dislikes you—it’s because he fears losing control, too.”

  Nathan exhaled slowly, chest tight. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Krit’s voice was quiet, certain. “Keep trying. Keep training. And don’t shut him out.”

  Nathan leaned back against Noctisolar again, feeling quiet certainty resonating gently between them.

  “I don’t know if I can fix this,” Nathan whispered.

  “You don’t have to fix it immediately,” Krit replied gently. “But don’t give up. Your power isn’t meant to destroy. You just haven’t found its true shape yet.”

  Nathan closed his eyes quietly, feeling gentle reassurance weaving softly through Krit’s words. He still wasn’t sure he believed them—but for now, the quiet certainty was enough.

  Nathan woke early the following day, determined to put the previous afternoon behind him. The bitter words from Roremand had burned deeply, lingering painfully long after they'd been spoken. Yet, beneath the hurt, a new resolve had quietly taken root.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He dressed silently, slipping out before Lissandre woke, stepping out onto the balcony where Noctisolar waited quietly beneath the dawn sky. The dragon watched him approach, its golden eyes gentle and calm, instantly soothing Nathan's anxious thoughts.

  “Morning,” Nathan whispered softly, reaching to gently stroke the dragon's shimmering scales. Warmth seeped into his fingertips, reassuring and grounding.

  Noctisolar hummed softly in response, lifting its elegant head toward the fading stars above. Nathan followed its gaze, breathing deeply, gathering courage for the day ahead.

  The training arena was nearly empty when Nathan arrived. A chill lingered in the morning air, frost still glistening softly along the edges of the stone floor. Nathan breathed steadily, attempting to calm his racing heart as he prepared for his private practice. He’d arrived early, hoping to avoid attention, wanting desperately to find some measure of control without watchful eyes and whispered doubts.

  Carefully, he began sketching runes in the crisp air, allowing himself to slow down, focusing on precision and clarity rather than power. Small flames flickered gently to life, obedient and contained, wavering softly but remaining stable. He took a slow, deep breath, grateful for the brief sense of accomplishment.

  “Better,” came a quiet voice from behind him, instantly tightening Nathan’s chest with nervous anticipation. He turned slowly to find Roremand standing at the arena’s edge, posture stiff but expression softer than the day before.

  Nathan hesitated, cautious. “I didn’t know anyone else would be here yet.”

  Roremand stepped forward slowly, arms folded carefully, eyes studying the lingering flames. “Neither did I. But since we’re both here, perhaps we can try again—without an audience.”

  Nathan tensed slightly, wary. “You want to practice together again?”

  Roremand sighed softly, stepping closer, eyes serious yet calm. “I don’t want yesterday to define everything between us. I lost my temper. You lost control. Neither helped anything.”

  Nathan swallowed nervously, chest tight. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Roremand.”

  “You won’t,” Roremand said firmly, voice quiet but steady. “Not if you trust yourself—and trust me enough to guide you.”

  Nathan exhaled slowly, considering carefully. Finally, he nodded quietly. “Alright. Let’s try.”

  Roremand moved to stand opposite him, carefully drawing runes for metal and fire, elegantly precise, controlled. Nathan mirrored carefully, shaping air runes gently, letting them entwine slowly with Roremand’s flames. The elements touched cautiously, hesitant at first, but gradually finding careful harmony.

  “Good,” Roremand murmured softly, watching intently. “Guide it slowly. Don’t force it.”

  Nathan steadied himself carefully, heart pounding gently as he held the spell carefully in balance, flames and air gently intertwining. The pressure increased slowly, challenging Nathan’s control—but this time he didn’t panic. Instead, he breathed deeply, trusting Roremand’s calm presence opposite him, carefully guiding the elements into stable harmony.

  Slowly, the combined elements stabilized completely, forming a delicate sphere of flickering fire and gently swirling wind—beautifully contained, perfectly balanced.

  Nathan exhaled shakily, disbelief clear on his face. “It worked.”

  Roremand smiled faintly, expression quietly approving. “Because you allowed it to. Magic isn’t about force, Nathan—it’s about balance, harmony.”

  Nathan lowered his hands slowly, relief flooding through him. “I don’t know why it worked this time.”

  Roremand’s gaze softened slightly. “Because this time, you weren’t alone.”

  Nathan felt a warmth spread gently through his chest, his voice quieter now, sincere. “Thank you.”

  Roremand hesitated briefly, his voice careful, softer now. “Nathan, I said things yesterday that were unfair. I reacted harshly, and—I’m sorry.”

  Nathan shook his head softly. “You weren’t wrong. I have been reckless. I needed the wake-up call.”

  Roremand’s eyes flickered softly, cautious vulnerability slipping through his careful composure. “Maybe. But I could’ve handled it differently. You deserve better than anger.”

  Nathan’s pulse quickened softly. “So do you.”

  They stood quietly for a moment, the gentle sound of softly shifting flames filling the space between them. Nathan felt a quiet connection solidify between them—fragile, cautious, but undeniably real.

  Finally, Roremand broke the quiet carefully, voice firm yet gentle. “From now on, we practice together. Regularly. You’re not facing this alone anymore.”

  Nathan smiled faintly, gratitude clear in his eyes. “Deal.”

  Later, beneath the soft afternoon sunlight, Nathan found himself sitting quietly beside Krit and Lissandre beneath the broad branches of their favorite tree, Noctisolar curled gently nearby. Lissandre regarded Nathan closely, eyebrows raised slightly in curiosity.

  “You and Roremand seem oddly comfortable around each other today,” she observed gently, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

  Nathan flushed faintly, looking away quickly. “We just...worked through things a bit.”

  Krit’s expression remained carefully neutral, though a knowing warmth lingered gently in their calm eyes. “Good. You both needed resolution.”

  Lissandre nudged Nathan playfully, grinning warmly. “So, is Roremand finally loosening up? Or are you finally learning discipline?”

  Nathan smiled faintly, rolling his eyes softly. “Probably both.”

  Lissandre laughed gently, leaning comfortably against the tree. “Whatever it is, keep it up. It suits you both.”

  Nathan glanced toward Noctisolar, the dragon watching quietly, eyes gentle with patient understanding. He felt a quiet certainty grow softly within him—an understanding that while he still had much to learn, he no longer had to learn it alone.

  After the early-morning breakthrough with Roremand, Nathan found himself unusually calm for the rest of the day. The fear of losing control—of hurting others—still lingered at the edge of his thoughts, but for once it didn’t consume him. Instead, a quiet certainty had taken root within him, a sense that perhaps, after months of struggle, true progress was possible.

  He finished his afternoon classes with Krit and Lissandre and walked slowly back through the academy’s gently illuminated corridors, letting his thoughts wander freely. Noctisolar soared gracefully above, occasionally gliding low enough to brush a wing softly along Nathan’s shoulder in silent reassurance. The dragon’s gentle hum resonated soothingly, reminding Nathan he wasn’t alone, even in moments of quiet reflection.

  As he passed the library entrance, he paused, feeling an unexpected impulse to enter. The library had become a refuge for him over recent weeks, a place of quiet solace and comfort. Today, he wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to go inside, but the pull was gentle yet insistent. He stepped quietly through the heavy doors, instantly breathing in the familiar scents of parchment, leather-bound books, and gently smoldering candles.

  He wandered slowly down the aisles, fingers brushing softly against book spines as he went, not searching for anything specific, simply enjoying the peaceful quiet. Eventually, his steps brought him toward the back corner—the spot he often found himself drawn to when needing space to think.

  To his surprise, Roremand was already there, seated quietly at one of the small reading tables, deeply engrossed in an ancient-looking volume bound in worn crimson leather. The table before him held neatly stacked notes and delicate rune sketches.

  Nathan hesitated, debating whether to quietly leave, but before he could decide, Roremand glanced up sharply, clearly sensing his presence. Their eyes met quietly for a moment, something subtle and gentle passing between them.

  “I wasn’t expecting company,” Roremand said evenly, setting the book down slowly.

  Nathan shifted slightly, cautious. “I can leave if you’d rather be alone.”

  Roremand hesitated briefly, then shook his head, expression softening slightly. “Stay. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  Nathan carefully took a seat across from Roremand, curiosity piqued by the scattered notes. “What are you studying?”

  Roremand’s gaze flickered briefly toward the notes, then back to Nathan, clearly hesitant. “Advanced metal manipulation techniques. I’m trying to refine the precision of my magic. It’s... challenging.”

  Nathan leaned forward slightly, interest genuine. “But you’re already the best caster in our year. Why push yourself so hard?”

  Roremand exhaled softly, shoulders relaxing subtly. “Because being the best isn’t enough. Perfection is impossible—but it still feels like it’s what everyone expects from me. If I don’t constantly improve, it feels like I’m failing.”

  Nathan’s expression softened quietly, voice gentle. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. You make everything look effortless.”

  Roremand’s lips twitched faintly, eyes briefly vulnerable. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The better you are at something, the less room you have to fail. People forget you’re human.”

  Nathan hesitated quietly, his voice softer now, cautious but sincere. “I’ve always envied your control, Roremand. I thought if I could be more like you, things would be easier.”

  Roremand smiled faintly, genuine warmth briefly flickering through his careful composure. “And I’ve always envied your freedom. You wield magic naturally, Nathan—even when it terrifies you. You aren’t afraid of pushing boundaries. It’s remarkable, even if it’s occasionally dangerous.”

  Nathan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Maybe we’ve both been envying the wrong things.”

  “Perhaps,” Roremand admitted quietly, the gentle warmth in his voice lingering comfortably between them. “Maybe we can learn from each other instead.”

  Nathan felt his chest tighten softly with unexpected warmth. “I’d like that.”

  Roremand’s eyes met Nathan’s again, gaze quietly steady, a faint smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Good.”

  They fell into comfortable silence, both quietly absorbed in their own thoughts yet deeply aware of each other’s presence. Eventually, Nathan spoke again softly, careful not to break the gentle peace.

  “Can I ask you something personal?”

  Roremand hesitated briefly, then nodded slowly, cautiously. “Go ahead.”

  “Why do you push people away?” Nathan asked quietly, voice gentle and hesitant. “You seem so guarded all the time—even when people genuinely care.”

  Roremand exhaled slowly, gaze distant, expression thoughtful. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled, but quiet vulnerability lingered beneath his words. “It’s easier. If people don’t expect anything from me emotionally, I can’t disappoint them. If I never let anyone close, they can’t leave me.”

  Nathan’s throat tightened softly, chest aching gently at the quiet pain behind Roremand’s words. “You deserve better than that.”

  Roremand glanced downward briefly, eyes softer now, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe. But believing that means risking everything. And sometimes, I don’t know if I’m brave enough.”

  Nathan leaned forward gently, voice quiet yet firm. “You don’t have to risk everything all at once. Maybe just start small.”

  Roremand met Nathan’s gaze again, something deep and gentle lingering quietly between them. “Maybe I already have.”

  Nathan’s pulse quickened softly, heart racing gently beneath quiet realization. He smiled softly, warmth filling his chest. “Good.”

  They sat quietly for a long while afterward, comfortable in shared silence, until eventually, the fading sunlight drew their attention. Nathan sighed softly, reluctant to break the gentle moment.

  “We should probably go,” he murmured gently. “It’s getting late.”

  Roremand nodded quietly, carefully gathering his scattered notes. “I suppose so.”

  They rose together, slowly making their way toward the library doors, Nathan acutely aware of the quiet proximity, the gentle brush of their sleeves, the subtle warmth radiating between them.

  Outside, beneath the fading evening sky, Roremand paused briefly, turning quietly toward Nathan, expression calm yet serious. “Thank you, Nathan—for listening. For understanding.”

  Nathan smiled gently, warmth lingering softly. “Anytime.”

  Roremand nodded once, hesitating briefly before carefully reaching out, gently squeezing Nathan’s shoulder, touch firm yet tender. Then, without another word, he turned quietly, walking slowly toward his dormitory, leaving Nathan standing beneath the softly darkening sky, chest tight with quiet happiness.

  Noctisolar appeared silently beside Nathan, its golden eyes quietly observing, gentle hum resonating softly. Nathan reached out absently, gently stroking the dragon’s scales, feeling reassurance and quiet certainty flow between them.

  “He’s not as cold as everyone thinks,” Nathan whispered softly, gaze still lingering gently after Roremand’s retreating figure.

  Noctisolar hummed softly, agreement clear in its quiet response, gentle warmth radiating comfortably from its elegant form.

  Nathan smiled faintly, quietly grateful for the gentle comfort, the subtle reassurance that perhaps he was finally understanding—finally beginning to melt the frost carefully guarding Roremand’s heart.

  Together, Nathan and Noctisolar began walking slowly toward their own dormitory, comfortable silence lingering gently between them beneath the softly shimmering stars.

  For once, Nathan felt truly hopeful—for himself, for Roremand, and for the gentle future quietly unfolding before them.