A S H R I E L

The echo from last night still clings to the walls. Whatever stared back at her through the mirror left a bruise in the air, thin, metallic and humming like glass about to crack. I felt it from the corridor; the Rift never hides its aftermath. It hums under my skin now, low and insistent, as if reminding me she lied to someone, maybe even to herself. I don’t need the details. I only know the Rift is closer today.

Morning fog seeps through the open arches of the Combat Hall. The floor gleams with damp sand, smoothed for the day’s drills. Students cluster in loose groups, laughter sharp and brittle, the kind that masks fear. Instructor Korran stands at the center, arms folded, eyes like whetted steel.

“Mixed pairs today,” he announces. “No favorites. No rescues. You fight who I tell you to fight.”

The chatter falters. He enjoys that silence, the taste of obedience. His voice cuts again, harder. “Anyone who refuses earns double drills.”

A few groans answer. The smell of iron fills the air, though there is no blood yet. I take my usual place at the edge of the ring, half-shadow, unseen until needed. Korran’s gaze flicks over me and moves on. He doesn’t know what he’s looking at, only that I unsettle him. He’s right to feel it.

“Veyra, Hart, in the front line.”

Cassian Veyra’s grin slices across the fog. He twirls his wooden blade like a showman. “Finally, a decent match.”

Luke Hart steps forward, jaw set, every muscle coiled. The crowd murmurs; they smell competition, pride, maybe something warmer. Cassian leans closer, voice pitched to carry. “Try not to embarrass yourself in front of your witch.”

Luke’s fists tighten on the hilt. “Say that again.”

Korran’s smirk doesn’t reach his eyes. “Bow, boys. Let’s see which of you wants to bleed first.”

The students spread out around the ring. I stay where the light doesn’t reach, at the edge where the lamps flicker against the fog. From here, I can see her.

Elle stands near the railing with the rest of the class, scarf wound tight around her throat. Her hands grip the beam as if that thin strip of wood could anchor her to safety. She watches Luke’s every move with her shoulders tense and eyes too bright. She pretends she’s only paying attention because he’s her friend, but the air says otherwise. The Rift always hums louder when her heart does.

The faint shimmer I feel beneath the floorboards matches her pulse. The hall’s wards vibrate, faint but certain, like a string plucked too hard. The Rift recognizes her emotions the way fire recognizes air.

She glances toward me once. A brief flick of movement, no longer than a blink. It shouldn’t mean anything, yet my pulse answers. She looks away quickly, as if the act itself were dangerous and she’s right.

Because I can feel her fear…and something else under it, maybe guilt. Whatever the mirror showed her last night has left her raw. The Rift likes raw edges.

Across the ring, Luke squares his stance, blade lifted. Cassian smirks, his grin a wound waiting to open.

Cassian circles him lazily, dragging his blade through the sand. “You sure you want to do this, Hart? Or do you need your little witch to freeze me for you?”

The laughter that follows is thin, eager. They want a fight that means something.

Luke doesn’t answer. His expression hardens, a look I’ve seen on men before battle, it’s the mix of fear and pride. He lunges first, a clean strike that forces Cassian back a step. The crowd cheers. Elle flinches.

Cassian laughs, recovering easily. “Not bad. Maybe she’ll actually look at you now.”

Luke’s next hit lands faster, reckless. The wood cracks against Cassian’s guard hard enough to sting my ears. Elle’s fingers whiten on the rail.

Korran doesn’t stop them. He never does until someone bleeds.

And through it all, the hum beneath the floor deepens, growing colder. The Rift’s pulse matching hers, answering the rising heat in Luke’s chest.

This is how prophecy starts to move, it’s through jealousy, through love, through pride too human to stop.

The first solid strike rings out a sharp and  splintering crack that ripples through the air. The sound settles deep in my chest, echoing like a warning.

Luke presses forward again, sweat already gathering at his temples. His blows are too heavy, too fast. Cassian counters with practiced ease, parrying in wide arcs meant to impress, not to kill. Each movement grinds the sand under their boots. The rhythm of impact and breath becomes hypnotic.

But beneath that rhythm, another sound grows, a low hum, familiar and wrong. The faintest trace of frost starts to spider through the sand, so thin it looks like spilled glass dust. No one else sees it yet, but I feel it building. The Rift responds to emotion the way a mirror responds to light: reflecting, amplifying and distorting.

Elle shifts her weight at the edge of the ring, eyes locked on Luke. Her pulse quickens, I can feel it from here. Her fear flares, and the frost threads pulse brighter.

A spark of cold runs through the air like static. I exhale slowly, grounding it, but the energy resists. It’s too closely bound to her now, tethered by something I can’t untangle without revealing what I am.

Across the sand, Cassian laughs again. “What’s wrong, Hart? Too hot for you?”

Luke swings harder. The frost hum deepens.

This isn’t just sparring anymore, it’s the first whisper of a breach.

I shift one step forward. The air burns cold enough to sting.

The hum turns into a tremor under my boots, faint but rising like breath caught before a scream. The frost lines on the floor spread outward in spirals, fine and delicate. Only I can see their pattern of the same sigil that appeared on Elle’s mirror yesterday.

Korran doesn’t notice. His mortal eyes can’t.

But I can taste it. The Rift presses at the edges of reality, reaching through for her, drawn by her guilt, her love, her lie.

The wards hum their warning through the walls, a tone only Guardians know. I close my fist around the sensation, forcing calm into a storm that doesn’t obey.

The Rift has found her heartbeat again.

And it’s answering.

Cassian presses his advantage, grin sharp and eager. “Come on, Hart. Show her what you’re worth.”

Luke’s shoulders bunch. He’s good and better than most here, but his strength isn’t patience, it’s emotion. He fights with heart, not control. And right now that heart is on fire.

He charges. His blade arcs wide, too fast, too hard. Cassian parries and twists, shoving him back with a shoulder check that sends dust spinning. The class erupts into cheers. They love blood when it isn’t theirs.

“Luke!” Elle’s voice cuts across the noise. Sharp. Fear threaded through it.
That single sound hooks something deep inside him. He lunges again, reckless. The sand shifts under his boots, slick with thin frost. He doesn’t see it and mortals never do until it’s too late.

Cassian sidesteps, faster this time, driving a counterstrike low and brutal. Luke stumbles, loses footing. The tip of Cassian’s practice blade bites through the air, aiming for Luke’s exposed ribs. It’s no longer a game, it’s a real hit this time.

Luke recovers at the last second, turns the blow but his spin carries the blade toward the railing. Toward her.

Elle gasps, stepping back too late. The wood gleams, the air bends, the Rift hums.
I move before thought.

The moment stretches, silent and merciless.
The sand darkens, frost erupting from its center like veins under glass. The spirals widen with every heartbeat, glowing faintly blue-white. The lights gutter. Someone screams.

The frost wants her. It follows her fear like the scent of air.

I feel the pull of it against my own pulse. The same tether that connects her to the Rift threads through me. It’s unseen, unwanted and unbreakable.

Korran’s barked orders fade beneath the roar of silence. He sees the frost now but doesn’t understand it. “Stay back!” he shouts, but no one moves. They can’t.

Luke turns toward the rail, horror flooding his face. “Elle..”

The spirals bloom beneath his boots, a perfect mirror to the marks I’ve seen carved into old stone deep under the academy. Seal runes. Her mark.

She’s losing control, and she doesn’t even know she’s the one doing it.

The air drops ten degrees in an instant. Breath fogs. The frost crawls higher, slicking the railing where Elle stands.
Her eyes find mine across the chaos.

For a heartbeat, it’s only us with her pulse hammering in my chest, mine echoing in hers.
The Rift opens its mouth to whisper through the cracks between us.

It will strike now.

And I have no choice but to answer.

The instant before I move, her eyes lock with mine.
Not a plea, not fear but something older. Recognition.

The noise around us dissolves. Frost climbs the walls in thin white veins, turning lamp lights to silver haze. Every breath between us crackles with cold. Luke shouts her name again, but his voice feels far away. There is only the space between us, the threaded with frost, bound with heat.

I reach her just as the blade descends. Wood meets flesh with a hollow thud. The force jars through my arm, numbing bone, but I hold. Splinters scatter like sparks. The frost catches them midair, spinning them into tiny spirals that drift toward her.

She stares at my hand, wide-eyed, disbelief breaking through the fear. “You.. you caught it.”

The rest of the class gasps, whispers chasing one another like frightened birds. Luke’s face is a storm of anger, relief and confusion all clawing for space. But I can’t look away from her.

Her breath clouds between us. She whispers, “Ashriel,” like it’s a secret she shouldn’t know.

The sound of my name in her voice burns more than the frost. Every instinct says to step back, to hide what I’ve done. I don’t. The Rift has already marked me; hiding is useless.

Our eyes meet again and the frost obeys her heartbeat. It trembles, alive and forming a single spiral on the floor that connects her boots to the shadow under mine. A silent thread.
She feels it too; I can see it in the way her shoulders shake, not from cold but from recognition neither of us can explain.

Pain returns in a rush. I lower my hand, expecting blood. Instead, black frost creeps across my palm, veins of onyx tracing the shape of the strike. The sigil glows once, then fades, leaving a mark that wasn’t there before.

Elle’s gaze drops to her own skin. Her fingers tremble, and just for an instant the same pattern flares pale across the inside of her wrist, a ghost-reflection of mine. The frost between us hums, satisfied.

A collective breath ripples through the hall. Korran’s orders blur into static. Luke steps forward, but the spirals on the ground turn to face him, barring his path.

I lift my eyes to hers again. She’s shaking, but she doesn’t look away.

Whatever the Rift wrote into us. it’s done.
And every ward in Ravenshade knows it.

The lamp lights die out with a sound like a gasp.
Darkness falls.
The frost sings.