Chapter 2: A Taste of Agony

Chapter 2: A Taste of Agony

The silence in the corridor was suffocating, broken only by the sound of Thalen’s jagged breathing. He remained slumped against the doorframe, his fingers digging into the wood so hard his knuckles looked like white marble. Zeyric stayed on the floor, his own knees throbbing, but the pain felt strange—magnified and echoed, like a sound bouncing between two mirrors.

"Are you... are you okay?" Zeyric asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Do I look okay?" Thalen spat, though the venom lacked its usual bite. He exhaled a shaky breath, slowly straightening his legs. "Every time you move, it’s like a ghost is tugging at my joints. When you fell... it felt like my own bones were hitting the stone."

"I didn't mean to," Zeyric said, pushing himself up. He winced as the raw skin on his palms stung.

Thalen hissed, clutching his own hands and staring at his palms as if expecting them to burst into flames. "Stop it. Stop feeling it."

"I can't just turn off my nerves, Thalen!"

"Then learn to be less of a disaster," Thalen muttered, finally pushing off the wall. He smoothed his tunic, though his hands were still trembling. "The training hall. Now. If we’re late, the instructor won't care if our souls are stapled together or not."

*

The Academy’s combat arena was a sprawling circle of sand and enchanted obsidian. Usually, Zeyric felt a sense of dread here, but today, the dread was laced with a strange, humming electricity. He could feel Thalen standing ten feet behind him in the assembly line—he didn't need to look. He could feel the precise moment Thalen’s heart rate spiked as Instructor Kaelen walked in.

"Pair up!" Kaelen barked, his voice echoing. "Standard kinetic dueling. First to draw blood or force a ring-out wins. Since we have our... special guests today, let’s see how the Twin-Soul bond handles a real beating. Zeyric, Veyron. Center circle."

Zeyric felt a cold pit form in his stomach. It wasn't his own. That’s Thalen’s anxiety, he realized. He’s terrified I’m going to get him hurt.

"Don't screw this up, Zeyric," Thalen’s voice drifted from the sidelines, but it felt like the words were being whispered directly into Zeyric’s ear.

"I've got this," Zeyric muttered, stepping onto the obsidian.

Veyron Wandale was already waiting, cracking his neck. He was a mountain of a guy, known for using kinetic magic like a sledgehammer. He grinned, showing a row of slightly crooked teeth.

"Hey, Puddle-Boy," Veyron chuckled, lifting his wand. "I heard about the bond. Does this mean if I break your ribs, the Ice Prince over there coughs up blood? Because honestly, that’s a two-for-one deal I can’t pass up."

"Try it and see," Zeyric snapped, dropping into a defensive stance.

"Begin!" Kaelen shouted.

Veyron didn't hesitate. He swung his wand in a violent arc, sending a shimmering wave of kinetic force screaming across the sand. Zeyric tried to summon a shield—a simple translucent wall—but his mana felt sluggish, weighed down by a foreign, icy pressure.

Thud.

The blast caught Zeyric square in the chest. He flew backward, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze. As he hit the sand, a twin cry of pain echoed from the sidelines.

Zeyric looked up, gasping for air. Thalen was doubled over, clutching his stomach, his face pale as ash.

"What are you doing?!" Thalen roared, his voice cracking. "Move your feet! I can feel the bruise forming on my own chest, you incompetent moron!"

"I’m trying!" Zeyric yelled back, scrambling up just as another blast sent a spray of obsidian shards toward his face.

One shard grazed Zeyric’s cheek.

Thalen flinched violently, his hand flying to his own unblemished face. "Dammit, Zeyric! Guard your left!"

"Shut up and let me focus!"

"How am I supposed to let you focus when I can taste the copper in your mouth?" Thalen stepped forward, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and something that looked dangerously like desperation. "Channel through me! Stop fighting the bond and use it!"

Zeyric ducked under Veyron’s next strike. "How?"

"Stop acting like you’re alone! Open the circuit!"

Zeyric closed his eyes for a split second, reaching not for his own flickering spark, but for that rushing tide of silver he’d felt during the ritual. He found it—a roaring river of pure, disciplined power. He grabbed hold of it.

Suddenly, the world slowed down. He could feel Thalen’s pulse, steadying now, providing a rhythmic beat for Zeyric’s own magic. When Zeyric raised his hand this time, the shield didn't just flicker. It roared into existence, a crystalline barrier that hummed with Thalen’s signature lightning.

Veyron’s next blast hit the shield and shattered like glass.

"What the...?" Veyron blinked, his eyes widening.

Zeyric didn't wait. He thrust his hand forward, and the feedback from the shield exploded outward. It wasn't just kinetic force; it was a jagged bolt of silver energy. It caught Veyron mid-chest, sending him tumbling out of the ring and into the stone wall with a heavy groan.

Silence fell over the arena.

Zeyric stood there, chest heaving, his hand still glowing. He felt a strange, intoxicating warmth spreading from his chest to his fingertips. It was the most powerful he’d ever felt, but it wasn't his power. It was theirs.

He turned to look at Thalen. The blonde noble was standing straight now, his eyes locked on Zeyric. He looked shaken, his chest rising and falling in sync with Zeyric’s.

"Not bad," Thalen whispered, and Zeyric felt the compliment like a physical caress against his mind.

"Next pair! Thalen and Kael!" Kaelen called out.

Zeyric stepped out of the ring, his legs feeling like jelly. As he passed Thalen, their shoulders brushed. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through Zeyric’s arm that made his breath hitch. Thalen stiffened but didn't pull away.

"Watch yourself," Zeyric murmured. "I don't want to feel you lose."

Thalen gave a small, haughty smirk, though his eyes were dark with focus. "I don't lose, Zeyric. Just try not to trip while I’m working."

Thalen stepped into the ring. His duel was a masterpiece of grace. He moved like water, his spells sharp and precise. Kael was a decent mage, but he was no match for a Valerius. However, halfway through the fight, something happened.

Kael sent a low-level firebolt toward Thalen’s legs. It was a slow, telegraphed move—something Thalen should have parried in his sleep.

Instead, Thalen hesitated. He stared at the firebolt for a fraction of a second too long. He didn't move his shield. He let the bolt strike his shoulder.

Zeyric gasped, a sharp, searing heat blossoming across his own shoulder blade. It felt like a hot iron had been pressed into his skin. "Ugh! Thalen, what the hell?"

Thalen stumbled back, his face contorting in pain, but he didn't look surprised. He looked... satisfied? He quickly finished the duel with a massive kinetic burst that sent Kael spinning, but Zeyric was too focused on the burning sensation in his shoulder to care about the victory.

*

The training session ended shortly after. The locker rooms were thick with steam and the scent of sweat and antiseptic herbs. Zeyric leaned against a tiled wall, rubbing his shoulder. The skin was red, but there was no burn mark—only the phantom sensation of one.

"Thalen!" Zeyric called out as the other students filtered out toward the showers.

Thalen was at the far end of the room, his back turned, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. His back was broad, his muscles lean and defined like a statue's.

"What do you want, Zeyric?" Thalen’s voice was muffled by the fabric.

"You missed that block on purpose," Zeyric said, walking toward him. "I felt it. You could have stopped that firebolt. Why didn't you?"

Thalen pulled the shirt off and tossed it onto the bench. He didn't turn around. "I don't know what you're talking about. I’m tired. The bond is draining."

"Don't lie to me," Zeyric said, reaching out to grab Thalen’s arm to turn him around. "We’re literally sharing a soul. I can feel when you’re lying. It feels like a... like a greasy itch in the back of my throat."

Zeyric spun him around, but Thalen caught Zeyric’s wrist, his grip like iron. They were inches apart now, the steam from the showers curling around them. Thalen’s skin was hot—burning hot—and Zeyric could feel the frantic thrum of his heart.

"Stop pushing," Thalen hissed, his blue eyes shimmering with a dangerous intensity.

"Why are you hiding your shoulder?" Zeyric challenged, his gaze dropping.

Thalen tried to pull away, but Zeyric stepped into his space, his hand sliding up Thalen’s arm to his shoulder. He expected to see a fresh red mark from the firebolt.

He didn't.

Instead, his eyes widened as he saw a dark, purple-black bruise blooming across Thalen’s ribs. It was old—maybe a day or two—and it looked like the result of a heavy, blunt impact. A boot, or a mace.

Zeyric’s breath hitched. "I didn't give you this."

He reached out, his fingers hovering over the mottled skin. "Thalen... I didn't trip that hard. And this is in the wrong place. Where did this come from?"

Thalen’s expression crumbled for a split second, replaced by a raw, jagged vulnerability that made Zeyric’s chest ache with a sorrow that wasn't his own. Thalen grabbed Zeyric’s hand, crushing it against his chest, right over the bruise.

"You shouldn't be able to feel this," Thalen whispered, his voice thick. "The ritual... it was supposed to start today. But this... my father... he didn't want me coming back with a 'handicap' for a partner."

Zeyric felt a wave of cold fury wash over him. "He did this to you? Because of me?"

"He did it to remind me of the stakes," Thalen said, his eyes searching Zeyric’s. "But Zeyric... when he hit me yesterday, I felt something. I felt a spark of... of warmth. From you. Miles away, in your dorm, you were laughing at something one of your friends said. And that laugh... it made the pain stop."

Thalen stepped closer, his chest brushing against Zeyric’s. The bond flared, turning the shared pain into something heavy and sweet, a magnetic pull that made Zeyric’s head spin. He could feel Thalen’s desire—a sharp, hungry thing that mirrored his own.

"I let that firebolt hit me," Thalen confessed, his voice dropping to a low, husky growl, "because I wanted to see if you’d feel me the way I felt you. I wanted to see if you’d care."

Zeyric’s heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that Thalen was undoubtedly feeling. "I care, you idiot. I feel everything you feel. Every bit of it."

Thalen’s hand moved from Zeyric’s wrist to the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the damp hair there. He pulled Zeyric closer until their foreheads touched. The air between them was electric, thick with the scent of sandalwood and the salt of their skin.

"Then feel this," Thalen breathed.

He leaned in, his lips just a hair’s breadth from Zeyric’s, his breath hot against Zeyric’s mouth. Zeyric closed his eyes, his entire body humming with a sensation so intense it felt like he was being summoned himself.

But just as their lips were about to touch, the heavy oak door of the locker room creaked open.

"Hey, Valerius! Instructor wants the practice logs!" a voice shouted from the hallway.

Thalen recoiled as if he’d been burned, his mask of cold arrogance snapping back into place so fast it made Zeyric’s head whiplash. He grabbed his towel, his back once again a wall of muscle and ice.

"Get out, Zeyric," Thalen said, his voice flat, though his hand was still trembling where he held the towel. "We have a long night of study ahead of us."

Zeyric stood there, his skin still tingling from the proximity, the phantom burn on his shoulder now replaced by a much deeper, more permanent ache in his chest. He looked at the bruise on Thalen's ribs one last time before turning away.

They weren't just sharing a soul. They were sharing a secret, and the Year-End Trials were suddenly the least of Zeyric's worries.