Chapter Thirteen – Threads Between Us

Sierra’s POV

Her familiar’s presence didn’t fade after summoning.

It lingered. Always.

In class, in the corridors, even in the echoing silence of her dorm, she could feel it — soft as a purr, sharp as a blade. A voice under her skin that whispered when her own grew too quiet.

And it whispered now.

He feels it too.

Sierra tightened her cloak as she crossed the lantern-lit courtyard. Students bustled everywhere, familiars fluttering and prowling like little gods, yet she felt separate. Always separate.

Until she saw him.

Malick.

Leaning against the north colonnade, like he hadn’t been waiting, like he didn’t watch the crowd the way she did. But the moment his gaze brushed hers, she felt it again — that hook, that pull. Threads tightening across the distance.

His shadow twitched toward hers, and hers — traitorous, hungry — answered.

She turned sharply down a side path.

But his footsteps followed.

“Vale,” his voice came low, smooth. “Wait.”

She stopped, pulse thrumming too fast, too loud.

When she looked back, he was closer than she expected, eyes dark and unreadable. “You summoned, didn’t you?”

Her mouth went dry. “That’s none of your business.”

A faint smirk. “You smell like it. The air shifts around you now.” His gaze dipped, just for a heartbeat, to the shimmer that still clung to her shoulders where her familiar had marked her. “What is it?”

“Not for you to know.”

“Not for me to know,” he echoed, voice sharper now, “but it sure as hells doesn’t feel that way.”

The pull between them thrummed hot, undeniable. Shadows tangled at their feet like silk cords, knotting tight.

Sierra tore her gaze away. “You should stay away from me.”

“I’ve tried,” Malick said. The words were too soft, too raw. “Doesn’t work.”

She hated the way her chest ached at that. Hated more the way her familiar stirred like it agreed.

Before she could answer, the sound of laughter echoed across the courtyard. Cold, cutting.

The Crows.

Elara at the center, smiling like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. Gloria’s gaze sharp as a blade. Patricia trailing lazily behind, arms crossed like she was bored of watching humans squirm.

“Well, well,” Elara cooed. “Didn’t realize we were interrupting a… private lesson.”

Heat burned Sierra’s cheeks. Her shadows curled tight around her, protective, dangerous. Malick shifted forward instinctively, placing himself between her and them.

“Careful,” he said, voice low, edged. “You might bite off more than you can chew.”

Elara tilted her head, smile widening. “Maybe. But some things are worth the taste.”

Gloria’s eyes flicked to Sierra, lips curving with something crueler. “Threads pull tight, don’t they? Shame you can’t cut them. Not when they’re written into your blood.”

Sierra froze. The words sank too deep, too pointed.

Her familiar hissed in her mind. She knows.

The bell rang, cutting through the tension.

Elara smirked as she drifted away, her flock following. “See you in combat class, little freak.”

Sierra exhaled shakily, shadows retreating.

Malick’s eyes stayed on her. Steady. Solid. Dangerous in a different way.

“You don’t have to face them alone.”

Her throat tightened. She turned away before she could answer — before the truth broke free.

But her familiar purred in her mind as she walked off.

He’s already yours, little queen. Whether you want him or not.

Combat Class

Professor Maiven’s voice cut through the training grounds like steel on stone.

“Pairings!”

The courtyard had been stripped bare for combat — sand underfoot, faint wards shimmering along the perimeter. Familiars circled above like restless birds, sensing the tension that always came before a fight.

Sierra hated this class. Not the combat itself — she was good at that, sometimes frighteningly so — but the attention. Every spell, every strike, every mistake was an invitation for the Crows to circle tighter.

“Malick and Vale,” Maiven barked.

Her heart dropped.

Of course.

And across the ring — Elara and Gloria. Patricia leaned against the ward, smirking like she’d just been handed front-row seats to the best play in town.

Sierra felt her shadows shiver, coiling. Malick glanced at her, unreadable as always. But his fists flexed once at his sides. He wasn’t happy either.

The signal flared. The duel began.

Elara was first, quick and merciless. Her crow familiar burst from her shoulder, splitting into three shadow-forms that dove straight for Sierra.

Sierra’s instinct surged. Her familiar ripped free — black feathers, bone-white talons — shredding the crow illusions like paper.

Gloria’s laughter cut through the clash. “Still hiding what you are, little Vaelira?”

Sierra’s breath caught. She faltered — just for a second.

Malick snarled, stepping in front of her as Gloria’s shadow-spike ripped through the sand. His dragonfire met it midair, hissing and screaming as the ward shook from the impact.

“Eyes up, Vale,” he barked.

But the name Gloria had whispered still rang in Sierra’s ears. Vaelira. The syllables crawled down her spine like poison.

“Don’t listen to her,” Malick snapped, his voice suddenly closer, steadier. “Stay with me.”

She tried. Gods, she tried. But the pull inside her chest grew heavier, hungrier. Her familiar screeched in her mind, demanding release. Shadows clawed the ground around her boots, unspooling faster than she could rein them in.

Elara’s smile widened. “Oh, she’s cracking.”

The duel escalated. Fire, shadow, steel — everything colliding in bursts that scorched the sand. Sierra and Malick fought as one, their threads pulling tighter with every movement. His shadow and hers tangled, indistinguishable.

Too tight. Too close.

She felt his heat, his fury, his fear — like they weren’t two people at all, but one body splitting apart.

And then her control slipped.

The shadows erupted from her chest, wild and jagged, tearing the ground open in black cracks that bled silver light. Elara stumbled back, for once her smirk gone. Gloria’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

Even Malick faltered, fire dimming as he turned to her.

“Sierra—” His voice wasn’t commanding this time. It was pleading.

She gasped, clutching at herself, but the shadows didn’t listen. They never listened.

Her familiar whispered, frantic, ecstatic. Let go. He’ll catch you. He always does.

And she almost did.

She almost let it consume the ring, consume them all, just to feel the threads snap free.

But Malick caught her wrist.

The touch jolted through her like a brand. His fire cut through the storm, grounding her, pulling her back into herself. Their eyes locked — her shadows writhing, his dragonfire burning — and for a heartbeat, everything stilled.

“You’re not alone,” he said, low and fierce. “Not in this. Not in anything.”

Her chest ached. Her shadows stilled. Slowly, painfully, the cracks in the sand sealed.

The duel was over.

Professor Maiven’s voice cut sharp through the silence. “Enough!”

The wards fizzled out. The Crows slunk back, Gloria’s smile sharp as broken glass.

Elara’s parting words were a hiss in Sierra’s ear as they passed. “It’s only a matter of time, little freak. You can’t keep hiding what you are.”

Her familiar purred again. She’s right. And when you break, he’ll break with you.

Lunch break

The class dispersed, but Malick stayed. He always stayed.

Sierra sat on the stone bench by the edge of the grounds, shadows curled tight around her ankles like chains. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Malick crouched in front of her, firelight still smoldering in his veins. He didn’t touch her this time — maybe afraid she’d shatter — but his eyes never left hers.

“They shouldn’t know that name,” he said quietly.

Her stomach dropped. “What name?”

He tilted his head, watching her too closely. “The one Gloria used.”

Her throat closed.

He didn’t push. Not yet. But she knew he’d heard it. She knew he’d remember it.

The threads between them pulled tighter, suffocating and sweet all at once.

And for the first time, Sierra was terrified not of the shadows inside her—

—but of what would happen when Malick finally learned the truth.