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The first thing Adaine saw when she arrived at the crater where Seacaster Manor currently existed was Oisin Hakinvar standing ankle-deep in mud, swearing at a floating marble staircase.
Honestly, she should’ve turned around immediately.
The summer heat pressed down over Elmville in suffocating waves, turning the wreckage of the battlefield into something swampy and miserable. Three weeks after Ragenarok the grounds outside the Aguefort Adventuring Academy still looked half-chewed by rage itself and someone (probably named Fabian) had attempted to hang decorative banners around the disaster site, which only made the entire thing look like a festival sponsored by structural collapse.
At the center of it all sat Seacaster Manor, or rather several disconnected pieces of it. The manor had been displaced during the battle in a way that violated both architecture and common sense, leaving entire chunks of the ship scattered across Aguefort’s front lawn while the newly resurrected Rat Grinders were attempting to help move it back to its original cliffside location overlooking the Marigold River.
“Punitive restorative labor builds character!” Aguefort had announced earlier that morning with deeply unearned enthusiasm.
Adaine personally felt it mostly built resentment.
Ayda stood beside her holding a clipboard and wearing thick leather gloves despite being almost entirely fireproof.
“This assignment is statistically inefficient,” Ayda observed while watching Mary Ann attempt to carry the mast to where everything was being gathered. “However, the emotional symbolism of it appears to be important to them.”
“Mm.” Adaine replied absentmindedly.
Ayda tilted her head toward the muddy disaster zone below them. “You are staring at that dragonborn with enough intensity to ignite paper.”
“I’m assessing the situation.”
“You have not blinked in thirty seconds.”
“That feels unlikely.”
“I counted.”
Adaine folded her arms. Down below, Oisin yanked on a rope tied around a levitating staircase while Ivy shouted directions that were clearly useless. His shirt sleeves had been shoved to his elbows and sweat had darkened the collar of it. He looked exhausted.
Good. Adaine thought to herself.
“He appears miserable,” Ayda noted.
Also good.
“You said that out loud.”
Adaine grimaced.
“He’s probably not evil anymore,” Ayda said pointingly.
“He helped summon a rage god.”
“Technically.”
Adaine shot her a look.
“Look, I’m just saying that they were kind of getting manipulated by forces beyond their understanding.”
“They also made several extremely conscious choices.”
“True.”
“And he was condescending to me.”
Ayda finally looked up from her notes, her expression flattening with immediate understanding. “Oh. So this is about that.”
“It is not about that.”
“He criticized your competency in a field directly tied to your deepest insecurities.”
Adaine said nothing.
The Rat Grinders had been forced into cleanup duty after helping nearly destroy the world, something that Adaine found both justified and insufficient considering what they had done. Across the field, Fabian was standing on top of the shattered bow yelling nautical terminology at people carrying lumber.
“STARBOARD YOU COWARDS!”
“THAT IS NOT USEFUL DIRECTIONAL INFORMATION ON LAND!” Kristen yelled back.
The bow collapsed further.
Ayda watched this with academic fascination. “The impressive part is that they’re technically making progress.”
Before Adaine could respond, movement below caught her attention. Oisin had looked up and begun walking towards them.
Absolutely not.
“I believe,” Ayda said calmly, “that he is approaching specifically because he noticed you pretending not to notice him. This is going to be incredibly awkward in a very educational way.”
Oisin stopped a few feet away, breathing slightly hard from work. His exhaustion was even more obvious up close.
“Abernant,” he said.
“Hakinvar.”
Ayda lifted one hand politely. “Hello. I’m Ayda Aguefort, Adaine’s best friend and Fig’s paramour.”
“Nice to meet you Ayda.”
Silence settled immediately afterward but was soon broken by Fig shouting from somewhere behind them “YOU CAN’T JUST TELEPORT THINGS WITHOUT ASKING FIRST,” followed by the unmistakable sound of magical property damage.
Oisin rubbed the back of his neck. “Aguefort said you’re coordinating the relocation spell arrays.” He hesitated momentarily before adding, “and I think I’m supposed to help you.”
Adaine narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why.”
“Because apparently moving something this complicated requires multiple wizards.”
“That does sound like a punishment.”
A startled laugh escaped him before he could stop it and Adaine hated the tiny spark of satisfaction that it gave her.
Ayda glanced between them with the kind of deliberate social calculation only Ayda could achieve while pretending not to calculate anything at all, and then said, “I just remembered that Fig should not be allowed near enchanted winches unsupervised.”
“You absolutely do not—” Adaine started.
“I do,” Ayda replied, already turning away. “Good luck with your emotionally charged collaborative labor.”
And then she left. Traitor.
Behind her, Oisin coughed awkwardly. “She’s very direct.”
“She’s dating Fig. It’s part of her charm.”
Another silence settled between them until Oisin gestured vaguely toward the disaster site. “So. Relocation arrays.”
“You’re carrying the anchor crystals.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s it?”
“You’re lucky I’m not making you dig trenches.”
“Fair.”
Adaine handed him one of the glowing blue crystals from the supply crate beside her and as she did, their fingers brushed accidentally and she felt her nerves start dancing.
Which was stupid, it was just hands.
Oisin cleared his throat. “Where do you want these?”
She pointed toward the fractured foundation stones near the manor ruins. “The crystals need to be placed every twelve feet around the perimeter so the spell can reestablish the original spatial orientation. Otherwise the boat would end up in more pieces than it already is.”
He blinked once. “You know, I really like the way you explain magic. It’s like listening to someone talk about something they love.”
Adaine frowned. “That sounds deeply insulting.”
“No, I mean it. You make me want to hear more.”
“That is somehow more insulting.”
Again, that tiny surprised laugh. Oisin crouched near the broken foundation, pressing the first crystal carefully into the dirt. For a moment neither of them spoke until, without looking at her, he said, “I’m really sorry for what I said.”
Adaine’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
Didn’t see the storm coming? Must not be a very good oracle.
At the time it had landed exactly where it was intended to. It directly fed into every fear she had never managed to stop carrying around. The fear that all her power was still somehow insufficient and that if she missed something, people would get hurt and it would become proof that she had failed in some fundamental, irreversible way.
The manor groaned overhead as another shattered section was dragged slowly back into alignment by half a dozen overlapping spells. Somewhere across the lawn Fabian yelled something unintelligible about rigging and Kristen immediately yelled back.
Oisin’s shoulders tightened slightly when she didn’t answer right away. “I know the crystals don’t excuse it,” he said, still staring at the foundation instead of her. “I know we were all…” He swallowed. “I still said it.”
Adaine looked at him for a long moment and remembered all of them dying, remembered the awful clarity afterward when the rage crystals were gone and every one of the Rat Grinders looked terrified by the reality of what they’d done.
She also remembered how much that sentence had hurt.
“I know,” she said finally.
Oisin glanced up at her visibly startled and annoyingly, Adaine realized she meant it.
Not that it was fine or didn’t matter, but she had seen the look on his face after everything ended. His sick realization and subsequent horror at what he had done, his grief, and the way he’d avoided looking at her specifically afterwards. What unsettled her now was understanding how deeply he regretted having said it to her.
“I think,” Adaine added carefully, “if you actually believed that about me, you wouldn’t feel this bad now.”
For a moment neither of them seemed to know what to do with that, and Adaine found herself absurdly grateful for the crystals waiting to be placed.
By the middle of July, the Bad Kids had settled into the strange rhythm of surviving. Trauma, Adaine had learned, did not disappear after saving the world, it simply became background noise. Some days were normal and some days Kristen cried because she saw something that reminded her too much of Cassandra’s corrupted form and on others, Fig disappeared into Leviathan for three days straight to see Ayda and came back quieter than she had been before. And some days Adaine woke up angry for reasons she couldn’t explain.
Jawbone said healing wasn’t linear but Adaine personally felt that healing should try harder.
“You’re brooding,” Riz informed her one afternoon from across the table in Mordred Manor.
“I’m reading.”
“You’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes.”
Adaine looked down.
Damn it.
Fabian sprawled across the couch dramatically. “If this concerns romance, I do have expertise.”
“You have a girlfriend,” Riz corrected. “That’s not expertise.”
Fabian pointed at him accusingly. “And yet I am the only one among us thriving.”
“Fig and Ayda are doing pretty well.”
“They are in a terrifying intellectual courtship beyond mortal comprehension. It doesn’t count.”
“Tracker says hi by the way,” Kristen said from the kitchen.
Adaine perked up slightly. “How is she?”
Kristen’s expression softened immediately in that way it only did when Tracker came up. “Busy. Fallinel’s kind of intense right now. Apparently there are like… thousands of people showing up for services.”
“See?” Fabian said. “Romance.”
“You cried because Mazey held your hand during the fireworks.”
“I was emotionally vulnerable!”
Riz turned back to Adaine. “Anyway, what’s actually wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“All right.”
“You’re doing the thing where you don’t believe me.”
“Correct.”
Gorgug blinked. “Wait, are we talking about Oisin?”
Everyone turned to him and he shrunk slightly in response.
“What? Mary Ann mentioned it.”
“MARY ANN?” Adaine squeaked.
“Oh my god,” Fig said delightedly, “it reached the Rat Grinders before it reached you.”
“It has not reached me because there is nothing to reach!”
Fabian puts a hand over his heart. “A tragic denial.”
Adaine sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly.
The Rat Grinders had been integrated into their social life over the summer in a bizarre post-apocalypse way where shared harrowing experiences apparently counted as bonding. Ruben and Fig had started collaborating musically after he had ditched being a ‘poser little emo bitch’ as Fig had eloquently put it and Ivy and Fabian had some weird competitive friendship that now involved constant sword fights. Kristen and Lucy had bonded over cleric stuff and Gorgug had become frighteningly close with Mary Ann in such a short amount of time that Adaine wondered if they had actually been dating for years at that point and were just trying to see if they could fool everyone into thinking they hadn’t. Oisin had stayed politely distant.
No wizard discussions, no arguments, every interaction they’d had since the cleanup had been painfully cordial. Adaine almost preferred it when he annoyed her. The realization horrified her enough that she stood abruptly.
“I’m going for a walk.”
Kristen squinted at her as she left the room. “You’re having weird feelings.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too girl.”
Oisin first realized he was doomed during a thunderstorm in late August. It wasn’t because of a prophecy or magic, it was because Adaine Abernant was trying to carry three trays at once while it seemingly came naturally.
The Rat Grinders currently occupied a corner table inside Basrar’s while rain hammered the windows hard enough to make the outside nothing but a blur. Ivy and Ruben were arguing about his newest song, Mary Ann was quietly playing with her quokki pet, and Lucy, resurrected and still unsettlingly serene about the entire death experience, sipped tea while reading. Oisin meanwhile, couldn’t stop staring.
Adaine moved between tables with the easy efficiency of someone who had been there for a while. Her hair had escaped whatever attempt she’d made to tame it that morning and she carried a tray of sodas balanced effortlessly on one hand. Oisin thought she still looked good though.
“She’s gonna drop something,” Lucy observed.
Oisin startled. “What?”
Lucy gestured with her tea. “Abernant.”
“Oh.”
Ivy followed his gaze and immediately grinned like a shark. “Oh.”
“Don’t start.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“That’s the wizard equivalent of ‘I just think she’s neat.’”
Oisin briefly considered shooting her with lightning but before he could, Adaine reached their table.
“Ruben, please tell me you weren’t stacking glasses again.”
“That was one time and I was creating art,” Ruben said.
“You were creating a workplace hazard.”
Ruben looked genuinely wounded but Adaine didn’t seem to care.
“What can I get for all of you?”
The orders went around the table and Adaine scribbled them down with practiced efficiency. When she finished, Lucy tilted her head.
“Do you actually like working here?”
Adaine looked vaguely surprised by the question.
“It’s fine.”
“That’s not an answer,” Ivy said.
“It pays consistently, the customers are mostly normal save for the people from Fallinel who only want to speak to the Elven Oracle, and nobody has tried to kill me during a shift.”
“High standards,” Lucy observed.
“You’d be surprised.”
Ruben leaned forward. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen here?”
“You,” Adaine immediately answered.
“That’s hurtful.”
“It’s also true.”
“Fair enough,” Ruben nodded.
For a moment, Adaine’s expression softened into something that looked dangerously close to amusement and Oisin found himself smiling before he could stop it. Her eyes flicked to his, just for a second, then she smiled too. It was small and brief, but it was enough for something unpleasantly warm to happen to his internal organs.
“Oh,” Ivy said gleefully.
Oisin closed his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You made a face.”
“It was a very informative face.”
Adaine glanced between them. “Should I be concerned?”
“Deeply,” Ruben answered.
“Ignore them,” Oisin said at the exact same time.
To his horror, Adaine laughed. Actually laughed. Not politely or because she didn’t know what else to do, she laughed at him.
The sound hit him like a physical attack.
Adaine seemed to realize she was laughing and immediately cleared her throat.
“Right. I’ll get your orders.”
She turned and headed back toward the counter.
The second she was out of earshot, Ivy slapped a hand over her mouth to contain a shriek and Ruben stared at him while trying not to laugh.
“What?” Oisin demanded.
“She laughed.”
“People laugh.”
“Not like that.”
Oisin looked away. Across the room, Adaine was setting up trays behind the counter and as if she could feel it, she glanced up. Their eyes met for half a second but she quickly looked back at the trays she was arranging. The brief exchange lingered in his mind longer than it should have.
A second later a spoon bounced off Oisin’s shoulder and Ivy didn’t even bother to pretend it had been an accident.
Senior year began with a syllabus thick enough to qualify as blunt force trauma.
Adaine sat in the upper lecture hall of Advanced Unified Arcana and contemplated murder as Professor Relvith, an ancient high elf wizard whose beard seemed to exist in multiple planes of existence simultaneously, droned on from the front of the room.
“This course,” he announced, “will require unprecedented interdisciplinary cooperation.”
Adaine hated that sentence already.
Around her, students shifted nervously. The class pulled from every magical focus diviners, evokers, illusionists, abjurers, necromancers, and of course conjurers.
The best of the best. Or, more accurately, the most sleep deprived.
Professor Relvith continued. “Your semester project will be completed in assigned pairs.”
Adaine’s stomach dropped immediately. No. No no no.
“You will work with your assigned partner to create an original piece of arcane scholarship integrating your respective specialties.”
Absolutely not.
Names began appearing magically across the blackboard as Adaine scanned frantically and then froze.
Adaine Abernant & Oisin Hakinvar
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she whispered.
From three rows down, Oisin turned around slowly and their horrified eye contact lasted exactly four seconds. Riz would later claim that Adaine looked like she’d seen another apocalypse coming as she walked out and Fabian would chime in that Oisin looked like someone realizing death wasn’t actually that bad.
She would later learn that both observations were correct.
“I’m not doing it with him,” She said after explaining her plight to everyone at the end of the day.
“That’s not how assignments work,” Riz said patiently.
“I’m serious.”
“You can’t refuse.”
“I’ve stopped multiple world ending events. I think I’ve earned one academic exemption.”
Across the table at Mordred Manor Fig snorted into her drink. “Honestly, compelling argument.”
The Bad Kids occupied the living room for their traditional first week dinner. Sandra Lynn floated through carrying food while Jawbone worked the grill with therapeutic enthusiasm.
“Adaine,” Gorgug said cheerfully, “you guys aren’t even fighting anymore.”
“That’s worse.”
“How?”
“When someone’s openly hostile, expectations are clear.”
Riz nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, emotional ambiguity. Terrifying.”
“Exactly.”
Fabian pointed a breadstick dramatically at her. “You are overreacting.”
“You challenged a sophomore to a duel yesterday for calling Mazey ‘pretty cool.’”
“He knew what he was doing.”
“Also,” Fig added, “Oisin’s kinda been making eyes at you.”
Adaine choked on her burger. “What?”
“Fig you can’t just say things like that,” Gorgug said flatly.
“Yes I can. I’m incredibly charismatic.”
Adaine stared at her. “He absolutely has not.”
“Counterpoint,” Fig said. “He has.”
“He barely talks to me.”
“Counter-counterpoint,” Kristen added, “that might be because you look ready to cast Adaine’s furious fist at him whenever he enters a room.”
“That’s just my face.”
“No it’s not,” said every single one of them simultaneously.
Adaine buried her face in her hands as Sandra Lynn brought out desert and silently wished it was acceptable to crawl underneath the table and stay there.
Oisin arrived twenty minutes early to their first project meeting out of pure panic.
The Aguefort library’s arcane study room was empty except for stacks of reference books and one aggressively judgmental gargoyle statue. He managed to organize his notes three separate times before Adaine walked in carrying approximately half the school archives in her arms.
“You’re early,” she said.
“So are you.”
“I have anxiety.”
Adaine sat across from him silently.
“All right,” she said briskly. “Let’s establish terms.”
Oisin blinked. “Terms?”
“We are going to complete this project professionally and efficiently.”
“Okay.
“We do not have to like each other.”
That one stung a little.
“Okay,” he repeated.
“We should probably pick a topic.”
Right. Actual work. That was good and safe.
Oisin relaxed marginally. “I was thinking maybe something involving planar summoning and precognitive divination? Using future-sight to determine optimal conjuration summons.”
Adaine went still.
Shit.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s fine.” Her voice had gone very neutral. “That actually makes sense academically.”
He watched her open a notebook with precise controlled movements as guilt crawled under his ribs. Storm magic fascinated him now in ways it never had before Ankarna and Adaine understood prediction better than anyone else currently alive. Together, they could probably do something incredible.
Which was exactly the problem.
“Look,” Oisin said quietly, “I know things are weird between us.”
Adaine didn’t look up from her notes. “That’s one way to put it.”
“But I’m trying.”
That finally got her attention and for a second, she just looked tired.
“I know,” she admitted softly.
The tension in the room shifted slightly then, like ice beginning to crack beneath sunlight.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
“If we’re examining predictive arcana through elemental instability, we should start with pre-Calamity forecasting models.”
Oisin smiled before he could stop himself and Adaine immediately looked suspicious again.
He cleared his throat. “Right. Yeah. Good idea.”
Maybe, he thought helplessly, he was already in trouble.
The first Seacaster party of senior year was less a party and more a localized natural disaster. Seacaster manor blazed with magical lights visible from downtown Elmville as illusionary dragons swooped overhead trailing fireworks, and the backyard had somehow been converted into a multi-level arena surrounding an actual shrimp fountain with a throne at the top designated for Mary Ann.
“Fabian,” Riz said in exhausted awe, “what the fuck.”
Fabian spread his arms magnificently. “WELCOME TO EXCESS.”
Within the first thirty minutes of the party Adaine enchanted the ceiling into a swirling galaxy, helped Kristen achieve an even more ambitious shrimp jump than the last one (which Kristen insisted was a “vital milestone in shrimp based athletics”), helped Fig rig magical amplifiers for the band’s setup, and transfigured someone’s spilled drink into harmless glitter.
“Party wizard!” Fabian cried upon spotting her.
“I hate that title.”
“You love that title.”
Adaine hated how right he was. Before she could argue though, Fabian grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her toward the food table.
“We have a crisis.”
“What kind of crisis?”
“A group of juniors has requisitioned every serving spoon and cup in the house for a sculpture project. I need more immediately.”
Adaine sighed as she approached the tables. Music thundered through the mansion as she moved through the space, trying not to smile too much at the chaos, even as she found herself reluctantly basking in it. When she reached her destination she immediately began passing things out from her jacket, enjoying the cheers of everyone around her as she did.
Maybe healing actually was possible.
Then she saw Oisin across the room and immediately forgot how breathing worked. He’d traded his usual button ups and book holster for a dark, tight fitting t-shirt that highlighted his tattoos and a jacket subtly threaded with silver embroidery that moved like rainwater under the dim light.
It was deeply unfair.
He caught her staring and Adaine looked away so fast she nearly got whiplash.
“You know,” Gorgug said as he popped up beside her “for someone allegedly frosty toward him you do spend an awful lot of time looking.”
“I’m observing.”
“Oh yeah,” Gorgug said dryly. “Very scientific. I respect the method.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be sitting with your girlfriend on her throne as she rules over the shrimp fountain?”
“I was but she sent me to get drinks,” Gorgug said as he looked back at Mary Ann who was now commanding people to set themselves on fire and jump from the top level of the arena into the tartar sauce base.
“That feels like something you’re supposed to have a contingency plan for, not a beverage run,” she said flatly. Gorgug just shrugged in response.
Across the room, Mazey laughed as Fabian dramatically dipped her during dancing, Fig sat perched on top of a speaker while she and Ruben debated what to play next, and Kristen leaned against the balcony doors smiling faintly while she and Lucy alternated between mixing drinks and casting lesser restoration on themselves. Riz meanwhile, was doing shots with several people that were twice the size of him while a large crowd cheered them on. Everything felt warm and loud and alive.
Then Oisin started walking toward her.
“Adaine.”
“Oisin.”
“You look nice.”
Adaine’s brain blue-screened briefly.
“You look…” She swallowed. “Presentable.”
Gorgug looked between them slowly before making the loudest fake cough in recorded history and walking away. Coward.
Oisin glanced around the transformed ballroom. “You did all this?”
“Some of it.”
“It’s impressive.”
The sincerity in his voice hit harder than flirting would have.
Adaine shifted awkwardly. “Thanks.”
Music pulsed around them. Students shouted and danced and drank glowing cocktails. Somewhere outside, someone screamed joyfully as Fabian began to unveil shrimp themed ziplining.
Oisin smiled slightly. “This is a lot better than the last shrimp party.”
Adaine let out an involuntary laugh.
“There’s still shrimp,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but now it’s elevated shrimp.”
“Fabian said—and I quote—‘We must honor tradition while embracing spectacle.’”
“Yeah that sounds like him.”
Their eyes met. and something familiar flickered there suddenly.
Not the sharpness from junior year, or the awkwardness that always seemed to consume them these days, but recognition. Adaine remembered him standing beside her at that fateful party a year ago and remembered thinking that he seemed interesting before everything had gone to hell.
“You know,” Oisin said carefully, “I did actually have fun talking to you that night.”
Adaine blinked.
“Oh.”
Brilliant response Adaine.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I think maybe we could’ve been friends in another universe.”
The words landed strangely soft. Adaine looked around the room at all their friends. Former enemies mixed together beneath starlight, illusions, and music.
“We still could be,” she said back a moment later.
Oisin stared at her and then smiled, small and real.
It hit Adaine like a meteor.
The smile lingered between them for exactly three seconds before Fabian cannonballed through the moment like divine punishment.
“Adaine!” he shouted, skidding across the dance floor dramatically. “The hot tub has become politically radicalized.”
Oisin blinked. “What?”
“It keeps demanding wealth redistribution.”
Adaine closed her eyes briefly. “Fabian, why is the hot tub sentient again?”
Fabian looked genuinely confused by the question. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Maximum legend status requires innovation.”
From somewhere upstairs, a voice screamed, “THE JACUZZI SAID EAT THE RICH.”
Fabian pointed triumphantly. “See? It’s learning.”
Mazey appeared moments later with the expression of a woman one inconvenience away from homicide. “Fabian Aramais Seacaster, if your possessed appliance unionizes against me again I’m dissolving this entire mansion.”
Fabian kissed her dramatically on the cheek. “Your fury only deepens my love.”
“It deepens my blood pressure.”
Adaine snorted before she could stop herself and Oisin looked at her immediately afterwards, something that was becoming a problem, and over the next several weeks, working together stopped feeling like punishment and started feeling dangerously easy.
Adaine realized she was in trouble sometime in late September when she started looking forward to project meetings.
The library’s arcane study had become theirs by silent mutual agreement. Most students avoided it because the staircase occasionally changed direction out of spite, but more importantly because it was usually already occupied.
Until today.
A notice had been pinned to the door in aggressive, official handwriting: ARCANE STUDY CLOSED FOR “UNSCHEDULED ARCHITECTURAL RECONFIGURATION.” The staircase had, for once, stayed perfectly still.
Adaine stared at it for a long moment. “It’s always when we actually have momentum,” she said.
Oisin shifted his books under one arm. “We could find somewhere else?”
Adaine hesitated. There were other study spaces but none of them, however, were theirs in the quiet, accidental way the arcane study had become. Her gaze flicked to Oisin, then away again as if that solved the problem.
“Mordred Manor would work,” she said very quickly. Then, after a beat, added “It’s quiet. And structurally stable.”
Oisin blinked at her like he was trying to calculate whether this was a normal academic suggestion or some kind of trap he had not been warned about. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. That sounds—I mean, that sounds fine.” He paused too and then said “And I’m not, like, intruding on anything, right?”
“It’s just my house,” Adaine said, then immediately regretted how that sounded and tried again. “It’s just a room. In a tower. With books. That I also use.”
Oisin nodded a little too fast. “Right. Tower. Books. Normal. Great. That’s normal.”
The walk to Mordred Manor left the world’s noise behind in layers until even the falling rain felt distant. Oisin stayed slightly behind Adaine on the road up, as if unsure whether to walk beside her or slightly behind. As they walked in Sandra Lynn insisted on saying hello to Oisin while Kristen and Fig made faces at her and in response, Adaine blasted both of them with a ray of sickness before quickly retreating upstairs.
Her room was warmer than the library, but calmer in a way that felt intentional rather than accidental. Rain traced the glass in thin, patient lines as she set her books down and began to summon her diagrams into the air. Oisin lingered just inside the doorway for a moment too long before stepping fully in, still looking faintly like he couldn’t decide whether he was supposed to be here or had somehow wandered into the wrong narrative entirely.
A dragon and an elven seer in a tower. What a stupid cliché. She thought to herself as they got settled into their work. Rain tapped softly against the circular windows while arcane diagrams floated midair between them in glowing blue strands.
“The issue,” Adaine said, pointing at a rotating spell matrix, “is that predictive magic assumes a fixed perspective.”
Oisin frowned thoughtfully from where he sprawled across the floor surrounded by books. “Conjuration magic doesn’t have fixed perspectives.”
“Exactly.”
His eyes lit up immediately, something that had become a bigger problem in recent weeks. Oisin became unfairly attractive whenever he got excited about magic. His whole face changed and became brighter and softer, like someone pulling sunlight through storm clouds. It was something Adaine was trying extremely hard not to notice.
“So we stop treating atmospheric resonance as visual,” he said, sitting up straighter. “We treat it as sensory.”
Adaine snapped her fingers instantly. “Like echolocation.”
“Yes!”
The force of his enthusiasm hit her straight in the chest but before she could respond, the tower door burst open and Kristen walked in carrying three coffees and an entire rotisserie chicken.
“I bring provisions for my favorite nerds.”
“You are not allowed to call us that,” Adaine said automatically.
Kristen handed her the coffee anyway. “Counterpoint: you are color-coding weather predictions for fun.”
“It’s called academic rigor.”
“No, it’s called foreplay.”
Adaine nearly dropped her mug and Oisin made a choking noise as he started to cough up the coffee he had been in the middle of drinking. Kristen just looked delighted with herself.
“You cannot just say things like that,” Adaine hissed.
“Why not? I’m the president”
“That’s not how social interaction works.”
Kristen bit into the chicken thoughtfully. “It has worked shockingly often for me.”
Oisin was openly laughing now, but the sound of it caught Adaine off guard because she realized suddenly she knew his laugh now. Not the sarcastic one or the sharp amused huff he used around most people, but the real one. The one that was warm and slightly breathless.
The realization landed somewhere deep and dangerous.
Kristen looked between them both and narrowed her eyes.
“Oh,” she said dramatically.
“No,” Adaine replied instantly.
“You’re doing the thing where you answer questions nobody asked.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are!”
“Kristen,” Oisin said weakly, still laughing a little, “please leave.”
Kristen instead pointed at them both accusingly.
“There is tension here.”
“There is weather magic here.”
“Same thing.”
Fig’s voice echoed loudly from downstairs:
“KRISTEN STOP HARASSING THE WIZARDS.”
Kristen sighed mournfully. “Duty calls.”
Before leaving however, she leaned toward Adaine and stage whispered “He looks at you like poetry.”
Adaine threw a book at her as she ran away and only felt a little bad as she tumbled down the stairs loudly.
The dining room table of the Thistlespring tree was buried beneath college applications, laptops, and half empty mugs of coffee. Riz sat across from her, tapping absently at his keyboard while she stared at an essay prompt that seemed determined to make less sense every time she read it.
“You know,” he said while helping Adaine organize project notes, “you seem happier.”
Adaine looked up suspiciously. “What do you want?”
“I’m making an observation.”
“You only make observations when they emotionally inconvenience me.”
“True.”
The treehouse windows glowed orange with sunset as Elmville drifted through mid autumn in streaks of gold and red.
Adaine capped her ink bottle carefully. “I’m not happier.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Sure.”
She glared at him and Riz just shrugged in response. “You smile more after project meetings.”
Adaine froze for a second too long and Riz immediately pointed at her.
“There it is.”
“There is no it.”
“You’re blushing.”
“Please shut up.”
“You’re not beating the allegations, dude.”
“There are no allegations!”
From downstairs came the sound of Fabian shouting “MAXIMUM LEGEND!” followed immediately by something exploding as Riz leaned back in his chair thoughtfully.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s bad for you.”
Adaine’s stomach twisted strangely.
“That’s not relevant.”
“Mm.”
“I mean it.”
“Okay.”
Gods, she hated when he did that.
“You know what your problem is?” Adaine snapped.
“I have several.”
“You think because you’re emotionally repressed, everyone else should be too.”
Riz gasped theatrically. “Adaine Abernant accusing me of emotional repression? Incredible.”
She threw a crumpled note at him that he caught without looking.
“Seriously,” Riz said more gently. “You don’t have to decide everything before it happens.”
Adaine stared down at the table.
Easy for him to say. He couldn’t see the future, nor did he have the responsibility of trying to predict disasters before they happened. Feelings were dangerous specifically because they couldn’t be mapped cleanly.
Oisin had already once become part of the worst memories of her life. What if trusting him again was stupid? What if this was all temporary? What if she was mistaking proximity for affection? What if—
“You’re spiraling,” Riz said to her.
Adaine looked down at her application, and forced herself to start typing again.
The second Seacaster party of the semester somehow involved a haunted casino yacht. At some point the student body had collectively accepted that Fabian operated according to party mythology rather than law.
“Welcome!” Fabian announced grandly from the upper deck. “To gambling! And other legally dubious maritime activities!”
Cheers erupted as the yacht drifted across Shimmerstone Lake beneath strings of enchanted lights while spectral musicians played jazz somewhere below deck. Oisin stood near the railing nursing a drink and trying not to think too hard about the fact that Adaine looked devastating tonight in a dark blue dress and silver jewelry that shone in the moonlight.
“You’re doing it again,” Ivy said.
“What?”
“The haunted yearning thing.”
"I’m literally just standing here.”
“You’re literally in love.”
Before Oisin could argue, Adaine appeared beside him and Ivy vanished immediately.
“Hey,” Adaine said.
“Hey,” He said back.
For a moment they simply stood there listening to music drift across black water.
“You clean up well,” Oisin said before his brain could stop him.
Adaine blinked and then very softly replied, “You too.”
That certainly did not help his situation.
Wind lifted across the lake.
The yacht rocked gently beneath them.
Below deck someone screamed, “THE SLOT MACHINES ARE CURSED” and Fabian shouted back proudly, “THAT MEANS THEY’RE WORKING.”
Adaine laughed and Oisin stared at her helplessly.
“What?” she asked.
“You laugh more now.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Adaine’s expression shifted slightly. Something careful and quiet crossed her face.
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” He looked back at the water. “It’s a good thing.”
Adaine leaned against the railing beside him, shoulder almost touching his.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “I thought you hated me in junior year.”
Adaine looked at him sharply. “What?”
“You always looked annoyed whenever I talked to you.”
“That’s because I was trying not to flirt with you.”
Oisin choked on his drink as Adaine froze.
“I—” Oisin stared at her in open shock.
“I’m gonna jump into the lake now,” Adaine said.
To his immense surprise, Oisin grabbed her sleeve before she could move.
“Wait.”
His hand stayed there.
She turned back slowly.
They were closer than they’d been a moment ago and he wasn’t sure how that had happened. The enchanted lights, small golden little flecks, were caught against her drink glass and the music from below deck had become soft and unhurried.
“You were flirting with me?” he asked.
“Badly, apparently.”
He laughed once and she looked up at him like she was deciding something.
And then he kissed her.
Or she kissed him. It was hard to say who moved first and it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter at all, because Adaine’s hand came up to his neck and the lake spread out silver and endless around them and somewhere below deck someone won something at a cursed card table and cheered, and the entire ridiculous night felt like it existed solely for exactly this.
When they pulled back she still had her fingers curled against him and neither of them said anything for a long moment.
“Okay,” Adaine said finally, very quietly, not looking quite at him.
“Yeah,” Oisin whispered back.
She straightened and turned back toward the railing and they stood there together watching the dark water pass with their shoulders touching, and didn’t mention it again for the rest of the night.
After kissing Adaine Abernant Oisin became profoundly aware of several things. One: Ivy Embara deserved jail time, two: Adaine smelled like cedar and old books, and three: there was absolutely no going back now.
The tension between them sharpened after that. Not awkward exactly, just charged. Every glance lingered too long. Every accidental touch felt catastrophic.
“You look insane,” Ivy informed him over lunch.
“That’s fair.”
“You haven’t stopped smiling in like three days.”
Oisin blinked. “I have not been smiling.”
Even Mary Ann seemed mildly concerned, which was honestly more alarming than Ivy as she actually looked up from her quokki pet and immediately pointed at him.
“You just did it again.”
“Honestly,” Ivy said, “the only surprising part is that it took a kiss. The rest of us have been watching this disaster develop for months.”
Across the cafeteria Adaine sat with the Bad Kids arguing animatedly with Riz over something involving magical ethics and Fabian’s ownership of decorative cannons. She looked up suddenly, caught Oisin staring, and instead of looking away she smiled. It was tiny, like it belonged only to them and Oisin forgot how his lungs worked.
“Oh, he’s gone,” Ivy said cheerfully.
“Fully deceased,” Ruben agreed.
The semester project’s presentation arrived faster than either of them were emotionally prepared for. The entire Advanced Unified Arcana department packed into the grand lecture hall and college recruiters lined the front rows taking notes while magical constructs recorded presentations overhead.
Adaine stood backstage with shaking hands.
“You okay?” Oisin asked quietly.
“No.”
“Fair.” He looked nervous too, which helped, weirdly.
Their project—The Resonance Model for Predictive Atmospheric Divination—had become something much larger than a grade. A genuinely novel framework, the kind that didn’t come around often, that professors had already started citing in their own ongoing research before it had even been formally presented. No pressure.
“You know,” Oisin said softly, “whatever happens, this was worth it.” Adaine looked over at him and knew that he wasn’t talking about the project. Her heart skipped a beat but before she could reply, Professor Relvith announced them.
The presentation passed in a blur. Adaine explained predictive resonance theory while Oisin demonstrated atmospheric integration. Together they activated the completed spell network overhead and golden threads spread across the ceiling like constellations. The audience gasped collectively as they did.
Then the spell began predicting. Tiny magical disturbances across Elmville lit up through sensory resonance mapping. It showed incoming plane shifts, arcane pressure fluctuations, potential instability points in the world were rendered visible in real time, and various other magical things were highlighted through their creation. The system worked beautifully and by the time they finished, the hall had gone completely silent. Then applause erupted. Professor Relvith actually stood up and most of the crowd looked openly floored but Adaine barely heard any of it.
Afterward, the crowd swarmed them instantly with questions, congratulations, college recruiters demanding to discuss their plans for next year, and both of their adventuring parties congratulating them and making jokes. It took nearly two hours to escape and by the time Adaine finally slipped out onto the room’s balcony, sunset had painted the entire sky gold and violet.
A moment later she heard the door open and Oisin walked up and stood next to her. For a moment neither spoke and instead just listened as sounds of celebration drifted faintly from inside.
“We did it,” Oisin said eventually.
Adaine laughed quietly. “We did.”
He stepped beside her at the railing, close enough that their sleeves brushed.
“You know,” Oisin said after a minute, “a year ago I thought you would hate me forever.”
“I thought I would too if I’m being honest.”
“That’s fair.”
Adaine looked out across Elmville as snow dusted rooftops below them in silver.
“I’m glad we got paired together,” she admitted softly. Oisin went very still beside her.
“Yeah?”
Adaine nodded. “You make magic feel easy.”
His expression softened into something that hurt to look at directly. “You make it feel possible,” he said back.
Silence settled around them, warm despite the cold. Then Oisin laughed quietly under his breath.
“What?”
“I’m trying very hard to be normal right now.”
Adaine smiled despite herself. “How’s that going?”
“Terribly.”
That did it and something inside her finally gave way completely. Maybe it had been giving way all semester or maybe since before that entirely. Adaine turned toward Oisin fully as his breath caught and very softly, like admitting a secret to herself more than anyone else, said “You can kiss me now you know.”
For one stunned second, Oisin stared at her and then kissed her. He was gentle at first, like he thought she might disappear but Adaine leaned into it immediately and magic sparked unconsciously around them as she did, silver wind tangling with gold light across the balcony in soft flickering threads. Adaine kissed him back hard enough to surprise them both and Oisin laughed quietly against her mouth. The sound melted straight through her.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them looked slightly dazed.
“Well,” Oisin said faintly.
“Yeah,” she said breathily as snow fell softly around them.
“I’ve been holding that in for months,” he said, with a smile too self satisfied for his own good.
“You absolutely should have kept holding it in.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
Adaine opens her mouth to reply but stops because annoyingly, annoyingly, he’s right. So instead she kisses him again in the golden afternoon light while their friends cheer loudly and pretend not to watch from inside. Out here though there was only the cold winter air contrasted with Oisin’s hand against her face and the impossible terrifying relief of having finally stopped resisting something that felt inevitable.
And when Oisin kissed her again beneath the winter sky, Adaine kissed him back like someone finally learning the difference between seeing a future and stepping into one.