Chapter 70: Fire and Ice
{IRIS}
How was I supposed to explain that I couldn’t feel it?
That whatever arcane slept inside me was distant, muted—like a voice trapped behind layers of ice and fog?
"I..." My fingers curled at my side. "I don’t—"
The words refused to come.
I didn’t know how to manifest it.
I didn’t know how to call it forth.
I barely knew it existed at all.
Sol’s gaze sharpened, just slightly.
"You don’t know how?" he asked—not unkindly, but plainly.
I shook my head.
Silence stretched between us.
The shadows around him shifted, reacting subtly to his attention, but never once straying from his control.
"...That’s unusual," he said at last.
Not judgment. Observation.
"I can feel it," I blurted before I could stop myself. "Sometimes. But it’s faint. Like it doesn’t want to answer me."
It wasn’t a lie but not the truth either. It was there, Lord Val said so, but I couldn’t feel it.
Something flickered in his eyes then.
Interest.
"You can feel it," he repeated. "Then it exists."
He studied me—not as a noble, not as a vampire—but as if assessing a puzzle.
"Try again," he said quietly. "Don’t command it."
I frowned. "Then what?"
"Listen."
Easy for him to say.
I did close my eyes and pretended to listen, even though I knew it would be impossible.
The world dimmed behind my lashes, the cold stone beneath my boots grounding me as I inhaled slowly.
I followed the steps I had memorized long before setting foot in this academy. Every breath, every count, every mental door I was supposed to open.
I had willed my arcane. I had done everything by the books for months—no, longer than that.
Even before this school had started. It had been part of my training with Sebastian, and Lord Val, drilled into me with relentless patience and unforgiving training.
Morning meditations. Nightly exercises. Painful focus until my temples throbbed and my bones ached.
But no such thing happened.
There was no spark. No warmth. No familiar hum beneath my skin.
My arcane must have been locked with my wolf—bound so deeply to it that it only slipped free in moments of distress or heightened emotion. Fear. Rage. Desperation, in times of life threatening situations.
The kind of emotions no sane instructor would ever recommend relying on.
"What’s wrong?" Sol asked. "Can’t you summon it yet?"
I opened my eyes and found that Sol’s brow was slightly furrowed.
For someone I had thought indifferent and cold, he seemed genuinely bothered by the fact that I couldn’t use my arcane.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze now, as though he were dissecting a flaw in a weapon that should not exist.
"I’m sorry..." My voice came out quieter than I intended. "It seems that I couldn’t summon it."
He sighed and looked away. The indifference returned to his face and voice as if a switch had been flipped. "Then you’re wasting time here. Professor," he called out.
My heart hammered when the professor turned and strode toward us.
"What is it?" Professor Thornwick demanded.
"She can’t summon her arcane," Sol said, pointing at me.
It was a good thing Sol’s voice was smooth and low. I was afraid the others would hear.
But then again, they would find out sooner rather than later.
Professor Thornwick’s sharp eyes settled on me. "Is that true?"
I nodded, shame burning beneath my skin. "I’m sorry, Professor. I couldn’t feel or summon my arcane."
Best to come clean now. Maybe—just maybe—he could help me.
Professor Thornwick sighed and looked at me with thinly veiled disdain. "Then why are you in this academy? This is the first time I have encountered someone with arcane magic who cannot use or summon it."
I pressed my lips together and lowered my gaze. "I’m sorry, Professor. It was the Dean who recommended me to this place."
At the mention of it, Professor Thornwick frowned deeply and glared at me. "I don’t care who recommended you. If you still can’t summon your arcane by next week, then you are expelled from here."
My breath caught.
Wait—wasn’t that unfair?
"B-but..." My voice trembled despite my effort to steady it. "Aren’t you going to help me?"
Professor Thornwick snapped, his patience evaporating. "Didn’t you know that no teacher can make you summon your arcane? It’s supposed to be innate. The best we can do is teach you to control it. If you can’t even summon it—even if you supposedly have one—then you don’t belong here. Come back when you can."
And with that, he turned away, already addressing another student as if I had ceased to exist.
Sol casually stepped back to his place and began observing the others, as though the entire exchange had never concerned him in the first place.
At least he didn’t mock me considering that he was a vampire and part of Morgana’s inner circle.
I exhaled slowly.
I really thought the teachers could help me with my problem.
Wasn’t that why I was here? Wasn’t this academy meant to nurture those who struggled—to refine raw power, to unlock what lay dormant?
Had Lord Val been misled?
Was it a mistake that I was here?
Rather, leaving was supposed to be the most logical choice. The safest one. If the teachers couldn’t help me summon my arcane, then maybe it would be better if I just—
My thoughts were dragged violently to the surface by a sharp gasp rippling through the class.
Whispers followed. Shocked murmurs. Fear.
I snapped my head up.
Across the training ground, Morgana stood with her arm extended, her expression twisted with fury. Flames danced violently around her palm—untamed, wild, far hotter than what was permitted in a basic control session.
Caroline stood frozen in front of her.
My blood ran cold.
Morgana released the fire.
"Caroline!" I screamed.
Time slowed.
The dark flames tore through the air like a living thing, roaring hungrily as they rushed toward her.
Caroline stumbled backward, eyes wide, her arcane flaring too late—weak, panicked, insufficient.
The protective wards around the arena flickered but did not activate. This wasn’t a sanctioned duel. This was raw, uncontrolled magic.
Someone shouted. Someone else screamed.
I didn’t think.
I moved.
My feet pounded against the stone as I ran, every instinct screaming at me to stop, to think—but instinct had never listened to reason.
The heat scorched my skin before I reached them, the air thick with smoke and burning mana.
Caroline didn’t move.
The fire was seconds away from swallowing her whole.
Fear crashed through me.
Pure, suffocating terror.
Something inside me snapped.
The world tilted.
Caroline did not scream.
That alone stunned me.
For a brief, frozen heartbeat, as Morgana’s fire tore through the air like a living beast, Caroline stood her ground. Her eyes widened—but only for a fraction of a second. Then instinct took over.
The temperature dropped.
I felt it before I saw it.
A sharp, biting cold surged outward, racing across the stone floor in pale veins of frost. The air crackled, breath turning visible, as Caroline raised her hands—not in panic, but in focus. Her arcane answered her call with startling clarity.
Ice bloomed around her.
It wasn’t clumsy or fragile. It wasn’t the brittle frost of a novice. Shards of translucent blue-white crystal erupted from the ground, spiraling upward like a defensive crown.
A wall of ice formed before her, layered and dense, glowing faintly with arcane sigils etched deep within its surface.
I stared, mesmerized.
It was the first time I had ever seen Caroline use her arcane in combat.
Even as a human, she could summon powerful ice.
Real arcane manifestation—pure, elegant, and terrifying in its own quiet way.
The flames collided with the ice.
The impact shook the arena.
Steam exploded outward in a violent hiss as fire and ice clashed, heat and cold screaming against each other in defiance.
For a split second, it looked as though Caroline had succeeded. The ice held. It did not shatter. It resisted, glowing brighter as she poured more power into it, her teeth clenched, her body trembling under the strain.
But Morgana’s fire was different.
It wasn’t just heat.
It was devouring.
The black flames did not simply melt the ice—they consumed it.
Blackened cracks spread across the crystalline barrier as the fire burned through layers meant to withstand far worse.
The ice screamed as it died, collapsing inward, evaporating into scalding mist.
Fire decided everything.
"No—!" I shouted.
Caroline cried out as the backlash hit her. The remaining shards exploded outward, slicing the air as she was thrown back.
She skidded across the stone floor, her protective spell shattering into fragments that melted before they could even hit the ground.
Professor Thornwick thundered forward, his voice ripping through the chaos.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
The sheer authority in his shout shook the courtyard into silence.
Morgana turned slowly, her arm still extended, flames licking lazily around her fingers before retreating back into her palm as if answering a master’s call. She looked utterly unbothered.
Then she stuck out her tongue.
"Sorry, Professor," she said lightly, almost playfully. "Seems like I couldn’t control my arcane."
She giggled.
The sound crawled down my spine.
I knew she was lying.
Everyone did.
