Chapter 56: Another Man
Kyva could scarcely comprehend her situation. The pond was not deep, yet the sudden loss of balance beneath her feet, combined with the shock of being plunged into the water, had driven her to reach for him without thought.
SPLASH!
They toppled together, the still surface breaking around them in ripples and scattered droplets. For a brief moment, there was only the sound of water settling and the quiet aftermath of their fall, their closeness a clear act of circumstance.
For a fleeting moment, Kyva did not move.
She had landed atop of him, the force of the fall stilled as the shallow water settled around them. Damp strands of hair clung to her face and shoulders, the droplets tracing slow, trembling paths down her skin. Her breath came unsteady, caught somewhere between shock and something she could not quite name.
Beneath her, Calhoun lay half-submerged, his silver-white hair fanned out in the water like pale silk. Strands clung to his face and neck, framing sharp features that seemed almost unreal at such a close distance. His golden eyes held her widened blue ones with a quiet, consuming intensity, a gaze so deep it felt as though it reached past her thoughts, into something more unsteady.
One of his hands had come to rest at her waist. Not loosely or by accident.
It felt firm, certain, like it knew it belonged there.
Whether it had moved to catch her or simply remained there after the fall, she could not tell. Yet its presence was strangely undeniable.
Awareness came all at once.
His mask was gone.
And she was... on top of him.
The realization struck her with quiet force, sending a ripple of tension through her body. For a heartbeat, she forgot to move, caught between the closeness... the steady heat of his hand at her waist, and the unyielding weight of his gaze.
The world seemed to narrow to that single moment. Water lapped softly around them, their breaths uneven, the distance between them non-existent.
Her gaze lingered, drawn helplessly to the sharp lines of his face, to the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin, to those golden eyes that held her as though she had nowhere else to turn.
And somehow—
She did not look away.
Now that she saw his face, he looked surprisingly young in comparison to the other masters.
The other masters were not physically old by measure, yet there was always something about them, something that gave evidence of people hardened by time and power.
But looking at him–
He bore no such evidence.
His features were too clean, unmarked, and too refined.
It was a difference she might never have noticed, had his mask not slip off.
Strange.
Unless.....
He had begun his cultivation at a far younger age than the rest?
The thought settled quietly in her mind, yet it did not ease the strange pull she felt in his presence. If anything, it only deepened the mystery of him.
It was beautiful in a way she could not quite name.
And dangerous in a way she did not quite understand.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Kyva moved at once, trying to rise from him, the apology leaving her lips.
"My apologies, master—!"
She barely managed to lift from him before the hand at her waist tightened.
In the next instant, he pulled her back down. Both hands settled at her waist now, firm and unyielding, as though the very act of releasing her had never been an option.
Her breath faltered as she was drawn against him once more, closer than before, the movement swift enough to steal both balance and thought. Beneath them, the water shifted at the disturbance, a soft ripple spreading outward, but neither seemed to notice.
Kyva’s fingers tensed where they had braced against him, her eyes lifting, wide and uncertain as she searched his face.
But his gaze never left hers.
It did not waver. It did not soften.
It just held.
Kyva stilled atop him, her instincts already alarmed.
Why was he looking at her like that?
Had she upset him?
Even if so, this closeness, this position, was wholly improper.
"Master–"
"You should not look at another man like this..." he said suddenly.
Kyva blinked.
She could only stare at him, her thoughts faltering completely.
Another man?
Her brows knit together, confusion knitting deep between them. His words did not follow sense nor reason.
"...Master," she tried again, more cautiously this time, searching his face as though expecting to find some hidden injury. "Did you... perhaps strike your head when we fell?"
For the briefest moment, there was silence.
His eyes narrowed into a glaring slit before he looked away entirely, refusing to respond to her inquiry. He closed his eyes as he drew in a slow breath, as though restraining himself.
"Go."
"Hm?"
The response slipped from Kyva’s lips before she could stop it, and that was when she felt the subtle shift as his grip on her waist slowly loosened.
Ah.
Understanding came at once.
And she did not linger.
She quickly pushed herself from him and rose, retreating from the pond’s surface with measured haste.
If he had not been offended before, then he most certainly was now.
He wouldn’t even look at her.
Was it because she saw his face without permission?
Her lips pressed together.
But then, a flicker of irritation surfaced beneath her composure.
Wait a minute...
How dare he be displeased, when he was the one who dragged them both into the water to begin with?
She had asked a simple question.
A reasonable one at that.
And he chose to have her experience it firsthand.
She was innocent this time.
Bowing her head, she said in a calm, composed voice that only annoyed the man before her. "I would appreciate it if I can start my training tomorrow, master. I shall retire for the night."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and made her way back inside, gathering the length of her damp hair and squeezing the water from it as she walked.
Behind her, Calhoun did not move.
He remained by the pond, the quiet lapping of water the only sound that dared to fill the space she had left behind. The wind stirred softly through the garden, low and restless, as though it bent to the weight of his mood.
Above, the already darkened night sky deepened further, his hands curling slowly at his sides as it finally settled.
His woman was not drawn to him at all.
The realization felt... almost unbelievable.
Every instinct within him had surged, demanding recklessness, and urging him to close the distance that no longer existed, to claim the breath she had stolen from him and return it in kind.
To kiss her.
To silence the maddening distance in her eyes.
Even if she recoiled.
Even if she came to despise him for it.
His jaw tightened.
And yet...
She had not even noticed.
A quiet, humorless breath left him.
Meanwhile, he stood there, utterly unmoving, and yet utterly undone, his every nerve drawn taut with the effort of holding himself back. The simple act of remaining where he was demanded more strength than any battle he had ever truly fought.
It bordered on pain.
Not the fleeting kind he knew.
But the slow, insistent ache of something denied... something he had no right to want, and yet could not seem to quell. He couldn’t help but feel rejected.
Rejected.
That word did not suit him.
And yet it lingered.
...Does she perhaps favor another?
The thought came unbidden, and Calhoun’s thought strayed to the image of the human who often sought her out, and at once, his mood darkened further, a low rumble echoing across the sky.
Meanwhile, within the Sacred Order, a few glanced upward, brows furrowing.
"Is it about to rain?"
