They were walking again.
They hadn't spoken since. Not even once.
Fall hadn't said a word.
He walked behind her—eyes forward, jaw set.
Not sulking. Not smirking.
Just quiet in a way that unnerved her more than all his previous teasing combined.
Then – all of a sudden,
Light.
Soft, golden orbs floating through the trees.
Spirits. Again.
They drifted closer, giggling like children, swirling around the two of them.
One hovered right in front of Spring's face, chirping something that almost sounded like a joke.
Fall tensed behind her.
She felt it.
But the spirits didn't seem offensive.
They danced in circles, tugging gently at Spring's sleeve, trying to braid her hair, plucking at Fall's coat like curious butterflies.
"Oh, hello there," she muttered.
One spirit floated closer, whispering something to her.
Spring laughed softly.
"Oh, no, no, no. That's not it. You've got it wrong."
Fall snapped his eyes at her.
Then—suddenly—
The laughter stopped.
One spirit twitched.
The others followed.
And then they screeched.
The soft glow turned blinding white.
The air dropped to ice.
Spring raised her hands—
But before she could react—
Fall moved.
He grabbed her hand, spun her behind him with a speed that knocked the breath from her lungs.
The blast hit him.
It cracked against his side—loud, blinding.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't move.
Like he was made out of steel.
Spring blinked—shocked—
But what struck her harder was his hand.
He hadn't just grabbed her.
He had laced his fingers into hers.
Deliberate.
Intimate.
Unnecessary.
Her breath hitched.
Her eyes flicked down to their hands.
And he saw it.
The hesitation.
The flush rising in her cheeks.
The moment she tried to pull away—too slow.
He didn't let go.
And he didn't say a word.
Then—
More screeching.
From behind.
Spirits dove toward them like knives.
Fall turned, spinning her around. Pulling her closer.
This time—body against him.
One arm around her waist in a fluid motion.
His chest pressed to her back.
Spring stiffened.
His scent hit her like a wave—
Smoke. Metal.
Something warm and burnt-sweet beneath it.
Her stomach twisted.
She hated how fast her heart reacted.
How her body stilled.
How her memory betrayed her.
Fall stayed silent.
Dead silent.
Then—without a word—
He raised his arm.
It shifted. Morphed.
Flesh became claw.
His demonic form lashed out—ripping through every incoming spirit.
Sharp. Precise. He pierced through every incomig projectile with masterful ease.
And through it all—
he never released her.
He was testing her.
And she knew it.
When all of it was over, she rushed to get out of his reach. She never once turned to him. Just walked.
And walked they did.
Until it got dark again.
Not a word between them.
Fall followed in silence.
A few paces behind.
The air between them was heavier than before. Something that just barely replaced the hatred they grew accustomed to.
It was awkward.
The kind of awkward that only comes after too much heat, and not enough words.
Eventually, they stopped.
The trees opened just enough to let in the silver cast of moonlight. A patch of moss. Some stones. All placed in perfect order for disorder.
Spring gathered the last remaining leaves from her pouch.
She tossed the leaves into the air. They twisted, morphed—glowing briefly before settling into a controlled fire on the ground. Small. Contained. Flickering orange and gold.
Fall stayed standing.
Then, wordlessly, he sat down across from her.
He didn't look at her.
She didn't look up.
Her eyes stayed locked on the flames like they held every thought she refused to say out loud.
Her shoulders were rigid. Her jaw, tight.
Moments passed. The air shifted.
Then she spoke—
Flat. Cold. Merciless.
"I see it now."
Her gaze cut toward him.
"I know what you're doing."
Fall didn't respond.
She watched the firelight flicker across his face. Over the stillness in his jaw.
"You mean nothing to me, Fall," she said. "Not anymore."
Still, he didn't move.
"As I said—you're clinging.
I don't know where you get your audacity. Must be the whole demon thing."
Her voice sharpened.
"You're grasping at anything you can find. Trying to convince yourself I'll forgive you."
A pause.
"If you don't respect me, you should at least think about Win-"
Finally, he turned. Slowly. Deliberately.
Their eyes met.
And that made her step back.
There was something in his expression—dangerous. Unspoken.
Something deep. Desperate.
It made her heart stutter.
She looked away. Quieter, now—
"I cried back then because I'm human.
No one deserves that kind of torment."
Her eyes dropped.
"Not even someone like you."
Fall's voice broke through the silence. Low. Precise.
"Then why did you hide the fact that you cried for me?"
He got up. Stepped forward. Controlled.
Her eyes snapped back to his.
"Why do you always take one breath longer to answer me than any spirit we've met?"
She stepped back.
He didn't stop.
"When I walk close, you watch."
His voice was quiet. Cutting.
"You try not to. But you do."
He tilted his head.
"When I smile, your eyes soften. Just a little. Just enough to make you question whether you truly hate me."
A beat. His voice dropped.
"When I touch you, your body reacts before your mind does."
He moved in—not touching, but close enough.
"You tense. You breathe faster."
His eyes didn't waver.
"You smelled me. And your heart started racing."
A crooked smile.
"You even realised it."
Another step.
"You held my hand back at the manor. Without thinking."
"What are you—"
"And when I say your name…"
He leaned in. Close.
His breath grazed her lips.
"Spring."
Whispered. Too softly.
Her throat clenched. She tried to speak—
But nothing came.
A pause. A breath.
"Your whole body lights up. It triggers something in you."
She snapped, trying to sound colder than she felt:
"You should choose your words more carefully… Spring."
Even softer now:
"You've been pretending so hard. But after all these years…"
His eyes searched hers. Burning.
He reached up.
Tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
The gesture shattered something inside her.
She looked at him instantly.
It was muscle memory.
It was grief.
It was love.
And it struck her so deep it echoed.
Exactly what he wanted.
"… I still know you best."
He smiled.
But there was no triumph.
Only heartbreak.
The fire cracked.
She didn't move.
Couldn't.
His voice still rang in her ears.
Too close.
Too true.
She shook her head—caught between disbelief and disgust.
Then turned. Sharp. Arms crossed.
Damn him.
Damn him!
But he smelled it.
The truth.
Then—
One spirit appeared out of thin air, slipping into the space between them.
Tall and narrow, its limbs too long, fingers tapering into blackened, delicate claws. Its skin shimmered like oil—fluid and shifting, never holding the same shape for long. Eyes piercing as ice, expression unreadable but somehow smiling.
Its face was almost human. Almost.
But its mouth stretched too wide, savoring the shape of its own words.
A trickster. The kind of spirit that didn't fight with claws or teeth—but with your own mind and weaknesses.
Its voice was low, velvety smooth, threaded with malice.
"Funny… how close you stand for two people who can't even look properly at each other."
Fall's shoulders tensed.
The spirit hovered aimleslly but always close to them.
"Don't respond to it." He told Spring in a breath.
This was going to be hard.
He picked the wrong night.
"You ache for him. Even now. You try to hate him, but it doesn't work, does it?"
Spring's eyes narrowed.
It turned to Fall.
"You might want to be careful with that. One wrong move and she might vanish again." He laughed.
Fall's jaw clenched.
"She doesn't trust you. And you can't blame her."
Spring flinched.
"Do you think she forgot that night? Or do you think she remembers it too well?"
Fall growled under his breath.
He reached her arm to try to take her away.
Then, the spirit's voice turned slow, cold—targeted.
"There is someone else that filled the space that you left, though."
Fall's entire body tensed.
"What's his name again…? Winter?"
Spring's eyes snapped up, breath caught.
Fall's face went still.
The spirit continued, almost laughing.
"Oh. That's right. The gentle one. The safe one. The one that could touch her when you were cast away."
The spirit leaned in on Fall close to his ear. Smirking unnaturally evil.
"The one that could touch her the way you touched that other girl."
That was it.
Fall exploded.
Dark flames burst from deep within him, tearing through the ground in a vicious, rippling shockwave.
The spirit stepped back—too slow.
Fire roared upward from the earth in a blinding column of dark light and ash.
Gone. Just like that. Obliterated.
Spring couldn't move. Her breath caught in her chest.
That power—
She'd seen demons before. Fought them. Killed them.
But this—
This wasn't just demonic.
This was something ancient.
No one should be able to erase a spirit like that.
For the first time since their paths crossed again, Spring felt it.
Then—The world changed again.
They were surrounded. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of spirits alike emerged from nothing, all of them wearing that evil smirk on their faces. Eyes gleaming deep blue, teeth bared with anticipation.
They could smell it on him. Rage.
And they were hungry for it.
Spring's pulse spiked. She opened her mouth to speak—
But Fall moved first. It almost became a habit.
He pulled her into his arms in one seamless motion. So fast, she didn't even process it until she was there—pressed against his chest.
What the—
She looked up—and saw his eyes.
The black and gold were gone.
Now they burned violet.
"Don't worry, Spring…" he murmured, voice low and vibrating with something unstable. "You're safe here. With me."
The spirits lunged.
"If they want rage…"
A pause.
"…they can have it. All of it."
Spring flinched.
"What are you doing—?"
"But you don't need to see this."
His arms tightened—unyielding.
She gasped. She couldn't move. Could barely breathe.
She struggled—
And then it started.
She froze.
The air trembled. The ground cracked.
Even without her enhanced senses, she could feel it.
Power surged around them—wild, alive. A storm of fury. Pure, condensed hate.
Then came the screams—high, desperate, short.
Cut off before they could finish.
It sounded like something had reached into each spirit and crushed the sound out of their throat.
It was monstrous. Terrible.
And somehow—
In some twisted, mournful way—
It was beautiful.
Like the end of all things.
Silence followed. Suffocating.
Ash fell around them like glittering snow. The world had gone still.
Fall loosened his grip. Just enough for her to breathe. To move.
Spring pushed gently against his chest.
He let go.
She took one step back. Just one.
But it was enough.
He saw it.
That flicker in her eyes.
Fear.
Her arms stayed tense. Her breath shallow. Her eyes—on him, but cautious now. Measuring him.
It cut him deeper than any blow ever could.
Fall tilted his head, the faintest smirk curving his lips.
"Oh, come on," he said, smooth and mocking. "Don't look at me like that. You're making me shy."
She didn't answer.
He stepped forward, ash crunching under his boots. She didn't move.
"You're not scared of me, are you?" he teased.
"After everything we've been through? All those days… and this is what scares you?"
His eyes still glowed faintly. Heat and ash crackled from his skin. Beneath his clothes, root-like markings pulsed.
He looked like a god of ruin—
But he was grinning like a brat.
"I have to admit. It flatters me."
Still, she stayed guarded. Watching him like he might snap.
Fall rolled his shoulders, slow. Sparks drifted off him. The marks faded. His energy cooled.
Then he looked past her, surveying the carnage—the spirits, now gone. The ground scorched. The quiet.
He understood her silence now.
Then, casually—
"Relax."
His gaze slid back to her, sharp but calm.
"That's the result of too many years training in the Tower. Studying in the Library."
He shrugged.
"Access to everything in there tends to change a man."
Something clicked in her mind.
He liked that about you.
"You—" she said, eyes narrowing.
He lifted a brow. Curious.
"You…You're the State Arcanist??"
He gave a soft chuckle.
"In the flesh. I guess."
That stunned her more than the destruction.
"Dante let you be his State Arcanist?!"
Her voice rose in genuine disbelief.
He laughed. Loud. Open. Utterly unbothered.
"I mean, it wasn't exactly a choice. But yes."
Then—quieter.
"Spring. Look."
He pointed to their right.
A rupture in the world.
A crack in nature itself, humming with energy.
Two portals—just meters apart.
The sign to move forward in the Trial. Or return home.
Spring stared at them. Then at him.
She didn't say anything.
But remembered all of it.
Dante's praise.
…he's a better mentor than anyone I've ever seen. The children adore him.
But beyond that—he was haunted.
Haunted by his own arcane.
She had seen it.
The way he turned away when visions struck.
The nights when he'd wake, shaking, and reach for her—just to ground himself in the present.
And now?
Now he was more unhinged than ever.
But he mastered all that power… through pain.
Through learning. Training.
Through his own effort.
While raising the next generation too.
She tried—desperately—to push it down.
But she was stunned.
She looked away quickly, eyes hard again.
But it was too late.
He had already seen it. He always did.