Zara’s POV

  The grand council chamber was packed, the air thick with the weight of expectation and tension. The circular room, usually reserved for civil matters and policy discussions, had become the battleground for something far more volatile—magic, and the future of those who wielded it.

  At the head of the chamber sat the city’s council members, their expressions ranging from neutral to openly hostile as they regarded those assembled before them. The gallery above was filled with observers—citizens, reporters, and members of both magical and non-magical factions waiting to see what would unfold.

  I sat at the long table at the center of the room, representing the university. To my left was Kage, his arms crossed, gaze sharp as he scanned the room. Hall sat beside him, his presence signifying law enforcement neutrality, though I knew where his sympathies truly lay. Across from me sat Alric Dain, leader of the Sovereign Order, flanked by several of his supporters—men and women who had spent the last months stirring fear against magicals in the city.

  To my right sat Malrick, tense and visibly uneasy. Beside him, an elderly magical named Master Orlin sat quietly, representing the magical citizens. His silver hair was long, his robes pristine despite the decades of hardship evident in the lines of his face. He had seen the rise and fall of tensions before, but even he had admitted to me before the meeting that this felt dangerous. His presence here was critical—he was the last living person who had witnessed the last purge firsthand. His wisdom carried weight, but I feared that today, wisdom alone wouldn’t be enough to sway the council.

  Councilor Varlen, the head of the council, cleared his throat and leaned forward. “We are here today to discuss the rising tensions in the city regarding magic. The recent increase in magical incidents and public unrest has led us to this moment, and it is our duty to determine the best course of action for the safety of all citizens.”

  Alric Dain was the first to speak, his voice steady, commanding. “The facts are clear. Magic continues to pose a threat to our way of life. Just this past week, there have been three separate incidents involving uncontrolled magical outbursts, resulting in injuries. We have brought forward those affected to share their testimony.”

  At his signal, the doors at the far end of the chamber opened, and several people entered—men and women bearing visible injuries, bandaged limbs, burn scars, one woman clutching the hand of a child who wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Murmurs spread through the chamber as they took their seats behind Alric.

  One man, with a deep scar running along his arm, stepped forward. “I was walking home when a magical lost control. I was thrown into a storefront like I weighed nothing. He didn’t mean to hurt me, but that doesn’t change what happened.”

  Alric Dain placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, his expression grave. “How many more before we take action? How long before the city can no longer ignore the dangers that lurk among us?”

  I kept my face neutral, but inside, I was seething. I had seen this tactic before—parade victims in front of an audience, weaponize tragedy against an entire group. I exchanged a glance with Kage, whose expression remained unreadable, though the tension in his jaw told me everything.

  Councilor Varlen gestured toward me. “Professor Zara, as a representative of the university, what do you say to these concerns?”

  I stood, my posture straight, unwavering. “Before I answer that, I would like to present my own testimony.”

  At my signal, the doors at the far end of the chamber opened once more, and Naja entered, leading a woman who walked with measured steps, her presence commanding in its quiet strength.

  “This is Elena,” I announced, turning my gaze to the council. “She was killed in a car accident. Left behind twin babies, only a month old at the time. Her death was supposed to be final. But thanks to Naja’s healing and my necromancy, she was brought back. Because of magic, her children still have their mother.”

  The room fell silent. Even Alric Dain’s smug expression faltered, his fingers twitching against the table.

  Elena stepped forward. “I remember dying. I remember the pain, the darkness, the weight of knowing I wouldn’t be there to raise my children. Magic gave me a second chance. It did not corrupt me. It did not twist me into something unnatural. It gave me life.”

  I swept my gaze over the council. “How many more lives have been saved by magic? How many have been healed, given hope? And yet, we are only shown the fear, the accidents, the mistakes. You call for restrictions, for exile, but will you also erase the good magic has done?”

  I stood, my posture straight, unwavering. “What I say, Councilor, is that magic is not the danger here. Fear is. Magic is a tool—like fire, like steel. When controlled, it is an asset. When left unchecked, it can be dangerous. That is precisely why magical education is vital. The university exists to teach control, to ensure that young magicals learn responsibility and restraint. Without it, what do you think will happen?”

  Alric Dain’s lips curled in amusement. “You make it sound so simple. But magic isn’t just fire or steel, is it? Magic is unpredictable. It is woven into the very essence of those who wield it. How do you control something that is, by nature, uncontrollable?”

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  Councilor Marek sighed. “And what do you propose, Lord Dain? I assume you aren’t simply suggesting we ban all magical education?”

  Alric smirked. “Of course not. I am merely advocating for caution. And for greater oversight.”

  Then, with deliberate slowness, he shifted his gaze to Malrick.

  “Take, for instance, the young man sitting at this very table. Malrick, isn’t it?”

  Malrick tensed beside me, his hands clenching under the table.

  “Tell me, do you deny that you have a rare and dangerous form of magic?” Alric continued, his voice smooth, calculated. “You manipulated the blood of a man against his will. You immobilized him with nothing but a thought. If that is not proof of why we must regulate magic, then I don’t know what is.”

  Whispers broke out across the chamber. I felt my pulse spike.

  Malrick swallowed hard. “I—”

  I placed a hand on his arm before he could say anything further. “Malrick acted in defense. If a non-magical had thrown a punch to protect someone, would we be questioning them here today? Or is it different because it was magic?”

  Councilor Dorel spoke up. “It is different. And you know that, Professor Zara. The implications are not the same. If magic like his can be used so easily to overpower someone, then what stops others from using it in worse ways?”

  “Training,” Kage cut in, his voice like steel. “The same way you train soldiers, guards, and anyone else who handles power. If we strip magicals of their ability to learn, to refine their control, we create the very danger you fear.”

  A heavy silence followed.

  Councilor Varlen exhaled, rubbing his temples. “It is clear that we cannot allow magic to go unchecked, but we cannot strip the city’s magical population of their rights either. This council agrees that new restrictions must be put in place. However, the university will remain open, and magical education will continue.”

  Alric’s expression remained composed, but I could see the tension in his posture. He had won something today—but not everything.

  Varlen glanced around the room. “This discussion is far from over. The council will deliberate further. For now, this meeting is adjourned.”

  With that, we were dismissed, but I knew one thing for certain.

  The fight had only just begun.

  Kage’s POV

  I clenched my fists under the table as the council members stood to leave, their hushed discussions bleeding into the low murmurs of the crowd. My gaze locked onto Alric Dain as he exchanged a few quiet words with one of his lackeys before making his way toward the exit, his expression infuriatingly calm, controlled. He had gotten exactly what he wanted today—more restrictions, more control. But it wasn’t enough for him. Not yet.

  Because I knew the truth. He wasn’t just after laws and policies. He was after us.

  Every day, I received new reports. Another magical missing. Another body never found. At first, they were isolated cases, scattered across the city. Now? The pattern was undeniable. I had been watching, tracking every name, every location, every disappearance. And they all pointed to one thing—someone was taking magicals.

  And I had no doubt that Alric Dain was involved.

  But I had no proof. Not yet.

  A sharp breath hissed between my teeth as I forced myself to relax my hands, the anger simmering just beneath my skin. I couldn’t let it take hold. Not here. Not now. But gods, it was getting harder. Every time I saw Zara standing her ground against him, every time I saw Malrick questioning himself, every time I saw the fear in the eyes of magicals who had every right to exist—I felt it. That protective instinct surging inside me, demanding I do something, anything, to keep them safe.

  Because if this city turned against them, if Alric pushed this too far, there wouldn’t just be protests.

  There would be blood.

  And not just magical blood. The non-magicals would be caught in the crossfire, too. Fear didn’t discriminate. Once it took hold, it consumed everything in its path.

  I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to push back against the weight of that realization. Not yet. We weren’t there yet. But if I didn’t find proof soon, if I didn’t stop this before it escalated further, it wouldn’t matter.

  Because war was coming.

  And I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to stop it.

  Zara’s pov

  Later that night, after the council meeting had ended and the weight of the day had settled over us like a storm cloud, we returned to my home. The streets were quiet, but the silence felt uneasy, like the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for whatever came next.

  Inside, the house was dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting long shadows along the walls. Malrick had retreated to his room without a word, the events of the day weighing on him, and I couldn’t blame him. He had been used as a weapon in that chamber, and the way Alric Dain had looked at him—like he was something to be contained—made my stomach twist with anger.

  I found Kage in the sitting room, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. His coat was draped over the back of a chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tension coiled in his shoulders. Watching him, I realized just how exhausted he looked. Not just physically, but in a way that settled deep into his bones.

  “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, rough at the edges. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that quiet intensity that always made my breath hitch.

  I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I don’t know. I should feel relieved that they kept the university open, but all I can think about is how much worse this is going to get.”

  He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his warmth. “We’ll handle it.”

  I looked up at him, searching his face. “You always say that. Like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

  Kage let out a soft exhale, his hand reaching out, hesitating for just a second before his fingers brushed against my cheek. “I know. But if I don’t, who will?”

  I placed my hand over his, leaning into the touch. “We will. Together.”

  For a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. Not the council, not the Sovereign Order, not the war we all felt creeping closer. There was just Kage—his steady presence, the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at me like I was something worth protecting.

  Then, without another word, he closed the space between us, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was slow, deliberate. Like he was memorizing the way we fit together, like he was grounding himself in something real.

  When we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “No matter what happens,” he murmured, “I’m not losing you.”

  I tightened my grip on his shirt, my own silent promise woven between us.

  Neither of us spoke after that. We didn’t need to.