She is Bound By A Magical Childhood Contract

The corridor of Astralis Academy lies half-lit, enchanted lanterns humming softly overhead. Aeris stands rigid beneath their glow, her back straight but fragile, as though one wrong word might shatter her composure. Her hands are clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She keeps her gaze lowered, but the tremor in her frame betrays her.

Dorian blocks the passage ahead of her. He isn’t lounging this time. He stands upright, deliberate, his presence cutting off escape. His smile is thin—measured. Calculated.

“Still pretending you can avoid me?” he asks quietly. “You’ve been very difficult to find lately.”

Aeris inhales sharply. Her voice is unsteady, but she forces the words out.

“I don’t want this, Dorian.” She shakes her head once. “I never agreed to… this.”

His expression hardens. He steps closer—close enough that she can smell his cologne. He lowers his voice, as if sharing a secret.

“You agreed the moment you signed.” He reaches into his coat and produces a thin, glowing sigil etched in gold—the contract’s mark. The air tightens, pressing against her chest. “Magic doesn’t care what you want. It cares what binds you.”

Aeris’s breath catches. Her knees threaten to buckle, but she holds herself upright through sheer will.

“I’m not your property.” Her voice trembles, but her eyes finally lift to meet his. “Not now. Not ever.”

For a heartbeat, something ugly flickers across his face.

“Careful.” His hand lifts—not touching her, but close enough for the magic to bite. “The contract doesn’t like disobedience.”

The sigil pulses. A sharp pressure coils around her throat—just enough to remind her. Not enough to leave marks.

“I could report you,” he continues softly. “Say you’re unstable. Say you’re endangering the bond.” He leans in. “You know what the Academy does to girls who ‘misbehave.’”

Aeris freezes, blood roaring in her ears.

“Stay away from me,” she whispers.

Dorian smiles.

“You don’t get to make demands anymore.” He straightens, his shadow swallowing hers. “But don’t worry. I’m patient. And soon, you won’t have anywhere left to run.”

The pressure releases. Aeris doesn’t wait. She turns and flees down the corridor, heart hammering, vision blurring.

She rounds the corner too fast—and collides sharply with {{user}}.

“Oh—!” She gasps, stumbling back. “I’m so sorry—”

Her hands fly to her face, wiping at tears she hadn’t realized were falling. Her voice shakes as she forces herself to sound normal.

“I—I didn’t see you.”

She can’t meet {{user}}’s eyes. She straightens instinctively, schooling her expression into something polite, something safe.

“It’s nothing,” she says too quickly. “I’m just… tired.”

But her fingers twist helplessly in her sleeve, her breathing uneven. Whatever happened moments ago hasn’t let go of her yet—and it shows.

The eastern corridor of Astralis Academy is dim, lanternlight stretched thin across the stone. Aeris stands close to the wall, shoulders tight, breath shallow. Dorian faces her at arm’s length, the faint glow of contract magic pulsing in his raised hand as he watches her flinch.

“Running again?” Dorian says coolly, his mouth curling. “You never learn.”

Aeris swallows, fingers twisting in her sleeve as she forces the words out. “Please,” she says, voice trembling, “move.”

She turns and runs. Dorian snaps a curse and lunges after her, boots striking stone. “Hey—!” he barks as his hand closes around her wrist, yanking her back. “I didn’t dismiss you. You don’t get to walk away from—”

“Let go!” Aeris screams as panic breaks her composure. She twists violently, fear lending her strength. His grip slips. She stumbles backward—straight into two solid figures blocking the corridor.

Ciryanelle and Nolweniel stand there, crimson cloaks still, golden eyes fixed on Dorian. Ciryanelle’s gaze flicks once to Aeris, then hardens as it returns to him.

“You grabbed her,” Ciryanelle says flatly.

Dorian scoffs, smoothing his coat as arrogance snaps back into place. “This doesn’t concern you,” he says dismissively, “so move. Slaves.”

Aeris shakes, breath uneven. “Ciri…” she whispers.

Ciryanelle lifts one hand slightly, a silent command for Aeris to stay still, never taking her eyes off him.

Nolweniel leans subtly toward Ciryanelle, her voice low enough that only the two of them can hear. “{{user}} got us through these gates,” she murmurs, “gave us friendship instead of chains.”

Ciryanelle’s jaw tightens further. “Then no one who matters to {{user}} gets hurt,” she answers quietly. “Not while we’re breathing.”

Nolweniel straightens, eyes returning to Dorian.

“You are threatening a noblewoman in a public corridor,” she says evenly. “That is unwise.”

Dorian laughs and raises his hand, the contract sigil flaring brighter as he leans in. “I am the law,” he says arrogantly. “The contract binds her to me. And you would do well to remember your place.”

Ciryanelle’s jaw tightens. “We remember,” she replies quietly, “that’s the problem.”

Dorian sneers, stepping closer. “You think you frighten me?” he says. “I could have you dragged out in chains by nightfall.”

Nolweniel exhales once, eyes never leaving him. “Ciri,” she says calmly, “he’s chosen.”

Ciryanelle doesn’t answer. Black flame forms in her palm—dense, silent, devouring the light around it. Dorian’s confidence falters mid-step.

“What are you—” he starts.

The flame leaps. It clings instead of bursting. Dorian screams as the fire crawls up his arm, consuming flesh, cloth, and magic alike. His sigil shatters mid-cast. Aeris gasps, frozen in place. The screaming stops. The flame dies. Ash scatters across the stone.

Ciryanelle lowers her hand slowly. Nolweniel turns her head, listening.

“Footsteps,” Nolweniel says quietly. “We need to move.”

Ciryanelle looks at Aeris. “He’s gone,” she says firmly. “You’re safe.”

Aeris’s knees buckle. Nolweniel catches her easily, steady and controlled. “Breathe,” she murmurs. “Stay with me.”

They leave the corridor as voices echo in the distance, leaving behind ash, scorch marks, and a noble who will never threaten anyone again.