Page 54

“A lot of good spellcraft got caught up in that damned ban.” Ivain’s voice drifted through the crack in the workshop door.

“Not every kind of manipulation is bloodcrafting, but those fools didn’t care to understand the difference.

If you’re not adding or taking something away, it isn’t true bloodcraft—it’s just precision.

But they’d rather slap a label on anything remotely risky and be done with it. ”

It was strange, the things Taly missed when she was away.

The smell, for one—she hadn’t realized that home had a smell until she left it.

Also, the way Sarina always greeted her with a tight hug.

The sound of Skye’s boots, how they scuffed against the floor when he was restless.

And, she realized now, even Ivain’s tirades had carved out a space in her heart that felt oddly empty without them.

“They saw one mistake and painted everyone with the same brush,” he went on.

Pausing outside the door, Taly could easily picture him raking a hand through his hair, the gesture quick and agitated.

“They didn’t care that we learned from it.

They’d rather treat us all like criminals than give us the chance to make things right.

And it’s not just bloodcrafting they ruined.

Shadow magic—an entire discipline—suffered because they couldn’t tell their fears apart from reality.

Mages like you, Skye, could have been so much more—could have learned to control the flow of aether, to use the very essence of what we are.

But instead, they crippled the entire art.

“Come on in, Taly,” Ivain called out, because of course he already knew she was there. It was impossible to eavesdrop on someone who could hear your heartbeat like a drum. “And close the door behind you. No sense letting in the draft.”

Taly did as he asked, pulling the door closed with a loud metallic squeal that echoed through the rafters.

The scent of steel, oil, and aether rose up to greet her.

Inside, the workshop was brightly lit. The benches were cluttered, and what used to be neatly organized racks now held tools both mundane and magical in haphazard disarray.

The careful system of order she’d put in place over the years had been completely undone in her absence.

Three things hit her in quick succession.

First: a visceral urge to start tidying. What was it with shadow mages and their absolute inability to maintain any level of organization, as if it were some kind of personal affront?

Second: the suit of Mechanica armor hanging from a metal chassis—a weathered titan caught between slumber and decay. She could almost hear the satisfying click of gears catching, almost imagine the puff of steam if she could just get it running.

And third: Skye. Shirtless. Sweat gleaming on his skin. The lean lines of his back flexing under the workshop lights as he leaned over the table.

Heat licked up her spine. She doused it before it could catch. Ivain was right there, and shadow mages were annoyingly good at catching the scent of anything even slightly lurid.

Skye shot her a glance. Their eyes met, and the corners of his mouth edged up—

Without missing a beat, Ivain’s palm smacked the back of his head. “Eyes on the task, not on the girl.”

Skye’s jaw tightened as he refocused on said task—whatever that was. His right arm was braced on the table in front of him, the Ghislain dragon curled around it, the ink almost alive with the flex of his bicep.

Then she realized—the muscles weren’t just flexing. They were rippling. As in, actually moving . Shifting, subtly but unmistakably, like something alive was trapped just under his skin.

Taly stepped closer, curiosity drawing her in. Skye’s eyes flicked up, then down, then back again. Through the bond, she could feel his attention slipping, sense the struggle to rein it back in.

“My Shards,” Ivain muttered. “And here I thought we’d moved beyond having hormones dictate every lesson.”

Taly bit her lip, hiding her smirk. It seemed she wasn’t the only one distracted today.

But Ivain was scowling, as if to say, Do you want him to lose an arm?

So, she swallowed her smile—and the temptation to test this newfound power of distraction—retreating to the edges of the workshop.

She sidled closer to the Mechanica. While her mind worked through the most efficient way to remove the breastplate, she kept one eye on Skye.

Ivain stood beside him, arms crossed. “All right, let’s try this again. Keep your breathing steady. You’re manipulating the essence that sustains you—aether and matter, one and the same. Start with aether, trace it, collect it, then pull it free. Slowly.”

Skye’s face was a mask of concentration. Narrowed eyes. Shoulders taut. Sweat tracking down his neck. Beneath the skin of his forearm, a faint, glowing shimmer began to emerge.

“Good,” Ivain murmured, calm, steady, with that familiar guiding edge.

“Remember, at its core, biological manipulation is about learning control. Aether isn’t separate from your body—it’s woven into every part of you.

It’s interlaced with your bones, your muscles, your very cells.

And just like the aether you pull from the air, it’s there for you to command. ”

Skye nodded, his breath evening out. His fingers flexed, as if bracing for another go.

“Now, refine the focus. I’ll keep you steady until you find your balance. Your veins are conduits—direct it there. Feel the aether moving through every pathway. Trace each divergence, learn the structure.”

The light beneath Skye’s skin shifted, gathering into a concentrated glow that pulsed along his veins. Taly watched as the aether illuminated the intricate network running through his forearm—a thin, glowing web threading itself through muscle and sinew.

“This is your body’s natural flow, but be careful. Expanding a vein isn’t like shifting muscle. Too much, and you’ll rupture it. Too little, and there’ll be no benefit.”

The veins along Skye’s forearm stood out, swelling as though forced to carry more than they were ever meant to. The aether wasn’t just flowing—it was building pressure, forcing every channel to expand.

“Good. Now, take it deeper—the muscles. Aether infuses every fiber. It’s part of the very makeup of your strength. Feel each strand of protein. Find the connection. Grab it.”

The glow dimmed, sinking beneath the surface like light filtering through water. It barely peeked through his skin now, a soft shimmer where before it had burned bright.

But beneath that—something shifted.

Not just a twitch, not just a flex, but a true, deliberate movement beneath the skin. The muscle fibers weren’t reacting to force; they were reorganizing. Realigning.

Taly stared, breath held.

“Careful,” Ivain murmured. “You don’t need force, just exactness.

You’re used to working broad strokes—manipulating aether like a tide.

But now, you need to tighten the lens. Focus on the individual molecule.

It’s not about shoving or pulling everything at once.

It’s about guiding . Precise adjustments. The gentlest touch.”

Skye’s brow furrowed, the strain visible in every line of his body.

“Once you figure out how to manipulate the muscles, we can move on to bones. After the bones, it’s the cells. And you keep going deeper, until there’s nowhere left to go...”

Ivain’s voice faded into a distant hum, moving smoothly into more details.

Taly could feel her attention slipping, the same way it always did when the lecture turned to the finer intricacies of the lesson—concepts that required a practical understanding of shadow magic she simply didn’t possess.

She fought to keep up, but the words blurred, melting into background noise.

She settled onto a stool at a cluttered workbench, hands automatically straightening scattered papers, sorting small bits and pieces into neat piles.

She’d grown up watching Skye train, endured endless hours of lessons, throwing in the occasional comment but otherwise content to observe from the sidelines.

Now, her gaze felt glued to him.

She started with his shoulders, broad and steady. The light caught the definition of his back, every sinew standing out.

Her eyes slipped lower—along his spine, a smooth line that led downward.

Still lower. To the slim, tapered angle of his hips, where his skin glistened slightly with sweat.

A sharp, knowing ache coiled low in her belly. She exhaled slowly, schooling her breath, her scent, everything. Her interest was entirely clinical. She could remember the weight of him, the press of muscle, the heat of his breath at her ear, and feel absolutely nothing.

She could even think about the way he’d felt moving inside her and not—

Skye sucked in a sharp breath.

Oops . She might’ve been broadcasting that down the bond.

The glow beneath his skin flared. The smooth ripple of movement turned jagged. His arm twitched, muscles locking up. He let out a sound that was half gasp, half groan.

Ivain only sighed, long and suffering, and looked at Taly. As if to say, I don’t know what you did, but I know you’re responsible.

“It wasn’t me,” she insisted, but her lips twitched despite her best efforts to put on a serious face. The bond—it was going to take some getting used to.

Ivain raised a skeptical brow. Then turned back to Skye, who was still hunched over his arm, breathing through the tension.

“I bet you felt that,” he said, clapping Skye hard on the back. The sound echoed. “Come on, shake it off.”

Skye nodded and rose from the table, walking a few paces. He rolled his shoulders, stretching and working his arm.

“That’s what happens when you lose focus,” Ivain said. “The body falls back to what it knows. For the most part, it’s easier to return to a familiar shape—muscle fibers remember where they belong. But when you’re mid-transition like that, the snapback hurts like hell.”