The first day at Virel Academy was never calm.

Especially not when your power was so unstable you didn't even trust yourself.

Aria adjusted the silver clasp of her navy-blue uniform—the color of Thalassa Wing—and walked with her back straight across the Courtyard of Elements. Around her, the air smelled of salt and morning dew. Water students moved in silence, like waves careful not to break the surface.

But as she passed the central fountain, something slipped.

A tremor in her chest. An unwanted memory.

The water in the fountain surged over the rim, soaking the shoes of two Thalassa students.

"Aria!" hissed a girl with braids. "Again?"

"I'm sorry," Aria murmured, fists clenched.

"Your grandmother could calm entire tides with a sigh. You can't even handle a fountain. What a disgrace to the lineage."

Aria said nothing. She just lifted her chin and kept walking.

Control. Always control.

On the other side of the courtyard, an explosion made everyone turn.

CRACK!

The fire fountain—a sculpture of eternal embers—erupted in blue flames. Pyra students stumbled back, coughing. At the center of the chaos, uniform singed at the edges and hair half-untamed, stood Irish.

"Irish!" a Pyra boy shouted. "You can't just walk in like that! This isn't a survival camp!"

"And why not?" she shot back, shaking her hands. "If the fire answers me, it's because it wants to. Not my fault it's… passionate."

Awkward laughter. Some nodded. Others frowned.

Irish was good—everyone knew that.

But she was also unpredictable. And at Virel, unpredictability was dangerous.

That's when their eyes met.

Aria, standing by the water fountain, gaze as cold as the ice she couldn't yet summon.

Irish, wrapped in smoke from her own disaster, wearing a smirk that held no warmth.

They stared.

Not with curiosity.

Not with admiration.

With disdain.

"Would you look at that," Irish called out, loud enough for Aria to hear. "The water princess, scared of her own shadow."

"And you," Aria replied, voice low but sharp as shattered glass, "don't even know if your fire protects you… or burns you from the inside."

An uncomfortable silence spread.

Thalassa students gathered around Aria.

Pyra students formed a circle around Irish.

As if the courtyard had split in two.

"Fire and water never mix," someone from Terra Wing warned.

"And especially not when one is pure and the other… chaos," added a Zephyra girl, teasing a breeze between her fingers.

Irish let out a dry laugh.

"Then don't mix. But don't get in my way."

Aria turned away without a word.

But before she left, her eyes found Irish's one last time.

Just for a second.

And in that second, the water in the fountain trembled… and the flames on the ground flickered.

It wasn't imagination.

They both felt it.

But neither would admit it.

That afternoon, in Basic Elemental Combat, Professor Orin—a broad-shouldered man from Terra Wing, scars of cooled lava tracing his arms—glanced at his roster.

"Today, cross-wing pairing. To balance energies."

He paused for effect.

"Aria of Thalassa Wing…"

Irish straightened her back, as if she already knew what was coming.

"…versus Irish of Pyra Wing."

A murmur rippled through the room.

Aria frowned.

Irish smiled. A smile that promised nothing good.

"Perfect," Irish said, stepping into the combat circle. "Now you'll learn water doesn't always win."

"And you'll learn," Aria replied, stepping in with steady strides, "that fire without control… is just noise."

The professor raised his hand.

"Begin."

Aria lashed out with a whip of water.

Irish met it with a wall of flame.

Steam exploded between them, filling the air with hot mist.

For a moment, they couldn't see each other.

Only heard the other's ragged breath.

And something else: a heartbeat.

Fast. Nervous.

Too human for mere rivalry.

The professor called it off before things escalated.

"Poor control. Both of you."

"Of course," Irish said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Hard not to, when I'm stuck fighting someone who's afraid to get wet."

Aria didn't answer.

But as she gathered her towel, she noticed something:

On the floor where Irish had stood, a small blue flame still burned… consuming nothing.

Just glowing.

As if waiting.

Aria stamped it out with her boot.

The flame died.

But that night, in her room, she dreamed of warmth.

And hated herself for it.

Aria didn't believe in coincidences.

Especially not when they involved Irish.

And yet, there she was—again—on the edge of the training field at dawn, sweat glistening on her collarbone, fists clenched as she punched the air, trying to summon fire that refused to obey.

Aria had only come to practice water manipulation by the old irrigation channel.

Alone. In silence.

Peace. Control. Focus.

But peace shattered the moment Irish's flames flared too high, scorching the grass at the field's edge. Aria flinched. Her stream of water splashed uselessly onto the dry earth.

"Can't you do that somewhere else?" Aria snapped, without turning around.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Irish shot back, voice dripping with mockery. "Did my chaos interrupt your perfection?"

Aria finally turned. Irish stood with one hand on her hip, the other still crackling with unstable embers. Her eyes were tired—but defiant.

"You're going to burn the whole field down," Aria said coldly.

"And you're going to drown yourself in that puddle if you keep trembling like that," Irish retorted, nodding at Aria's shaking hands.

Aria's breath hitched. She had been trembling. But not from weakness.

From the memory of that blue flame. From the dream.

Before she could reply, a deep gong echoed across the academy.

"All first-year elemental students report to the Obsidian Arena. Mandatory team trial. Now."

Irish groaned.

"Great. Group work. My favorite kind of torture."

Aria said nothing. But her stomach twisted.

Please don't pair us again. Please don't…

The Obsidian Arena was a sunken pit lined with black stone that absorbed raw magic—making brute force useless unless perfectly controlled. Exactly the kind of place where Aria and Irish were destined to fail.

All four elements were represented: twelve students, three from each wing.

Aria recognized Lien, her Thalassa wingmate—quiet, efficient, always quick to point out Aria's flaws.

Irish crossed her arms when she saw Kael, a Pyra boy who never let her forget she was "the orphan of the Southern Burn."

And then there was Mira, from Zephyra, with her mischievous smile and hair that floated slightly, as if the wind adored her.

"Ooh, this is exciting!" she said, rubbing her hands together. "Fire, water, air, and earth… guess what we have to do?"

Professor Orin pointed to the center of the arena, where a glass sphere hovered above a stone pedestal.

"Inside that sphere is a neutral energy core. Your mission: activate it together."

"Together?" asked a Terra boy, frowning.

"Exactly. Each wing must contribute its element at the same time, in perfect balance. If one fails… the sphere deactivates. If one dominates too much… it explodes."

A nervous murmur spread through the group.

"Form teams of four," Orin ordered. "One from each wing."

His eyes landed on Aria and Irish.

"And no. You don't get to choose. You're already assigned."

Aria felt the ground drop beneath her.

Irish huffed but didn't argue.

And so, the team was set:

Aria (Thalassa – Water)

Irish (Pyra – Fire)

Mira (Zephyra – Air)

Ren (Terra – Earth), a quiet boy who seemed more interested in roots than people.

"Alright," Mira said, grinning like this was a game. "Water, fire, wind, and earth. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Everything," Aria muttered.

"Nothing," Irish said, chin lifted, eyes daring the world. "As long as no one keeps shaking."

Their eyes met.

Aria clenched her jaw.

Irish held her gaze.

The trial began.

Ren placed his hands on the ground. Roots rose, forming a circle around the pedestal.

Mira spun in place, weaving a gentle current of air around the sphere.

Aria raised her hands. Water surged from the nearby channel, forming a liquid ring.

Irish exhaled… and a blue flame rose from her palm.

At first, it worked.

The sphere glowed with pure white light.

But then Aria saw it—Irish's eyes squeezed shut, fighting something inside.

She's losing control.

"Irish, tone down the fire," Aria said, trying not to sound like she cared.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Irish snapped, and her flame turned red, wild.

Aria's water reacted—churning, rising like a wave.

"Aria, calm the water!" Mira called.

"Then tell Irish to control her damn fire!" Aria shot back.

The sphere flickered.

Balance was breaking.

Ren growled and pressed his hands deeper into the earth.

Mira intensified the wind, trying to separate fire and water.

But it was no use.

CRACK!

The sphere went dark.

Black smoke swallowed them.

Silence.

"Pathetic," Orin said, disappointed. "Two of the most promising students… and you can't even share the same air."

Irish turned, furious, ready to blame Aria.

But before she could speak, Aria did something unexpected.

She stepped closer.

Not with anger.

Her eyes fixed on Irish's still-smoldering hands.

"Your fire didn't fail," she said, voice low—just for Irish.

Irish blinked, stunned.

"What failed… is that you don't trust anyone to hold it."

Irish opened her mouth—

—but no words came out.

Aria walked away before she could respond.

But this time, as she passed, she didn't look away.

And when their fingers nearly brushed—

The water didn't tremble. The fire didn't die.

Only steam rose between them.

Warm. Quiet.

And dangerously close to something neither of them dared name.

After the disaster in the Obsidian Arena, Aria hadn't looked at Irish once.

Not in the dining hall.

Not in the stone corridors that smelled of salt and smoke.

Not even when their wings crossed paths in Elemental Theory class.

But that didn't mean she wasn't thinking about her.

"You're distracted," said Lien, her Thalassa wingmate, as they wove threads of water for their precision exercise.

"It's not true," Aria murmured, focusing on keeping her current steady.

"Liar. Ever since training, you keep glancing toward Pyra Wing."

Aria frowned.

"I'm just making sure she doesn't burn down the academy. Someone has to."

Lien let her water thread dissolve into droplets.

"You know what they're saying in the other wings?"

"I don't care what they say."

"They say that whenever Irish summons fire… and you're nearby… her flames turn blue."

Aria tensed.

"That's nonsense. Flame color depends on temperature, not on—"

"On who she's looking at?" Lien smiled, gentle but probing. "Because they also say that your water calms down whenever she walks into the courtyard."

"Enough!" Aria released her water thread. It splashed onto the floor. "Irish is my rival. Period."

"Then why do you get like this every time someone says her name?"

Aria didn't answer.

But that night, as she passed Pyra Wing, she walked slower.

On the other side of the academy, Irish lay face-down on her bed, boots still on and a smudge of soot on her cheek.

"You're still thinking about her," Kael said, leaning against the dorm doorway.

"Who?" Irish asked, not looking up from the tactics manual she wasn't reading.

"The ice princess. Aria. The one who looks at you like you're a fire she doesn't know how to put out."

Irish threw the book against the wall.

"I'm not thinking about her. I just hate how she acts like control is everything."

"And isn't it?" Kael stepped closer, arms crossed. "In Pyra, we admire passion—but without control, fire consumes itself."

"I have control!"

"Then why do you lower your flame intensity every time you train near the eastern fountain?"

Irish sat up sharply.

"I don't do that!"

"Yes, you do," said Mira, peeking through the open window. "And not just that. Yesterday, when Aria passed through the courtyard, you extinguished your fire before class even ended. No one else noticed… but I did."

Irish fell silent.

"It's ridiculous," she muttered. "She doesn't even talk to me. She just judges me with those cold eyes…"

"Cold?" Mira laughed. "Because I could've sworn that when she looks at you, her water trembles."

Irish clenched her fists.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Of course you don't," Kael said with a knowing smile. "Because talking about it would mean admitting you don't hate her as much as you say."

Irish flopped back onto the bed, turning away.

But that night, when she dreamed of blue flames…

They weren't hers.

The next day, the Elemental History professor announced the next challenge:

"The Trial of the Four Moons begins this week. Each team must retrieve a fragment of the Stellar Core hidden in the Four Lesser Realms."

"Teams again?" someone asked.

"Yes. And this time… the same teams as training."

Aria's stomach twisted into a knot.

Across the room, Irish didn't look up—but her fingers gripped the edge of her desk until flames flickered at her fingertips… and vanished instantly.

During break, Mira approached Aria as she practiced shaping a water orb in the Mist Garden.

"Hey… Irish isn't as bad as she seems."

Aria didn't respond.

"Actually…" Mira lowered her voice, "she says she admires how you control water. That it's… elegant."

Aria dropped the orb.

"She doesn't say that."

"She does—when she thinks no one's listening."

"Then why are you telling me?"

Mira smiled.

"Because someone has to start telling the truth… before you run out of time."

That same afternoon, Ren found Irish in the Terra greenhouse, where she was "helping" (read: accidentally scorching) prune shrubs.

"Aria asked about you."

Irish froze.

"What?"

"Today in the library. She asked if you knew that blue fire is the most stable… and the rarest."

Irish stood still.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her it only appears when fire isn't alone."

Irish said nothing. But that night, during training, she let her flames burn soft and blue…

as if hoping someone would see them.

And though they didn't look at each other all day…

They both knew the other was there.