Tethered by Touch

After trying all evening, I couldn't get better. Deciding to try again later, I headed to my room.

Noticing a small note beneath my door.

"Meet me by the south garden. Midnight. Bring the book. N"

There was no scent left on the paper, no trace of presence. Just her initial, and an unspoken promise that she had more to teach.

Nyssara

The wind was still when I stepped into the south garden. Midnight cloaked the world in its quiet grace, and the moon hovered like a sentinel in the sky. I liked this place, untouched, ageless, sacred in its own silent way. The stone platform, with its etched runes and faded carvings, felt like a memory long whispered to us by our ancestors.

And he was already there.

Rhyven stood in the center, pacing with a notebook in hand, brows furrowed, jaw set. He hadn’t noticed me yet. There was something about watching him when he thought no one was looking. The way he moved, restless, wound tight like a thread stretched too far.

I stepped forward. “You came early.”

He turned quickly. “You left a note under my door. I assumed it meant urgency.”

A smile crept across my lips. “You didn’t strike me as the obedient type.”

“I’m not. But you’re pretty persuasive.”

I moved closer, closing the distance slowly. “You tried the first technique.”

“I did,” he said. “It worked. Until the second part.”

“The flower cut,” I said with a knowing nod. “Most can't do it on their first day. The strike requires intent without violence. Precision without aggression. You can’t force it.”

“And how do I practice that?”

“That’s why you’re here.”

I crossed to the center and gestured him over. He obeyed, reluctantly, with that sharp focus still etched into his brow.

“Relax. Your stance is too rigid.”

My fingers found his wrist delicately, it felt surprisingly strong, not that it wasn't to be expected. Carefully, I guided his grip, adjusting the tension in his palm. Then, I circled behind him. His body stiffened as I moved closer.

“Lower your shoulders. You’re carrying tension here.”

I brushed my fingertips across his back, then down to his sides.

“And here.”

He didn’t move. Not a breath. Not a twitch.

I stepped around him slowly, my shoulder nearly brushing his chest. “Again. Slow. Flow with the wind.”

He exhaled. Tried.

Still too tight.

“You’re still thinking too hard,” I said softly. “It needs to come from instinct, not logic.”

“I wasn’t exactly raised on instinct.”

“No. You were raised to fear yourself.”

His gaze met mine. Deep, like he was searching for something.

“Is that what you see when you look at me?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered. “But I see what they tried to bury.”

The space between us tightened as he stepped closer. His breath brushed my cheek.

“You always talk like this?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re reading my thoughts before I can think them.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Not as much as it should.”

And then he leaned in.

Not far. Just enough for his breath to stir the hair at my neck. Warm, deliberate.

“What now, teacher?” he murmured.

My pulse fluttered. My fingers twitched. I should’ve stepped back. I didn’t.

“You’re standing very close,” I said.

“Should I move?”

I lifted my gaze, meeting his with a calm I didn’t fully feel. A smirk was plastered on his face, like someone who knew the effect he had “You should try the technique again.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“You didn’t mean it as one.”

His chuckle was low and soft, tugging something loose in my chest.

“Try again,” I said, brushing past him with a feather light touch to his arm.

Rhyven

I tried again.

Slower this time. No tension. Letting the air guide my motion.

I moved, exhaled, and struck.

The leaf I’d placed midair split in two with a perfect, clean slice.

My eyes widened.

“It worked,” I said.

Nyssara nodded, a quiet pride in her eyes. “Because you let it.”

She looked almost proud. Not of herself for once, of me.

I flipped through the notebook again, trying to find an explanation for what had just happened, something fluttered loose from between the pages.

A small slip of parchment.

The Silent Crown: Seven Boons

Whisper Veil – Mastered

Mindreach – Mastered

Bloodpulse – Mastered

Soulbind – In Progress

Echo Wound – Locked

Dusk Ward – Locked

Crown of Silence – ???

My brows furrowed.

“What is this?”

Nyx leaned in, saw the note, giving a faint hum “Something you weren’t supposed to see.”

“Boons?”

“Gifts. From my family. Techniques tied to our blood.”

“Are they all like this one?”

She didn’t answer. She took the page gently from my hand, folded it, and slipped it back into the notebook.

“You have your own gifts, Rhyv. You just haven’t found them all yet.”

“So you’re my tutor now?”

“For now.”

“Should I expect more midnight visits?”

She turned toward me, that sly half smile pulling at her lips. “Would you be disappointed if there weren’t?”

My grin came slowly. “Deeply.”

Later that night...

I returned to my room, the fire in my blood still buzzing from that moment. From her touch.

As I removed my jacket, the notebook slipped free again. Another page fell from within.

I caught it.

At the bottom:

From your tutor , N

Followed by a phone number.

I traced the letters with a thumb, and for the first time in a long time, smiled like someone who had something worth fighting for.

Not for power.

But for a name I no longer hated.

Rhyven.

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