Shield of Destiny

The days after Elara's unexpected magical outburst at the university were filled with a heavy, lingering tension. The world around her felt more uncertain than ever, and she couldn't seem to find any peace, not even in the quiet corners of the library where she usually sought refuge. There, she could focus on the pages of books that promised an escape from the world, an illusion of control she hadn't had in a long time.

But it wasn't just the books that occupied her mind now. Lysander. He had been there. His presence, his concern, his understanding gaze—it was all too much for Elara. It stirred something in her, something she couldn't name, something she didn't want to acknowledge. She couldn't afford to let herself get close to him.

He was from a world she could never be a part of. The Seven Families, the legacy, the wealth, the magic—all of it seemed so distant from her own existence. She was just an orphan. A girl with no family, no inheritance, no title. What could she possibly offer someone like him?

But Lysander wasn't like anyone she had known before. He wasn't like the others at the university who looked at her with pity or indifference. He saw her. And he didn't treat her like she was less than anyone else.

She was certain that, deep down, he cared for her. That was precisely why she had to keep him at arm's length. It hurt too much to think about how one day, he would likely walk away—because he would see her for what she really was: someone destined to be alone, always on the outside looking in.

---

Lysander, meanwhile, was struggling with his own feelings. He had always been taught to distance himself from others, to put the needs of the Seven Families above everything else. But Elara was different. There was a quiet strength about her that called to him. He couldn't help but want to be near her, to understand the mysterious pull that seemed to draw them together.

Every time they spoke, every glance they shared, something deeper grew between them. He felt the weight of it, a growing attraction he could no longer deny. But at the same time, there was confusion. Elara was distant, hesitant, and it hurt him more than he cared to admit. Why couldn't she see that he cared for her?

He had tried to reach out to her, but she always pulled away. His family's expectations, the prophecy, his own responsibilities—they were a heavy burden. And he knew, deep down, that if he let himself fall for her, it would only complicate things. The prophecy had already set a path for him, one that didn't leave room for love. Especially not love for someone like her.

---

One afternoon, Lysander found himself standing by the library, just outside the doors, watching as Elara walked past him. She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed straight ahead. But he could feel the tension in the air, the distance between them growing wider with every step.

"Elara," he called softly, stepping forward, his voice unsure. She didn't stop, but she didn't keep walking either.

"What do you want, Lysander?" Her voice was quiet, but there was something fragile about it, something that made his heart ache.

"I... I just want to talk. About what happened. About you."

Elara finally turned to look at him, her eyes wide, as though she was trying to hold onto something, some sense of control. "There's nothing to talk about, Lysander. You're... you're from a world I'll never be a part of. A world that doesn't have room for someone like me."

Lysander took a step closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "That's not true," he said, his voice low. "I don't care where you come from. I care about who you are."

Elara took a deep breath, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "You don't understand," she murmured, her eyes clouding with pain. "I'm just an orphan. I have nothing. I've spent my whole life trying to survive, trying not to get attached to anyone, because I know—deep down—that people like you, people with everything, you'll leave me behind eventually. You'll realize I'm nothing, and you'll move on."

Lysander's breath caught in his throat. "Elara, you're not nothing. You're..." He didn't know how to finish the sentence. He wanted to tell her that she was everything, that he couldn't stop thinking about her, but the words caught in his throat.

"I don't want to be a burden to you," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I don't want you to pity me. Please just leave me alone, Lysander."

Her words hit him harder than he expected. She turned away quickly, walking briskly down the hallway. He stood frozen for a long moment, watching her retreating figure. She was slipping away, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

---

That night, Elara sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the moonlight filtering through the small window of her tiny apartment. She couldn't sleep, couldn't escape the emotions swirling inside her. Her mind kept replaying the moment with Lysander—his words, his sincerity, the way he had looked at her.

It had felt like everything she'd ever wanted, and everything she was terrified of at the same time. If she let him get too close, she would lose herself. She would become dependent on him, and that was a risk she couldn't take.

Her heart ached with the thought of losing him. But she knew it was inevitable. He would find someone else—someone who belonged in his world. And she would be left behind. Alone again.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the pain, but it didn't go away. She was caught in a web of emotions she didn't know how to untangle.

---

Lysander lay awake that night, his mind racing. He could still hear her words in his ears, feel the pain in her voice. He had wanted to say so much more, to reassure her, but he hadn't known how. She was right in some ways—he came from a world of privilege, of power, of expectations. She didn't belong to that world.

But he couldn't let her slip away. Not without a fight.

The rift between them was growing, but Lysander wasn't willing to give up just yet. He had to find a way to bridge the gap, to prove to her that she mattered to him. Even if everything else in his world tried to pull them apart.

And so, the battle began—not just with the powers that pulled at them, but with their own hearts.