The stars were beginning to fade as the first soft light of morning crept along the edge of the horizon, casting the academy rooftops in gentle gold. I hadn't moved from my spot on the bench. Not because I was lost in thought—though I was—but because I didn't want to go back inside. Not yet.
Something about the cool air brushing against my cheeks, the way it kissed my skin like a promise of change, made everything feel more fragile. More precious.
Footsteps padded softly behind me, light and deliberate.
"I figured I'd find you out here."
I didn't need to turn. I knew that voice too well by now.
"Tessa," I murmured.
She said nothing at first. Just came to stand beside me, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the fading constellations like she was memorizing every star.
"You didn't sleep again," she finally said, voice low.
"I couldn't."
She gave a slow nod, like she understood, because of course she did. Tessa always understood things she never said.
"I saw Claire sneaking out with Diana earlier," I added absently, brushing a stray hair from my face. "They were whispering like they had some plan."
"Probably scheming how to get your attention first thing in the morning."
I let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"They really don't stop," I said.
"No," Tessa agreed. "But neither do you."
I turned my head to glance at her. She wasn't smiling, but there was something soft in her expression. Something tired and fond and quietly pained.
"Something's coming," she said after a beat.
I didn't ask how she knew. I felt it too. Like the wind was too still. Like the world was holding its breath.
"What do you think it is?" I asked, voice quieter.
"I don't know yet," she said. "But it's not good."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Can't we have a little more time? Just… one more week of peace?"
"We don't get to choose that," Tessa replied.
We sat in silence, the kind that wrapped around your shoulders like an old coat. Familiar. Worn in.
But then she did something unexpected.
She reached out and gently brushed her knuckles against the back of my hand.
It was so subtle. So Tessa.
But it made my throat tighten.
I turned to look at her fully. Her red eyes were sharper in the early morning light, and something in them flickered—just for a moment. Vulnerability, maybe. Or something close to it.
"You're not alone in this, Sera," she said. "You don't have to carry all of it."
I stared at her, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
"But what if I don't know how not to?"
Tessa didn't answer. She didn't need to.
She just sat beside me, close enough to lean against if I needed it. Close enough that if I let myself fall just a little, I knew she'd catch me.
And maybe… maybe that was enough.
As the sky lightened and shadows melted into the gentle haze of dawn, the truth lingered like a taste on my tongue—sharp, inevitable, and quiet.
I wasn't ready.
But I was no longer afraid of that.
Beside me, Tessa sat motionless, her fingers resting close enough to mine that I could feel the heat of her skin, steady and grounding. She didn't speak again, didn't press, didn't need to. That was the thing about Tessa—when everyone else filled silence with words and promises, she offered space. Presence. A kind of closeness that didn't suffocate.
"I used to think I was just surviving," I said, voice barely louder than a breath. "That if I made it through each day without messing up the plot, without getting too close, I could make it out of here unscathed."
"And now?" she asked, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.
I swallowed. "Now I realize I don't want to leave without leaving something behind."
She glanced at me—just a flicker of movement, but her red eyes locked onto mine, unwavering.
"You already have," she said.
A silence stretched between us, soft and full of something heavier than air.
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that all of this—the laughter, the lingering glances, the whispered promises and awkward confessions—wasn't just temporary. That it meant something.
I turned my palm up on the bench, and after a beat, Tessa's hand slid into mine.
Her grip wasn't soft. It was steady. Certain.
"I don't know how this ends," I admitted. "Whatever's coming... it feels like the real battle. The final one. Not just against the monsters, but against everything—fate, this world, the version of Sera that used to exist."
"Then we end it on our terms," she said. "Together."
The word lingered in my chest like a spark in dry grass.
Together.
It should've scared me. That kind of closeness. That kind of promise.
But it didn't.
Because the truth was—I wasn't alone anymore.
And the more I let myself be known, the more I realized that none of them were just side characters in a story I'd stumbled into. They weren't here because the plot said they had to be.
They were here because we chose each other.
Claire, with her chaos and cheer and constant competition for my lap.
Camille, with her soft seduction and quiet understanding.
Diana, with her fire-disguised-as-cunning, always daring me to look deeper.
Lillian, who somehow knew every version of me, and loved all of them.
And Tessa, the one who never asked for anything, yet always gave me exactly what I needed.
They weren't ornaments in a rewritten fairytale.
They were everything.
And as the sun finally broke over the edge of the academy walls, casting gold across the dew-slicked stones, I realized something else.
If the next arc truly was the final one...
Then I was going to face it with all of them.
Because love—real, tangled, terrifying love—was worth fighting for.
Even if it broke me first.
The next few days passed in an odd blur—a gentle lull before the storm, a quiet sense of foreboding drifting through the academy halls like ghostly whispers. Students and professors alike seemed to sense it, their voices more hushed, their steps quicker and more purposeful. Conversations shifted subtly, laced with speculation about something unknown but inevitable.
I stayed close to the others, as though proximity alone could shield us from whatever shadow loomed ahead. Small touches lingered longer, gazes softened, and teasing became gentler. No one spoke openly of it, but we all knew this fragile peace wouldn't last.
One afternoon, I found myself alone in the garden club room, hands busy tending to the delicate blooms we'd nurtured together. Each flower felt like a memory—vibrant, soft, and fiercely alive. My fingers paused on a pale pink rose, its petals velvet-soft against my fingertips, when the door creaked quietly open.
I turned to see Diana stepping gracefully inside, her emerald eyes bright against the fading afternoon sunlight. Her golden hair spilled loose over her shoulders, and something quiet, almost hesitant, softened the lines of her normally confident face.
"Do you have a moment?" she asked softly, shutting the door gently behind her.
"For you?" I smiled faintly. "Always."
She moved closer, reaching to gently touch the rose I'd been tending. Her expression was unusually solemn, her voice low. "You feel it too, don't you? Like something is coming, and we can't quite escape it?"
I exhaled softly, nodding. "I thought maybe I was imagining it."
She met my gaze, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "You're smarter than that."
"I was hoping I wasn't," I whispered honestly. "For once."
She stepped closer still, eyes searching mine carefully. "You don't have to carry this alone, you know. You've done that for too long."
I sighed softly, unable to look away from the intensity in her eyes. "I know. But old habits are hard to break."
Her fingers brushed mine lightly as she murmured, "Then let me help you break them."
My heart stuttered slightly in my chest. "Diana—"
"I mean it," she interrupted, voice firm yet gentle. "You've been the strength for all of us, even when you shouldn't have had to. Let us return the favor."
Her hand reached up, fingertips ghosting along my jaw, tilting my face toward hers. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, caught in the delicate balance between closeness and longing.
"Diana..." My voice trembled slightly. "What if... what if I lose someone? Any of you? I don't think I could handle it."
"You won't," she whispered, her voice steady. "We won't let that happen."
My breath hitched again as her thumb brushed softly along my cheekbone, lingering. "You can't promise that."
She smiled faintly, bittersweet. "Then let me promise this instead—no matter what comes, I'll stay by your side. No matter the cost."
I swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden burn behind my eyes. "Don't say that."
She leaned closer still, her forehead gently touching mine. Her voice dropped lower, almost pleading. "Let me say it, just this once."
Her lips brushed mine lightly—a feather-soft kiss, brief yet deeply tender. She pulled away only enough to murmur, "I need you to know."
My heart raced, eyes wide, every nerve ending feeling exposed and raw. "Diana—"
She pressed her fingers softly to my lips. "No arguments. Not this time."
I exhaled shakily, nodding slowly. "Okay."
Her fingers moved away gently, trailing softly down to clasp my hand instead. "Now, let's go. Claire's probably wondering why we're missing again."
I laughed quietly, heart still trembling in my chest. "She'll have a lot of assumptions."
"Let her," Diana said smoothly, slipping an arm through mine as we stepped out into the hallway. "She's probably right about most of them anyway."
Outside, evening had fallen softly across the academy, painting the grounds in delicate shadows and hues of lavender and silver. We walked quietly, Diana's presence warm beside me, until we reached the courtyard where familiar laughter floated gently through the air.
Claire waved us over immediately, eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. Camille smiled knowingly, Tessa offered a quiet nod, and Lillian's gaze softened when she saw us together.
"What took you so long?" Claire teased, waggling her eyebrows dramatically.
Diana merely smiled serenely. "We were talking."
"Talking," Camille echoed, amusement clear in her voice. "Is that what they call it now?"
Diana raised a brow elegantly. "Careful, Winters."
Camille chuckled, her eyes gentle when they met mine. "I always am."
Lillian reached out softly, touching my hand briefly, reassurance in her eyes. "It's getting late. Let's all rest well tonight."
As we parted ways, quiet goodnights and lingering glances exchanged, I felt an odd calm settle in my chest—a quiet acceptance that whatever was coming, whatever trials we'd face, we would face them together.
That night, as sleep gently claimed me, I dreamed of quiet laughter, warm hands holding mine, whispered promises, and the soft touch of lips against my own.
But beneath it all, quietly waiting like shadows at the edges of a candle's flame, I felt it—fate shifting quietly into place.
The final arc had begun.
And this time, we would choose our own ending.