Life within the Grand Cathedral resumed its familiar rhythm, a stately dance of prayer, ritual, and administration. Yet for Elias Vance, the music had changed. An unsettling counterpoint thrummed beneath the surface of psalms and incense, a persistent, low-level vibration attuned to the presence of Commander Theron Blackwood. The secret they shared, sealed in the silence of St. Silas's chapel, had irrevocably altered the landscape of his world.
He found himself caught in a new, insidious pattern. Walking the vaulted main corridor towards the Chapter House, surrounded by murmuring acolytes and preoccupied clerics, his gaze would inexplicably drift. Not towards the stained-glass depictions of saints, but scanning the clusters of black-and-silver clad knights near the armoury doors. Crossing the sun-dappled central courtyard, ostensibly meditating on the scripture in his hands, his attention would snag on a tall, imposing figure overseeing weapons drills near the far wall. Even during High Mass, kneeling in his designated stall near the altar, his focus would fracture, drawn magnetically towards the front pews reserved for the Knights Commander, seeking the distinctive raven-black hair and the set of broad shoulders.
It wasn't conscious surveillance. It was a reflex, a nervous tic born of the immense, dangerous knowledge he carried. He needed to see Theron, to visually confirm the controlled facade, to reassure himself that the dragon slept peacefully within its human vessel. Yet, every time his eyes found their target, a jolt of something far more complex than vigilance would lance through him.
Because Theron Blackwood was always looking back.
It was uncanny. Regardless of the crowd, the distance, or the apparent focus of his attention – whether he was listening intently to a subordinate's report, inspecting a blade, or seemingly engrossed in prayer – the moment Elias's gaze landed on him, Theron's head would turn. His amber eyes, usually appearing a deep, rich brown from a distance, would lock onto Elias with unnerving precision. They weren't the blazing gold of crisis, nor the fully slitted predator's gaze, but in those moments of connection, the light seemed to catch them just so, revealing the subtle, vertical line within the iris – a permanent, chilling reminder of the truth only Elias knew.
But it wasn't just the reminder that stole Elias's breath. It was the *quality* of the gaze. Theron's look wasn't hostile, nor was it the deferential glance owed to a Cardinal. It was intense, penetrating, laden with a heavy, unspoken scrutiny. It felt like being physically touched, a brand of awareness that cut through the layers of crimson silk and clerical detachment. Within that look, Elias sensed a multitude: the sharp intelligence assessing him, the wary acknowledgment of their shared secret, the constant vigilance of a predator guarding its territory… and something else. Something deeper, hotter, that Elias refused to consciously acknowledge. A latent heat that had nothing to do with the dragon's blood and everything to do with the forbidden resonance that still hummed between them.
The moment their eyes met, the dormant connection flared to life. Not the overwhelming symphony of the infirmary, but a sharp, electric jolt deep in Elias's core. It was the soul-deep thrum of recognition, a silent echo of that terrifying intimacy when their powers had fused. It felt like a taut wire plucked, vibrating with a tension that was both alarming and inexplicably compelling. His own Resonant Light, usually a placid pool within him, would stir restlessly in response, a faint, traitorous warmth spreading beneath his skin.
The reaction was always swift, instinctive, and mutual. Elias would flinch, his carefully composed Cardinal's mask cracking for a split second, revealing the startled deer beneath. His gaze would skitter away, fixing with sudden, intense fascination on a stained-glass apostle's sandal, a crack in the flagstone, the intricate weave of his own sleeve. He'd feel the heat rise in his own cheeks, a mortifying blush utterly unbecoming of his station.
Across the space, Theron's reaction was a mirror, albeit forged in stoicism. The intense scrutiny would shutter instantly. His head would turn away with a sharpness that bordered on abruptness, his attention snapping back to the knight he was addressing, the blade in his hand, the altar before him, as if Elias Vance had abruptly ceased to exist. The line of his jaw would tighten almost imperceptibly, the only outward sign of the disturbance beneath the Commander's controlled exterior. The scorching gaze would vanish, replaced by the familiar, disciplined focus of the Church's Sword.
But the echo remained. The phantom thrum of the connection lingered in Elias's chest long after the visual break, a persistent ache. He'd find himself clutching the edge of his robe, his knuckles white, forcing his breathing to slow. The public spaces of the Cathedral, once places of communal worship and serene authority, had become minefields. Every corner held the potential for that jolting collision of awareness.
He tried to rationalize it. He's watching me because he knows I hold his life in my hands. He's assessing the threat I represent. The thought was logical, cold. Yet, it failed to encompass the unsettling heat in that gaze, the strange pull Elias felt towards it, the way his own power stirred in response. The way the connection felt less like a threat assessment and more like… a draw. An invisible tether tightening with each accidental encounter.
Passing the refectory entrance at midday, Elias paused, ostensibly to adjust his pectoral cross. His gaze drifted in, sweeping over the long tables filled with chatting clerics and knights. And there, seated near the head of the knights' table, Theron was already looking towards the door. Their eyes met – amber locking onto blue across the crowded, noisy hall. The jolt hit Elias like a physical touch, stronger this time, a wave of warmth washing over him that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. He saw Theron's hand clench momentarily around his tankard before he deliberately looked down at his plate, his posture rigid. Elias turned away, his heart pounding against his ribs, the taste of his lunch suddenly ash in his mouth.
Later, in the shadowed ambulatory leading to the private gardens, Elias rounded a pillar and nearly collided with Theron himself. The Commander was standing motionless, looking out through a narrow arched window at the training grounds below. Elias froze, mere feet away. Theron turned his head slowly. Not fully, just enough for his profile to catch the dim light. His amber eye fixed on Elias. The vertical slit seemed more pronounced in the gloom. The scorching intensity was back, amplified by the sudden proximity, laden with unspoken questions and that same, unnerving heat. The resonant thrum between them surged, a palpable tension thickening the air. Elias felt rooted to the spot, caught in that golden gaze, the warmth within him flaring in response.
Theron didn't speak. He held Elias's gaze for a heartbeat longer, a silent communication passing between them – acknowledgment, warning, and that unsettling, magnetic pull. Then, with a slight, almost imperceptible inclination of his head, he turned fully back to the window, dismissing Elias as effectively as if he'd vanished. Elias stumbled back a step, then hurried past, his breath coming in short gasps, the phantom heat of Theron's gaze and the resonant echo burning long after he'd escaped the confined space.
He sought refuge in the solitude of the scriptorium, surrounded by the comforting scent of parchment and ink. He dipped his quill, trying to lose himself in transcribing a homily. But the words blurred. All he could see were those amber eyes, holding him captive across crowded halls and shadowed walkways. All he could feel was the persistent, treacherous hum of connection, and the terrifying, exhilarating realization: Theron Blackwood was acutely aware of him, always. And every glance they shared, however brief, however swiftly broken, was a silent, scorching exchange that deepened the forbidden bond and pulled Elias further into the dragon's orbit. The Cathedral corridors were no longer just pathways; they were a stage for a dangerous, wordless dance, and Elias had no idea how to step off.