Vincent looked everywhere.
The Sphere. The Library. Her favorite balcony.
She wasn't in any of those places.
And he knew—he knew—something was wrong.
Lara never missed their training. Not once. She would show up even when she was exhausted. Even when it rained. Even when she was angry. She was especiallly excited about their training then.
But tonight, she didn't come.
His heart couldn't take it. Every beat made his skin burn.
So he kept looking. And when the sun was long gone and most of the Academy lights had dimmed, he found her.
Near the pond behind the greenhouse—hidden, quiet, forgotten by most. She was sitting alone, arms resting over her knees, her reflection flickering in the water.
He didn't speak at first. Just stood there.
Something about the sight of her stilled him. Like he couldn't walk further or something might break.
"…You didn't come today."
She didn't turn around. "No. I didn't."
His chest tightened. He stepped closer, slow and cautious, like walking on ice.
"I looked for you."
She finally looked at him—but not all the way. Just over her shoulder, enough for him to see the faintest shimmer in her eyes.
"Why?"
He blinked confused. "Because you didn't come."
"Maybe I didn't want to."
That one hit harder than he expected.
Vincent swallowed. "Did I… do something wrong?"
Silence.
She finally spoke after a long pause.
"You have someone…" she said, barely above a whisper. "Why do you even spend so much time with me anyways?"
His eyes widened.
"What?"
She turned to him fully now. Her expression guarded.
"I heard you. Earlier. In the hallway."
He was still.
Realization crashed into him all at once.
"…You think I meant someone else."
She didn't respond.
Vincent's heart pounded. He stepped forward again, voice barely holding together.
"Lara," he said, quietly. "That was about you."
She looked up, startled.
"I said that because it couldn't ever be anyone else."
Her lips parted slightly, like she couldn't believe it.
Vincent let the silence stretch for a second before breaking again—softer this time.
"No one looked at me," he continued, "Not really. They only saw the mess… and the danger."
His hand clenched slightly.
"But you—" he swallowed hard. "You looked at me like I was still worth something."
The words hung in the air, thick with everything he'd never said.
"You didn't have to," he said, almost whispering now. "You had no reason to help me. But you just… did. Every time. You showed up. You believed I could be more than what the oth—no, you didn't even care what the others said."
He drew in a sharp breath.
"You saw something in me when I didn't see anything in myself."
He looked at her, desperate now, full of something so heartbreakingly real it made the air around them still.
"I think… I think that I was yours from the first time you opened that attic door."
His words sank into the space between them like a drop in the water—gentle, but wide-reaching. There was no taking them back now.
Lara just stared at him from the ground.
Her heart thundered.
She had no words. No spell. No defense.
And then—without warning, without thinking—she moved.
She closed the space between them in one breath and kissed him.
There was no hesitation in it.
Her hands found his face, cupping his jaw, and her lips pressed against his like the truth had finally burned through her walls and all that was left was this—him.
Vincent froze for the briefest second, stunned—but then he melted into it. His hands gripped her waist and the kiss deepened slowly, unspoken words pouring into every breath they shared.
The next morning, the Academy buzzed with its usual chaotic energy—students running late, instructors barking orders, books floating through the halls as first-years scrambled to catch them.
But everything seemed to pause the moment Vincent and Lara walked in.
Together.
Not by accident. Not just crossing paths.
Vincent carried both their training bags casually over one shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His dark clothes rumpled slightly from the early hour, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. Lara walked beside him, composed as ever—but there was a softness to her expression that hadn't been there before.
She didn't walk ahead of him like she used to.
She didn't hide the way their arms brushed every now and then, either.
It was subtle—but it wasn't invisible.
Students turned their heads, whispering behind their hands.
A few of the girls who had been eyeing Vincent before shot Lara dirty looks—or glared at him in frustration.
Someone even dropped their books entirely when Vincent tilted his head to say something to her—and she laughed, actually laughed, not that tight polite chuckle she usually gave everyone else.
By the time they reached the training hall, half the class was already buzzing with rumors.
"I thought she didn't like anyone."
"They're together?"
"Unbelievable. She's… she's royalty!"
"Look at him. Gods, he's so smug—"
Vincent didn't seem to notice the stares. Or maybe he didn't care.
He moved with the same confident ease he always had—except now, his gaze lingered on Lara more often. Watching her. Protecting her.
Claiming her, in the quiet way only he could.
When they lined up for morning drills, he casually bumped her shoulder with his.
She turned her head slightly, raising a brow.
"What?"
He grinned, low and secretive. "You're stuck with me now."
Lara fought back a smile, pretending to roll her eyes.
But her heart was hammering in her chest.
And across the hall, everyone else could only watch.
The drills began.
Vincent and Lara moved easily into position—partners, for the first time in public. A quiet understanding.
They faced each other in the sparring ring as the instructor watched, the rest of the class stealing glances at them every now and then.
And then, without hesitation, Vincent stepped closer.
Too close.
Lara blinked up at him, confused for a second.
He reached out, slow and deliberate—brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
Fingers lingering just a little too long.
The entire room seemed to freeze.
A gasp echoed somewhere to the left. Someone dropped a training weapon with a loud clang.
The instructor whipped his head around, ready to yell—but when he saw who it was, he hesitated, completely thrown off.
Vincent didn't even seem aware of the chaos he caused. His focus was completely, utterly on her.
"There," he said quietly, smirking. "Didn't want you getting distracted."
Lara could feel her face burning. She opened her mouth—to say what, she wasn't sure—but nothing came out.
Vincent winked, shone the most devilish, smug little tilt of his lips, and backed away into his fighting stance like he hadn't just completely destroyed half the student body's hopes and dreams in one touch.
Lara exhaled shakily, forcing herself to focus, ignoring the dozens of stares burning into her back.
He's insufferable, she thought.
She couldn't hide the smile that crept onto her lips as she raised her hands and prepared to duel him.
Lara stepped into her stance, forcing her expression into something calm, composed.
Vincent mirrored her—except his posture was lazy, cocky even; he wasn't taking it seriously at all.
The instructor shouted for them to begin.
Vincent moved first, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
Lara sidestepped automatically, ready for his next move, but—
He grinned as he lunged and whispered, just loud enough for her to hear:
"I might let you win if you keep looking at me like that."
She nearly stumbled.
Lara's cheeks flushed with heat, but she gritted her teeth and retaliated—faster than even she meant to. A gust of compressed air shot toward him, meant to knock him back.
Vincent let it hit him staggering dramatically with a hand over his heart.
"Wounded," he gasped, stumbling back a few steps, his grin wide and absolutely infuriating. "Utterly betrayed."
The class practically leaned in closer, trying not to stare openly but failing miserably.
Lara narrowed her eyes, shooting a sharper gust at his legs this time.
Vincent flipped backward effortlessly—landing on his feet and smirking at her.
"That all you've got?" he teased, voice low and rough with laughter.
"I'm really trying here not to kill you in front of witnesses," she muttered under her breath.
He laughed—actually laughed—and lunged again, this time close enough that she caught the faint smell of wood, smoke and leather from his clothes.
Their hands brushed briefly in the struggle—barely, just fingertips—but it was enough to send another spark skittering up her spine.
He could've countered her spell at least three different ways.
He didn't.
Instead, he let her trap him—air circling around his wrists like invisible ropes.
He went still, hands raised in surrender.
"Guess you win" Vincent said, breathless, a mock-defeated smile tilting his mouth.
But his eyes told a different story.
Lara exhaled sharply, lowering her arms, letting the spell unravel.
Around them, the class was silent.
No one even pretended to train anymore. Every single student was staring—staring at that.
That Vincent who had just let Lara defeat him for no tactical reason whatsoever, and that Lara who, for the first time, was flustered.
Vincent stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear:
"But I meant it. I'd let you win a thousand times if it means you keep looking at me like that."
Her heart nearly stopped.
She shoved him lightly, trying to hide her smile, and turned away.
Vincent just laughed under his breath, watching her retreat, looking like he'd already won the best prize the world had to offer.
And maybe he had.
As soon as they were out of sight of the main training hall, Lara tugged at Vincent's sleeve.
He looked down at her, one brow raised.
Without a word, she nodded toward the side corridor—the one that led to the old staircase. To now their hiding place.
The attic.
Vincent's grin widened immediately, slow and wolfish; he understood exactly what she meant.
Without hesitation, he grabbed her hand and they ran.
Vincent was the only one that could keep up with Lara's speed and they both enjoyed running together very much.
They didn't speak, didn't look back.
The Academy blurred around them—just laughter, pounding footsteps, the wild, breathless freedom of it.
By the time they pushed through the creaky attic door, both of them were panting, out of breath from running and from laughing.
Lara collapsed first, sinking onto one of the old rugs left from who-knows-who. Dust floated up around her, but she didn't care. She let herself fall back, arms splayed out, staring up at the wooden beams above.
Vincent dropped down next to her a second later, one hand still loosely hooked around hers, unable to let go.
They lay there, side by side, the silence between them filled with their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the world below.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Vincent turned his head toward her, a small, mischievous smile playing at his lips.
"Well," he said, voice low and teasing, "I think we caused a minor revolution today."
Lara huffed a laugh, still staring up at the ceiling. "Half the academy probably hates us now."
"They'll get over it."
He shifted closer, enough that their arms brushed again. He tilted his head, studying her.
"You don't regret it, do you?" he asked, quieter now. Something fragile threading into his voice.
Lara turned to face him fully, propping herself up on one elbow.
She met his gaze without hesitation.
"No," she said, and she meant it.
Not one inch of her wanted to take any of it back.
Vincent's face softened.
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, even slower this time.
"You're dangerous when you're sure of yourself," he murmured.
"So are you," she whispered back.
He leaned in again, almost like he couldn't help himself—and she met him halfway.
The kiss was slower this time. Deeper. No fear.
Just the two of them, wrapped up in the dusty attic air, where everything had first begun.
When they pulled apart, Vincent didn't move far. His forehead rested lightly against hers again, the way it always felt like home.
Later that day.
The idea struck Lara so suddenly it made her sit up straight.
Vincent was in a private lesson with one of the Arcane Masters—the one who understood the shadows he wielded. She, however, had a long break. For once, they weren't in class together.
A perfect window.
A perfect moment.
Nearly two hours. That was all the time she had. But it would be enough.
She remembered—how could she forget?—a moment during training, he had told her how he'd made her that first charm. The little stone, the protective rune. It had been the first thing he ever gave her. The first time they talked properly.
That memory lit something in her chest. Something determined.
She rushed into town, barely catching her breath as she searched through the small market stands. Her fingers closed around a small black rune. Simple. Perfect.
Then she ran again—back to the forest that wrapped around the tower. No one followed her there. No one ever found her there.
On the mossy floor beneath the wide branches of an old tree, she began to work. Her hands trembled with focus, tracing lines of her arcane into the stone, feeding it her power and her thoughts.
By the time the sun began to fall and Vincent's session ended, it was done.
She didn't tell him where she was. She didn't have to.
She waited in the attic. And sure enough, not long after, the door creaked open.
"Hey," he said softly, stepping inside. His voice was quieter than usual, but his gaze was fixed on her.
"It's… interesting that you're already here," he added, stepping closer.
Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. A small smile touched his lips.
She returned the smile, mischievously, her hands hidden behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels like she could barely contain herself.
His brows lifted, sensing something. "What did you do?"
"Nothing." She grinned, too wide.
His eyes narrowed playfully. "Lara…"
"I have something for you," she said, her voice suddenly small—shy. Her cheeks were already pink.
"For me?" His surprise was so genuine it made her heart twist.
She pulled her hands forward, still clenched, and slowly opened her palms.
There it was.
A black rune, hand-etched. An ancient symbol glowed deeply gold on its surface. And as he looked, it pulsed once.
His breath hitched. His eyes widened.
"You—this is—"
It was rare for Vincent to be speechless. And that made herpanic.
"I—I made it for you," she said, voice cracking with nervousness. "I didn't really know what I was doing, I just… I remembered what you gave me and how you said you did it, and I—I tried to figure it out but I'm not that good yet, and it started glowing and I thought—"
He didn't stop looking at the charm. But his voice was warm enough to wrap around her like a warm breeze.
"It's amazing."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "What does it do? I don't think I've ever seen this before…"
Lara swallowed. Her lips quirked nervously.
"It…uhm… It glows when… I miss you. I thought that maybe when we'll be apart, it will keep you company."
His gaze snapped up to hers.
And then he looked back at the charm, still glowing softly in his palm.
"But…" he murmured, voice filled with stunned wonder, "it's glowing now."
Her breath caught.
"I guess…" she said, blinking, "I always miss you."
That was it. The last thread of restraint snapped.
He reached for her without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close—so close she could feel the way his heart staggered against hers.
He buried his face in her hair, voice unsteady.
"This," he breathed, "is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me."
Then quieter:
"I'll never take it off. Not for anything."
For a long time after, life moved gently around them, the world itself made space for them.
It felt as if the gods adored them. They had to, for luck bloomed around them like spring flowers after rain.
Evenings of training turned into dances masked as sparring, where laughter echoed louder than any clash of blades.
Classrooms blurred into golden afternoons by the pond, books forgotten in favor of lingering glances and stolen kisses.
And the attic—still and dust-laced—became their sacred place. A world within a world. There, they whispered dreams into the quiet and stitched promises into the air like spells.
They grew stronger together.
What began as something delicate and uncertain blossomed into a bond so deep it felt carved into the bones of the universe—an unspoken truth between two souls who hadn't even known they were searching until they found one another.
They entered the Veil side by side.
Faced its trials. Passed its tests.
And when they emerged, they became something else. Something powerful. Vincent became Fall. Lara became Spring.
But names never mattered. Not to them.
Souls, after all, are never bound by titles.
They lived through love—through shared glances, through quiet understanding, through hands that always reached back.
And slowly, they built a life.
Others came into their orbit; trusted allies, dear friends.
And in time, truths rose from the shadows. Terrible truths.
It was as the old tale said.
It was them—known now as The Four Seasons—who led the rebellion against The King.
It was them who tore the rot from the roots.
And it was Dante—brilliant Dante—who took the throne instead.
Under his reign, the kingdom began to heal.
And when it did, they left.
They didn't want power.
They wanted peace. All four of them.
Far from the capital, near the edge of a wild, whispering forest, the two built something small and beautiful; A tea house, with sunlit windows and hand-carved shelves.
The scent of herbs and sweet bread lived in the walls.
Fall shaped the wood with his own hands.
Spring gathered the wildflowers each morning, filling the vases with her light and love.
Ultimately, they had to build a separate building for a guest room to stay over, when they saw that their friends regularly got too drunk to leave when they visited.
They lived happily—laughing late into the night. Falling asleep tangled together on the old couch when the tea house stayed open too long.
It was simple, and therefore it was perfect.
Unfortunately for them, in this world, peace is a fragile thing.
And so, as all fragile things do—one night, it broke.