Chapter 21 21- Never Ask His Age (Unless You Have A Century To Spare)
LEXI
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Spellcasting class is not fun. It has the POTENTIAL to be fun, like, theoretically, one day far in the future when we’re allowed to actually cast spells. But right now? No. Hard no. Two problems. Problem one. We don’t get to do any spells for weeks. Not even baby spells. Not even sparkles. We have to memorise laws. Endless laws. Laws for using magic in public. Laws for using magic casually (apparently tolerated as long as no one outside your house can see). Laws about influencing people, enchanting people, charming people, altering memories, compelling actions… Basically all the magic that would actually be useful is very illegal. I’m learning about so many new potential crimes today. We don’t even have a textbook to distract us. Just a crusty–looking volume titled something like Regulations for the Responsible Use of Magic, which was probably printed when dinosaurs still roamed the earth. Fun… Problem two. The teacher is…
Well… He might actually BE a dinosaur. I’m not exaggerating when I say his wrinkles have wrinkles. He’s so thin in that ancient, fragile way that I’m half convinced he’s going to sneeze, his skin will crumble away, and underneath will be a full skeleton continuing the lecture
without missing a beat. And he drones. One continuous monotone. No inflection. No emotion. No sign of life. It’s like the magical
equivalent of a malfunctioning audiobook. If this is the first few weeks of class, I’m going to die. The only saving grace is Blake. The
entire session, he leans over and mutters sarcastic comments under his breath, quiet enough that only I can hear, sharp enough to make
me choke back laughter. He taps the page occasionally to point out the most absurd laws, like the one forbidding levitating your own
furniture ‘for personal entertainment.‘ Apparently someone took that pastime way too far. I want to hear WHY but that’s not in there.
Damn it. By the time class ends, my brain has melted. Fully liquified. I’m pretty sure it’s dripping out my ears. I groan as we leave the
room, dragging my feet like a zombie.
“That was… Not as fun as I was hoping.” I sigh. Blake snorts.
“It sucked. I would’ve walked out halfway through, but I suspected you wouldn’t have followed me.” He grumbles. I laugh, but internally
I’m weirdly touched. He means it. He genuinely would have left, but he stayed because I wouldn’t walk out.
“You’re not wrong.” I admit.
“I’m not really the type to skip class. And walking out mid–lecture? I can’t even imagine doing that.” I tell him, shuddering at the
thought. I could never. Blake smirks like he finds that adorable and exasperating in equal measure.
“That’s because you’re very… Nice.” He says. I raise an eyebrow.
“That does not sound like a compliment.” I complain. He shrugs, hands in pockets, eyes glinting.
“It wasn’t NOT a compliment.” He answers. I laugh, shaking my head. He’s impossible.
We make it to our last class before lunch, Shifter Basics, but I am exhausted. It didn’t really sink in this morning, but three, one–and–a- half–hour classes back–to–back is… A lot. Four and a half solid hours of concentration, new information, and low–grade social stress before I’ve even eaten? Yeah. That explains the dull ache behind my eyes and the way my feet feel heavier with every step. I’ll probably get used to it. Eventually. At least the afternoons are lighter, only one class after lunch, then free time. Time for homework, or collapsing dramatically somewhere quiet. Honestly, the fact that the academy takes care of meals, clothes, and basic chores is probably the only reason this schedule is survivable. If I had to cook on top of this, I’d be done. Walking into Shifter Basics is easier today, not because the class itself is less stressful, but because I’m not doing it alone. Blake walks in beside me, unbothered as always, and that steadiness helps more than I want to admit. Still, the anxiety is there. Learning about shifters when I don’t even know what I am feels like sitting in a
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Chapter 21 21- Never Ask His Age (Unless You Have A Century To Spare)
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biology class where everyone else knows their species and I’m just… Waiting to find out if I might randomly sprout claws. Or wings. Or
scales. At any moment. I end up sitting in the back again, mostly because that’s where Blake naturally heads. I don’t argue. Being further
from the front takes some of the pressure off, like I can just… Exist without being examined. Professor Cage strides in.
“Hello, children.” He announces, loud and smug. The room erupts. Groans. Protests. Someone outright scoffs.
“We’re not children!” They complain. Professor Cage just stands there, arms folded, wearing a smirk like he’s won something.
“Aren’t you?” He says mildly.
“You’re all shifters. And shifters age a little differently than other races.” He points out. The room quiets, reluctantly. He definitely
managed to get the classes attention efficiently. Ugh, he could be such a good teacher if he weren’t apparently racist towards dragons.
Such a shame.
“Not in a way you’ll notice until your mid–twenties, which is where most of you are heading now. While some shifters manifest very
young, even in early childhood, many do not shift until their twenties. The exact reason is still debated.” He clears his throat and paces as
he speaks, clearly enjoying the attention.
“One prevailing theory suggests it’s linked to exposure to magic. Those raised around it tend to shift earlier. It may be a defence mechanism, preventing children from shifting in unsafe environments without support. This would explain why pack–based shifters, like wolves, often shift young.” He adds. I jot that down quickly, my stomach twisting. So… Maybe that explains me. No magic exposure. No pack. No trigger. Professor Cage pauses, then smiles thinly.
“As for why I called you children, shifters mature more slowly. Most do not reach full capability until around thirty. After that, aging tends to slow significantly.” He continues and gestures vaguely.
“A fox or wolf might live fifty years longer than a human. More… Exceptional types…” He hesitates and his gaze flicks, just briefly, toward
Blake.
“Well they can live significantly longer.” He finishes. I don’t miss Blake’s reaction. He doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk.
“Dragons can live four to five hundred years.” Blake adds calmly, he’s facing me, and clearly talking to me. But he is not lowering his voice nearly enough, so it’s more like he is talking to the whole class. “Possibly longer. Though we tend to get ourselves killed before that.” He smirks. A ripple of discomfort spreads through the room. A few students glare. Someone mutters something under their breath. Blake’s smirk only deepens. He likes this. Not the attention exactly, but the unease. The reminder. The way people stitten when he speaks. It’s not cruelty, exactly… More like satisfaction in refusing to make himself smaller for anyone. Petty? Maybe. Understandable? Honestly… Yeah. I’d love to have that kind of confidence. Professor Cage clears his throat sharply and moves on, but my focus has already drifted. Four hundred years. I don’t even know if I’ll live a quarter of that! The thought curls tight in my chest. My knee starts bouncing under the desk before I even realise I’m doing it. Too many unknowns. Too many variables. My entire future just turned into a question mark. Trying to ground myself, I glance sideways at Blake. He’s already looking at me. And he’s not smiling this time.
Blake’s eyes are narrowed slightly, sharp and assessing like he’s already catalogued every possible source of danget in the room and found
exactly one he doesn’t like.
“You’re stressed. Or scared. I don’t like that. Stop it.” He murmurs. His tone firm. I snort quietly despite myself.
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Chapter 21 21- Never Ask His Age (Unless You Have A Century To Spare)
“You know that’s not how that works.” I point out. His frown deepens, just a fraction.
“Yes, it is.” He insists. I glance at him, unconvinced.
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“YOU have no reason to be scared.” He continues, voice low and utterly certain. He puts just enough emphasis on you that the implication is obvious. I’m safe. Other people? That’s a different discussion. It’s not bravado and it’s not reassurance the way most people offer it. There’s no ‘everything will be fine‘ softness to it. It’s a statement of fact, delivered like a conclusion he’s already reached and doesn’t feel the need to justify. I’m not even sure what he thinks I’m afraid of, the lifespan thing, the shifting, the uncertainty, but somehow the confidence in his tone still works. It settles something tight in my chest. Not because the problem disappears, but because I believe he believes it isn’t a threat worth worrying about. And Blake doesn’t underestimate threats. I take a slow breath in, then let it out carefully, forcing my knee to still. He watches the entire time, like he’s waiting to see if it works. When it does, I glance back at him and smile.
“Thanks, Blake.” I say softly. His expression eases and he nods once, satisfied, as if he’s corrected something that was out of place.
“Better.” He answers, apparently happy now that I’m showing a little confidence. Note to self, Blake makes me feel… Safe.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
