Chapter 3
Ellie and Sonny sit inside the dean’s cluttered office. Books stacked in uneven towers, strange artifacts fill the shelves, and the faint smell of old paper hangs in the air.
The dean, named Dean Hammel, leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, studying them with a look that suggests the situation amuses him more than it concerns him. Ellie breaks the silence first. “There is absolutely no way I’m living with him,” she says, gesturing sharply toward Sonny.
“I don’t know who he is or anything about him, not to mention he’s a boy. How did you expect this to work out?”
Dean nods slowly. “A reasonable reaction.” He turns his attention to Sonny. “And what about you?”
Sonny meets Dean’s gaze without hesitation. “I don’t mind leaving, but I’d rather not,” he replies calmly. “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable.”
Dean raises an eyebrow, clearly interested. “That’s very considerate of you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t solve the problem. The Academy is at full capacity. Three hundred and sixty students. No spare rooms. Not a single one.”
Ellie crosses her arms. “So what, I’m just stuck with him?”
“Not exactly,” Dean says. “This institution values one thing above all else. Capability. And the most reliable way we measure that is combat. So, we settle this the Academy way.”
Ellie narrows her eyes. “Meaning?”
“A private exhibition match,” Dean explains. “No spectators. No effect on rankings. You both agree to the terms beforehand, and the outcome decides the living arrangement.”
Ellie does not hesitate. “Fine. If I win, he leaves the school and my apartment.”
Dean looks to Sonny. “And if you win?”
“If I win,” Sonny says evenly, “I ask for two requests. They will be fulfilled at a later time.”
Ellie recoils slightly. “That’s unsettling. What are these requests?” Sonny sits quietly, paying no attention to her question.
Annoyed, she asks again. “You will know my requests at a later time,” Sonny states calmly.
Dean chuckles softly. “Fair enough. Ellie, do you know his ranking?”
“No, but I doubt it’s as high as mine,” she shoots back.
“Three hundred and sixty‑one,” Dean says. “Dead last.”
Ellie blinks, then laughs. “You’re messing with me.”
“I assure you, I never joke about rankings.”
“How could he be ranked so low and want a match with me? I’m ranked nineteenth,” Ellie says.
“Sonny cannot use magic or energy,” Dean explains. “He solely uses ether.”
Ellie glances at Sonny and laughs again. “Ether isn’t used for fighting. How do you expect to win? Are you going to heal me to death?”
After classes finish, Ellie and Sonny step into the private arena Dean reserved for them. The space is quiet, sealed off from the student body, lit by clean overhead lamps that make every movement feel exposed.
Dean stands at the edge with his arms folded, looking more entertained than concerned. Ellie rolls her shoulders and stares Sonny down. “So you’re really going to do this,” she says, voice loud enough to bounce off the walls. “Dead last. Ether only. No magic. No energy. This is embarrassing.”
Sonny doesn’t react. He just stands there, posture relaxed, hands loose at his sides.
Ellie smirks. “What’s the plan? You going to trip and hope I feel bad?”
Sonny blinks once, slow and calm. Right before Dean signals the start, Sonny turns his head slightly toward her and offers a piece of advice. “Don’t underestimate people you know nothing about,” he says.
Ellie scoffs like she hears a joke. “Trust me, I know enough.”
Dean raises one hand. “Begin.” Ellie’s fire magic flares instantly, bright and hungry.
A ring of heat rolls off her like a wave. She flicks her wrist and sends a tight spiral of flame at Sonny’s chest. He shifts one step to the side.
The spell misses by inches and slams into the wall, bursting into sparks. Ellie doesn’t pause. “Seriously?” she snaps, already casting again.
A second spell follows, wider this time, a low sweeping arc meant to cut off his escape. Then a third, a cluster of fire bolts meant to force him back into the line she controls. Sonny moves through it like he has all day to think.
He pivots around the sweep, steps inside the bolt pattern, and tilts his shoulders so the heat barely misses grazing flesh. It looks effortless, but Ellie sees it now. He isn’t just dodging.
He is reading her. Ellie’s confidence wavers for the first time, then hardens into frustration. “Stop moving,” she growls, pushing more power into the next cast.
A flare erupts from her palm, heavier and brighter, and she throws it like a hammer. The spell fills the space between them with blazing light. Sonny disappears into the glare.
For a fraction of a second, Ellie thinks she has him. Then Sonny steps out of the heat, already close. Ellie’s eyes widen. “How?” Sonny doesn’t answer.
He closes the remaining distance in a blur, not with speed that looks flashy, but with speed that looks practiced. Efficient. As if the shortest path is the only one he ever takes.
Ellie snaps her hands up to cast again, but Sonny is already inside her range.
Hit one is a sharp strike to her wrist, just enough to disrupt her hand shape. Her flame sputters and dies. Hit two is a clean, controlled blow to her midsection, not full power, but precise. Air leaves her lungs in a violent burst. Her knees dip. Hit three is a short strike to her shoulder and collarbone area, placed exactly where her body loses balance. It is not a knock-out hit. It’s worse. It’s a “you’re done” hit.
Ellie hits the ground hard, the world tilting. The silence after is louder than the fight. Dean lowers his hand slowly, eyebrows raised. “Match over.”
Ellie stares up at Sonny, stunned and mortified at the same time. Her face burns hotter than any spell she throws.
She expects him to gloat. She expects him to say something sharp. Sonny just looks down at her, expression blank.
Then he offers his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Ellie freezes. “What?”
“I’m sorry for striking you,” Sonny repeats, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. She takes his hand automatically, still trying to process the humiliation of losing in seconds.
Sonny helps her up, releases her, and walks away without another word. Ellie stands there, chest tight, watching him go. No one has ever apologized to her after beating her. And somehow, that makes the loss feel even worse.
That night, Sonny returns to the apartment long after Ellie. He cleans himself quietly, then moves into the kitchen and begins cooking.
The apartment fills with the sound of a pan heating and the smell of something warm and savory. Ellie sits at the table with her books spread out in front of her. She pretends to study, but she has not eaten, and her nerves make it impossible to focus.
Every few seconds, her eyes flick toward him. After a while, she breaks the silence. “So,” she says carefully, “who are you?”
Sonny continues cooking. “I don’t like talking about my history.”
Ellie looks up at him. “What does that even mean?”
He answers without turning around, in the same calm tone and the same sad, blank expression. “It means exactly that.”
She frowns, unsatisfied. Before she can push further, he sets two plates on the counter and brings one to her. Ellie hesitates, then takes a bite.
Her eyes gaze at the food. “…Wow. This is actually really good.”
“Thank you,” Sonny replies simply. She takes another bite, then looks back up at him.
“Alright. If you’re not going to tell me who you are, then tell me this. What are those two requests you asked for?” Sonny sits across from her, hands resting flat on the table.
“My first request is that you help me learn how to be human.”
Ellie blinks. “What?”
“I want to understand emotions,” he continues. “How to feel them. How to show them.”
She studies his face more closely. “You always look sad,” she says slowly. “Blank too. Like you’re somewhere else. Whatever you went through must’ve been pretty bad. Must be why you don’t like to talk about it.” He does not argue.
“And the second request?” she asks. “I want to form a familiar contract with you,” Sonny says.”
Ellie stares at him. “That makes no sense. Familiar contracts aren’t for two people. I wouldn’t even be able to summon you in battle. That’s the whole point of a familiar.”
“I know,” he says.
“Then why do it?”
“A contract like that would only let us sense if the other is alive,” Sonny says. “It’s mostly symbolic.”
Ellie shifts in her chair, uncomfortable. “So why would you want something like that?” Sonny hesitates for the first time.
“I doubt you remember,” he says. “But years ago, you showed me there was more to life than what I knew. That moment meant everything to me. I’ve carried it ever since. I owe you my life.”
She shakes her head. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He nods. “I expected that.”
Ellie exhales and leans back. “Well… since these requests aren’t anything too weird… a promise is a promise.” She stands abruptly.
“Stay here.” Before he can respond, she grabs her coat and rushes out. An hour later, she returns with a book tucked under her arm, flips it open, and follows the familiar ritual instructions inside.
They complete the ritual exactly as written. When it is over, both of them bear a mark. Sonny’s appears on the middle of his chest, next to his Draco mark and Omega brand.
Ellie’s forms on her right foot, carefully hidden where no one sees it without her permission.
Sonny looks at her. “Thank you.”
Ellie opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, he adds, “I’m going to leave again. I need to train.”
Ellie then gets her words out. “Swear to me that you won’t speak of us sharing an apartment or our familiar pact to a soul. I mean it. These circumstances would cause a lot of questions I do not want to answer.”
Sonny agrees. “I can make that promise.” With that, he turns, opens the door, and disappears into the night.
