Chapter 163 Restoring peace

Chapter 163 Restoring peace
Jace’s POV

The Academy felt like a wounded beast.

Every corridor carried the faint stench of smoke, no matter how many times the windows were flung open. Cracks spiderwebbed across marble pillars, charred scorch marks stained the ballroom ceiling, and whispers clung to every hallway like cobwebs.

The students walked differently now. Some clutched their books tighter. Others glanced at every shadow as if expecting Atlas to rise out of it, laughing. Even the teachers moved with a sharper edge in their steps, determined but wary.

The Council had expelled him, the Tribunal would handle his crimes, yet his ghost still haunted the school.

And in the middle of it all was Zara.

The whispers weren’t just about Atlas anymore. They were about her. 

That night in the burning ballroom, when I saw her shift, when I saw her stand between Atlas and the rest of us, I realized I wasn’t looking at the broken girl I’d once doubted. I wasn’t even looking at the stubborn girl I thought I knew. I was looking at the Alpha she was always meant to be.

And gods help me, I wanted to stand at her side no matter what it cost.

Which was why, two weeks after the fire, I found myself in the old training grounds behind the east wing, sparring with her long after the sun had set.

The place had been half-abandoned for years, overgrown with weeds and cracked tiles, but that made it perfect. No teachers. No eyes. Just her and me.

“Again,” Zara demanded, sweat streaking her temple as she wiped her face with the back of her hand.

Her stance was sloppy, her fists trembling from exhaustion, but her eyes burned with that relentless fire.

“Zara,” I muttered, catching her wrist as she swung. “You’re pushing too hard. You need to rest.”

She yanked free with a growl. “I don’t need rest, Jace. I need control. Do you think Atlas is resting? Do you think the world out there is going to wait until I’m ready?”

Her voice cracked. The fire behind her words made the air heated, and I could almost see sparks licking at her skin.

She was close to losing it again.

“Breathe,” I urged, stepping closer, my hands lifting as if I could catch her fire in my palms. “Don’t let it use you. You use it.”

Her chest heaved. Her eyes flashed gold, then molten silver, then a flicker of something too bright to name.

And then she exhaled. The sparks dimmed.

Her shoulders slumped forward, hair clinging damp to her neck. For a moment, she looked more exhausted than an untamed Alpha.

“Better,” I said softly.

Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. “Barely.”

We dropped into the grass, both panting. Fireflies sparked in the distance, indifferent to the mess of gods and wolves sitting in the dirt.

For a long time, neither of us spoke. I could hear the faint sounds of the Academy on the wind—distant voices, laughter forced into being, hammers repairing broken windows. Everyone was trying to pretend things were normal again.

“Do you ever think about before?” Zara asked suddenly, her voice quiet.

“Before?” I echoed.

“Before all this. Before Atlas. Before fire and curses and… whatever the hell I’ve turned into.” She picked up a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. “When the worst thing we had to worry about was whether Alex would mock my shoes, or whether you’d bother to notice me at all.”

Her words stung. The truth of it stung.

“I noticed you,” I said, too fast. Too defensive.

Her brows arched. “Really? Because I remember begging for scraps of your attention while you—” She broke off, exhaling sharply. “It doesn’t matter now.”

I wanted to argue. To defend myself. But the truth was, she was right. I’d doubted her. I’d hurt her. And it had taken nearly losing her to realize how wrong I’d been.

So instead, I said the only thing that mattered. “I see you now.”

Her gaze snapped to mine, wide and unguarded. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw her walls crumble. Then she looked away, hugging her knees.

“I don’t know if that’s enough,” she whispered.

“It will be,” I promised. “Because I’m not leaving. Not again. Not ever.”

The silence between us stretched, heavy but not unbearable. My wolf stirred inside me, restless, pushing toward her as though her body called to mine.

She leaned back on her hands, staring at the stars. “What if I lose control again? What if Atlas is right? What if I’m just another monster waiting to burn everything down?”

The ache in her voice split something open in me.

I shifted closer, until our shoulders brushed. “You’re not him. You’ll never be him. You fight for people. He fought to own them. That’s the difference.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “And what do you know about dragons, Jace? About fire that doesn’t care who it burns?”

“Nothing,” I admitted. “But I know you. And I’ll learn. Whatever it takes.”

Her head tilted toward me, eyes shining in the dim light. For the first time that night, she let out a soft laugh, real this time. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe.” I grinned. “But I’m your idiot.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. For a moment, I thought I’d pushed too far. But then, slowly, her fingers brushed against mine in the grass. Tentative and testing.

I curled my hand around hers.

And in that silence, with the ruined Academy struggling to heal and graduation looming like an uncertain horizon, I felt the bond between us pull us stronger than ever.

Not just a tether of fate. Not just a mark of mates. But a choice.

My choice. Her choice. Us.

.

The days blurred after that, training and quiet moments twining together.

We sparred in the mornings, her fire searing the air as I forced her to hold it, bend it, shape it instead of letting it consume her.

We ran in the evenings, her Lycan form blazing white under the moon, terrifying and beautiful all at once. Students whispered when they caught glimpses, but no one dared interrupt.

And at night, when exhaustion finally won, I’d walk her back to her dorm. Sometimes she’d lean against me. Sometimes she wouldn’t. But every time, I could feel it: the bond knitting tighter, the trust growing stronger.

The Academy was struggling to restore order. Teachers barked stricter curfews. Guards patrolled the gates. Parents hovered too close.

But amidst the chaos, amidst the scars left by Atlas, something new was growing.

Hope. Her. Us.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.

Because whatever it was, we’d face it together.