They met in secret.
It started two nights after the explosion. A hidden tunnel behind the academy chapel — carved from stone and forgotten by most — became their sanctuary. Damp, cold, and reeking of mildew, it was the only place their shadows couldn't be followed.
Isabella arrived first, as always. Cloaked in midnight blue, she traced her fingers along the ancient carvings on the wall — protection runes, from the old days when magic and mafia weren't yet divided.
Adrian arrived moments later, slipping through the shadows like a panther. His hoodie was pulled low over his brow, but she still caught the flicker of power in his hands when their eyes met.
"Ready?" she asked, voice low.
"I've been ready since the day your cousin tried to stab mine in the throat," he replied coldly.
She rolled her eyes. "Charming as ever."
The tension between them could crack stone, but beneath it, there was an understanding—unspoken and fragile, yet growing with every shared secret.
Tonight's goal was simple: control.
They needed to understand the way their powers reacted when they were close. After the explosion, after the strange mark, they could no longer afford to ignore the pull between them.
Adrian stepped into the center of the room, removing his jacket. The faint glow of fire traced up his forearms.
Isabella exhaled, channeling her focus. Her hands shimmered with blue light — not flame, but something subtler. Calmer. Water-based energy that cooled the very air.
They reached out at the same time — palm to palm — power to power.
The contact sparked a surge so sharp that the torches lining the tunnel flared to life.
Flames. Water. Heat. Coolness. Chaos. Harmony.
It should've canceled out.
Instead, it fused.
For a moment, the stone walls glowed, etched with swirling runes neither had seen before.
Adrian yanked his hand back. "Did you feel that?"
Isabella nodded, visibly shaken. "It wasn't just us. Something ancient… something else responded."
They stood in silence, breathing hard, surrounded by faint whispers that seemed to echo from the walls.
Then Isabella broke the stillness. "My grandmother used to tell stories of bloodlines chosen by fate. Children born not just to continue legacies… but to shift them."
Adrian scoffed. "You think we're chosen?"
She gave him a long look. "I think we're cursed. But maybe… the curse is the calling."
---
The next day at school, Isabella tried to keep her head down. But the rumor mill was working overtime.
Students buzzed with gossip about the explosion, about "the devil girl with icy hands" and "the fire boy with a death wish." She ignored them, pushing past the stares, trying not to notice the way people stepped aside as she walked the halls.
But someone didn't move.
A girl with long copper hair stood in her way, arms folded. Sharp eyes. Razor lips.
"Move," Isabella said flatly.
The girl smiled sweetly. "Isabella, right? I'm Camille. Adrian's girlfriend."
Something in Isabella's chest twisted.
She knew of Camille — the Russo family's golden girl. Smart. Pretty. And cruel in that elegant, quiet way that only girls born to power could master.
"I wasn't aware we were exchanging pleasantries," Isabella said coolly.
Camille took a step closer, her smile sharpening. "I just wanted to say… stay in your lane. Adrian doesn't play with fire he didn't start himself."
"Good," Isabella replied, brushing past her. "Because I don't play at all."
Behind her, Camille's expression dropped.
---
Training continued that night.
This time, Isabella arrived late. Adrian was already mid-routine, slamming punches into a stone pillar, his power cracking the surface with every blow.
"You good?" she asked as she stepped into the room.
"Peachy," he muttered, not looking at her.
"You're punching stone."
"I'm angry."
"Because of Camille?"
That stopped him.
His eyes snapped to hers, fiery and guarded. "She has nothing to do with this."
Isabella crossed her arms. "You sure? Because she seemed pretty invested in our... partnership."
Adrian didn't respond. The silence stretched.
"I'm not here for drama," Isabella added, softer. "I'm here to stop whatever's coming."
"I know."
Their eyes locked — not with heat, but understanding. Unsteady, new.
Adrian took a breath. "I found something."
He pulled a small scroll from his pocket — ancient, frayed, and half-burned.
"It was hidden in the Russo archives," he said. "Tucked behind a fake panel in my father's study. Look."
He unrolled it carefully. The parchment was brittle, the symbols faded, but Isabella's eyes widened.
"The same rose," she whispered. "And… our names."
Not just names.
Isabella Romano. Adrian Russo. Written in ink older than either of their families' modern empires. It was impossible.
She touched the scroll.
It glowed.
So did he.
And in that moment, the whispering voices in the tunnel screamed.
---
They staggered back, panting. The scroll disintegrated in Adrian's hands.
"What the hell was that?" he hissed.
Isabella's fingers trembled. "We're connected. Bloodline. Power. Prophecy. Something bigger than we know."
Adrian sat heavily against the stone wall, trying to process. "I never wanted this."
"Me either," she whispered.
"But we have it."
They sat in silence, side by side in the shadows, the weight of destiny pressing in like a vice.
Then Isabella said, "We need to figure out who else knows. That explosion wasn't random."
Adrian looked up. "You think someone's targeting us?"
"I think someone's testing us."
She pulled a torn piece of the scroll from the floor — the only surviving fragment.
There were only three words left:
Two must rise.