Kipling moved through the night like a snake, low to the ground and out of sight.

The streets were almost empty. The townsfolk had retired to their homes and curled up by the fire or fallen asleep in their beds. Still, the young mage wore a thick cloak and hid his face, just in case.

The one thing Kipling couldn't completely hide, however, was his shade.

The magical being blended in well with the surrounding darkness—but if inspected closely, one would see iridescent colours rippling across it like waves on the ocean. Kipling's shade usually took the form of a perfect sphere, but now it was a thin disc following at his heel. It would stay close to Kipling, within ten feet or less, until he died—at which point it would bond with someone else. "The shade chooses the mage," Apostas, the oldest mage, had told him long ago. "It is a mystery, even to us." Kipling didn't like vague answers, but it was all he had.

A rowdy group of townsfolk stumbled out of a pub, talking and laughing. Kipling slipped into an alley, his back pressed against the cool brick, and waited until they passed. They were completely oblivious to his presence.

He glared after them. Why should they—ignorant, powerless people—be able to walk about freely while he, a mage, had to keep to the shadows?

But he wouldn't let the injustice get to him, not tonight. Tonight, he thought of Laina.

When the bar hoppers were gone, Kipling's shade led the way out of the alleyway and down the cobblestone street. It was familiar with the route to Laina's window by now, having done it several times over the past few months. Shades didn't have physical needs like water, food, warmth, or sleep, but their personalities reflected their mage. Kipling's shade was calm and swift, intentional with its movements.

Together, they moved through the winding tangle of streets until they came to a small brick cottage. It was dark inside, save for a single flickering candle by a main floor window.

That was where Laina waited. Butterflies fluttered in Kipling's stomach, as they always did when he was going to see her.

Not only was she beautiful, with chestnut curls and pink cheeks, but she was also whip-smart. She ran her father's chandlery business while he drank himself silly, waking only long enough to take the credit. In this world of foolishness and incompetence, Laina shone like a beacon.

Kipling removed the hood of his cloak and ran a hand through his limp brown hair, trying to rustle some life into it. The caves where he and the other mages survived were plagued by constant damp, which made his hair droopy and his skin oily. It was a good thing he only went out at night.

His shade was right around the corner, out of sight. He hadn't yet revealed his magedom to Laina, even though he knew she would accept him, shade and all. Not that he was hiding it, exactly...he just hadn't found the right moment to tell her.

Maybe tonight, he would. Reluctance tugged at him, but a larger point of him wanted to get it over with. He'd spent the past month imagining how it would play out. Her eyes would grow wide in astonishment and wonder. He would impress her with magic, showing her there was nothing to fear, and they would run away together. They would build a real future. Laina didn't need to stay here, in this rut of a town, dealing with her gin-soaked father, and Kipling didn't have to cower in a cold, dark cave, waiting for the Paragon to make things better.

All Laina had to do was reach out and take his hand. He would protect them, and his magic meant they could have whatever they wanted: the world was theirs for the taking. They had both spent too long under other people's thumbs: Laina under her father's, Kipling under Apostas's.

They'd forgotten that they held their futures in their own hands.

Kipling knocked softly on the glass. A few moments later, the window slid open and Laina leaned out, her face shining.

"Darling Kipling!" she whispered.

His heart felt lighter as he looked up at her, smiling. "Laina, you're a sight for sore eyes."

"Oh, you flatterer." She swatted at him, and the butterflies in his stomach fluttered. "You know..." she started, looking up at him through thick eyelashes. "I'm even more beautiful during the day..."

"I'm sure you are." He wished he could grant her this simple wish: to see her during the day. To walk, arm in arm, down the street. To exist in plain view, like everyone else. But he couldn't—not yet.

"How was your day, my sweet?" he asked.

"Well, we had some delays at the shop. Papa came by and insisted upon changes to the schedule. I had to undo everything after he left."

"Oh?"

"It's terribly inconvenient. He complicates everything by throwing his weight around, and he makes the girls in the shop agitated. It takes hours to get back into the normal rhythm." She sighed. In the faint light of the candle, he noticed her eyes were tired and her fingers were red from the hours of work.

Dear Laina! Always thinking of others, even as she herself was suffering. She looked so dejected, slumped against the window, that he felt he ought to do something. Perhaps...perhaps this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

"I have something that will brighten your mood," he said. Two weeks ago, Laina had mentioned that she loved chrysanthemums.

It felt like his heart was in his throat. This was the moment.

Kipling focused, becoming still. He reached out to his shade with his mind, feeling its well of magic, and pulled from it.

Mages could do many things—they could amplify their voices, encase themselves in warmth, even cast illusions—but they couldn't conjure something from nothing. They needed the raw materials.

And so, Kipling felt down into the earth. He cast his mind wide, searching for a single chrysanthemum seed. He found one not far away and willed it to come to him. It obeyed, passed among the blades of grass, until he could lean down and pick it up.

"What do you have there, dearest?" Laina asked.

He didn't answer—just smiled. Laina cocked her head at him, a curious smile on her face.

Kipling opened his palm and revealed the little seed. "Watch," he told her.

A tiny green shoot emerged from the pod, unfurling. Leaves sprang forth and a little bud grew—until it bloomed into a beautiful pink flower.

He sighed, content with his work. It was as beautiful a bloom as he'd ever seen.

"For you," he said, and held it out to her.

But her hand did not reach out to take it. She recoiled from the window, her face distorted in horror.

Kipling's knees suddenly felt very weak. "Laina?" he asked, his voice little higher than a whisper. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go! She was one of the good ones, she would understand! "Please, Laina, don't be scared—"

But it was no use. She screamed: a horrible, piercing sound that cut through his heart like a blade.

"Laina, please! I won't hurt you!" His chest thudded as panic threatened to get the better of him. "Stop! I would never hurt you! Please, Laina!"

She didn't hear a word. She screamed, retreating further into the cottage, away from his outstretched arms. Light came from the other windows as her family woke, and he heard their alarmed voices.

"Laina, don't be frightened! We can build a life together—" he tried one last time, pleading. His heart was breaking into a million pieces. "Laina, I love you..."

A door inside banged open and her father barrelled through. He grabbed Laina and shook her. "Shut up, girl! What's the matter with you?"

Her mother rushed in next. "Laina! What's wrong?!"

"She's hysterical!"

Laina couldn't manage words. She simply pointed towards the window.

Kipling didn't wait around for her parents to caught sight of him. He ducked down below the sill, then spun around and ran, disappearing into the night, the beautiful chrysanthemum bloom lying forgotten in the dirt under the windowsill.