Lysander Lighttree's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Lysander was halfway through explaining the tributary system of the southern provinces when a student in the third row raised his hand. The boy held out a folded piece of paper. Lysander took it without thinking, still talking about water rights and border disputes. He opened the notes mid-sentence. They were his own. The green book with the rune symbols on the cover sat open on his desk where he'd left it an hour ago. His careful notes about river navigation stared back at him from the paper in his hand. The student had copied them down and was now returning them, annotated with corrections in red ink. Three of his citations were wrong. Lysander looked up. The doorway framed a familiar figure, arms crossed, watching. His rival's mouth curved into something that might have been a smile. Lysander's face went hot. He folded the paper once, then again, and slipped it into his pocket. When he continued teaching, his voice came out steadier than he expected. But the corrections burned against his ribs like coals. He abandoned his notes entirely and turned back to the board. His chalk moved faster now. He drew the river system from memory, adding details he'd skipped before. A student asked about flood patterns. Another challenged his timeline. Lysander felt something unlock in his chest. His answers came quick and sharp. He caught movement at the doorway. His rival had shifted forward, one hand resting on the carved wooden frame. She was still watching. But this time, when their eyes met through the afternoon light, she didn't look away. Lysander turned back to his students and asked them a question he didn't know the answer to. The room erupted into debate. The lesson ran twenty minutes over. Students crowded the board, arguing about water flow and seasonal patterns. Lysander moved between them, pushing back on weak reasoning, praising sharp observations. The tall windows of the sanctuary caught the late sun, turning the polished wood walls golden. He'd forgotten about the corrections in his pocket. He'd forgotten about impressing anyone. When he finally looked toward the door again, his rival was gone. But a book sat on the stone step outside the classroom. He recognized the binding. It was hers. Inside the front cover, she'd written a single line in precise script: "The elk lesson was better, but this one had promise." Lysander closed the book and smiled at the empty doorway.