TUTORIAL TO BECOME A GREEN FLAG (BUGGED)

Chapter 6: Cracks in the Ice

The library was silent, save for the rhythmic scratching of a quill against parchment and the occasional, inexplicable thud coming from the seat across from Tia.

Tia sighed, her eyes drifting from the ancient history textbook to the boy slumped in the chair opposite her. Aris was, by every metric of polite society, a disaster. His uniform tie was knotted in a way that defied the laws of physics, his hair looked as though he had wrestled a whirlwind and lost, and he was currently trying to balance a stack of five erasers on the bridge of his nose.

He tilted his head back, his tongue poking out in intense concentration. The erasers wobbled. Tia watched, her patience fraying like a frayed hem.

"Aris," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper in the hushed room. "We are supposed to be studying for the Alchemy exam. Not... whatever that is."

Aris blinked, and the erasers cascaded onto the table with a soft clatter. He beamed at her, unbothered, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "They were gravity-defying, Tia. I was testing if I could create a kinetic-static field by proximity alone. It’s for the practical, obviously."

Tia rubbed her temples. "That is not how alchemy works. That is how you end up in detention for destruction of school property."

"Destruction? No, no. It’s evolution," he countered, pushing his chair back. He stood up abruptly, and for a fleeting second, his gaze sharpened. He looked past her, toward the arched doorway of the library.

Tia didn't turn. She had learned long ago that Aris lived in a world of invisible variables only he could perceive. To her, he was the boy who talked to gargoyles and tried to feed tea to the shadows. To everyone else, he was the idiot prince of the Academy’s remedial classes.

But then, the library door creaked open.

Three seniors from the combat division walked in—boys who usually spent their afternoons mocking those beneath them. They were loud, their boots heavy against the marble floors. As they passed their table, the tallest one, Kaelen, stumbled—seemingly tripped by his own feet—and a heavy glass inkwell on the edge of the table went flying toward Tia’s lap.

Tia gasped, bracing herself for the cold, staining deluge of ink.

But it never hit her.

Instead, there was a sharp snap of air. A small, wooden bookend, which had been resting harmlessly on the shelf behind Aris, had seemingly leapt through the air with violent precision. It struck the flying inkwell in mid-arc, knocking it off course. The inkwell shattered harmlessly against the floorboards two feet away, spraying ink into a corner where no one was sitting.

Tia froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked at the wreckage, then at Aris.

Aris was already sitting down, his hands folded neatly on the table, humming a tuneless melody under his breath. He looked remarkably bored, his gaze fixed on a spider crawling up the nearby bookshelf.

"Did you...?" Tia started, her voice shaking.

"Did I what?" Aris asked, tilting his head. He looked at her with wide, guileless eyes. "Oh, the ink? Dreadful balance on these older tables. They really should replace them."

Tia frowned. She watched his hands. They were steady. Too steady.

She looked back at the bookend. It hadn't fallen; it had been launched. And it had been launched with a trajectory that required precise calculation, not the clumsy luck of an idiot.

Over the next few days, Tia began to watch. Really watch.

It started as a nervous habit, but it quickly transformed into a burgeoning obsession. She realized that Aris’s 'idiocy' was a canvas, a thin, brightly colored layer of paint meant to distract from the cold, hard steel beneath.

She noticed it at lunch. A student from another house—someone Tia had accidentally slighted during a debate the day before—was walking behind her, carrying a tray of hot, steaming soup. As he passed, his foot slid, a look of malicious intent masked as a slip.

Before the soup could tip, Aris—who was walking ten feet ahead, looking at a butterfly on the ceiling—suddenly stumbled, dropped his entire lunch tray, and caused a massive, chaotic scene. The student behind Tia jumped, startled by the clatter, and jerked back, losing his grip on the soup bowl. It splashed harmlessly onto his own boots rather than onto Tia’s pristine dress.

Tia stood in the hallway, the sound of the cafeteria erupting in laughter at Aris’s expense echoing around her. Aris was on his knees, apologizing profusely to the lunch lady, looking every bit the clumsy fool as he scrambled to pick up the scattered cutlery.

He wasn't laughing.

Tia saw his hands as he picked up a fork. They were gripping the metal so hard his knuckles were white. He wasn't embarrassed; he was shielding.

The realization hit her like a physical blow to the chest, leaving her breathless in the middle of the crowded corridor. Aris didn't just stumble; he intervened. He made himself the object of ridicule so that she could remain the object of indifference.

Why?

The question gnawed at her as the week wore on. That evening, as they sat in the courtyard by the fountain, the air was crisp, the twilight turning the world into shades of indigo.

"You're quiet today, Tia," Aris said, skipping a stone across the water. It sank instantly. "Did you lose your voice in the library?"

Tia looked at him. Really looked at him. The messy hair, the crooked tie, the smile that didn't quite reach the haunted depth of his eyes. "You aren't what they say you are, are you?"

Aris paused. The stone in his hand stilled. He didn't look at her, his gaze locked on the rippling water. "And what do they say I am, Tia?"

"A fool. A waste of space. A clumsy, oblivious boy."

He laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Well, they aren't entirely wrong about the clumsy part. My spatial awareness is... unique."

"Stop it," Tia said, her voice dropping. She leaned forward, the shadows of the trees dancing over her face. "The inkwell in the library. The soup in the cafeteria. The way you always happen to be in the exact spot where trouble is heading for me, even when you aren't looking at me."

Aris turned to her. The mask slipped, just for a fraction of a second. The vacancy in his eyes vanished, replaced by an intensity so sharp, so ancient, that Tia felt a shiver trace its way down her spine. It wasn't the look of an idiot. It was the look of a guardian.

"You notice too much, Tia," he said softly.

"Why?" she pressed, her voice trembling. "Why do you go through all this? Why act like a buffoon to protect me? I’m nobody. I’m just a student in the same class as you."

Aris stood up, his tall frame casting a long, dark shadow over her. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable, a complicated mix of longing and resignation.

"You think this is affection?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the splashing of the fountain. "You think I do this because I like you?"

Tia felt a hot flush crawl up her neck. "I... I don't know. It’s weird, Aris. It’s beyond weird."

"It is," he agreed, turning back toward the fountain. He picked up another stone, but he didn't throw it. He held it tightly, his thumb rubbing the rough surface. "It’s a compulsion. A crack in the ice, Tia. You look at me and see a boy who doesn't know how to tie his own shoes. I look at you and see the only thing in this godforsaken Academy that is actually worth keeping whole."

He looked at her then, and the vulnerability in his face was more terrifying than any of his weirdness.

"Don't go looking for answers in the cracks, Tia," he warned, though his voice lacked any real bite. "Sometimes, the ice is there for a reason. Sometimes, the thing beneath the surface is much colder than the girl walking on top."

Tia stood up, moving toward him, but he took a step back, maintaining that strange, safe distance he always kept.

"I'm not afraid of the cold, Aris," she said, her heart pounding.

Aris let out a self-deprecating laugh, the mask sliding back into place, the light returning to his eyes—the fake, bright, hollow light of the class clown. "You should be. Now, come on. If we don't finish that alchemy study guide, the professor is going to have my head. And I’m quite fond of it."

He turned and began to walk away, his gait uneven, his movements exaggeratedly clumsy as he tripped over his own feet, righting himself with a sheepish grin at a passing student.

Tia watched him go, her hand pressed against her chest. The ice wasn't just cracking; it was shattering. And as she watched Aris pretend to trip over a patch of moss, she didn't see an idiot anymore.

She saw a man who had sacrificed everything—his reputation, his dignity, his pride—just to ensure that the girl behind him wouldn't have to break her stride.

She walked after him, her steps slow and thoughtful.

"Aris," she called out.

He stopped, his back to her. He didn't turn around.

"Thank you," she said.

He stood still for a long moment. Then, he raised a hand, waving it dismissively behind his head, still looking at the ground. "Don't thank me, Tia. I just have a very bad habit of walking into things."

He started walking again, the rhythm of his footsteps heavy and uneven, like a heartbeat missing a beat. Tia watched him, a slow, sad smile touching her lips. She finally understood. His 'weirdness' wasn't a quirk. It was a language. And for the first time, she was beginning to learn how to speak it.

She caught up to him, matching her pace to his, staying close enough to be at his side, but far enough to let him believe his secret was safe. She wouldn't force him to drop the mask—not yet. But she would make sure that, from now on, he didn't have to carry the weight of it alone.

As they rounded the corner toward the dormitory, Aris stumbled again, his foot catching on an uneven stone. Before he could fall, Tia reached out and caught his arm.

He froze, startled by the contact. He looked at her hand on his sleeve, his eyes wide.

"You caught me," he whispered, as if the concept were entirely foreign to him.

Tia held his gaze, her expression steady. "I'm returning the favor," she said firmly.

Aris looked away, but she saw it—the faint, uncharacteristic flush of color on his neck, and the way his shoulders finally, truly, dropped their tension.

"Alchemy is boring," he muttered, pulling his arm back, but his voice was soft, devoid of its usual manic energy. "Let's go find something else to break."

"Deal," Tia replied.

And as they walked into the deepening shadows, the cracks in the ice widened, and for the first time, something warm began to flow between them—a silent understanding that defied the cold, hard logic of the world they lived in. She was beginning to realize that the boy who protected everyone else from the shadows was the one who needed the most light, and she was more than ready to provide it.