The mountains above Hollowmere were quiet in a way the village never was. Up here, the world breathed slower. The air was clean, sharp, and untouched. The stream that cut through the pine forest whispered like it had been waiting for her.
Mira knelt beside it, fingers hovering just above the surface.
The last time she'd touched the water, it had risen like it knew her—like it was part of her. But now? Now it just rippled, innocent and ordinary, as if nothing had ever happened.
She exhaled through her nose.
"Okay," she murmured. "Let's try again."
Behind her, Xerces stood quietly at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. He was here if she needed him. That was enough.
Mira closed her eyes.
Feel it, she told herself.
Not like a spell. Not like something forced into obedience.
But like a riverbed shaping water.
A breath shaping words.
She reached.
And this time—it reached back.
The stream shivered.
The pebbles beneath it trembled, rising into the current.
Mira's breath caught. The water bent, swirled, lifted—slow and delicate. A ribbon of silver rose, weightless, curling around her like a curious snake.
Her eyes opened.
It was beautiful.
And terrifying.
She held her hands steady. Tried to guide it.
But her thoughts wavered—memories crashing in—torches, screams, the look in the villagers' eyes as they backed away from her like she was a fire with teeth—
And the water snapped.
The ribbon twisted violently, shattering against a tree. Ice bloomed across the bark in a spiderweb of frost.
Mira gasped, clutching her arms.
"No, no, I—I had it—" she choked.
"You did have it," Xerces said gently. "You lost control for a moment. That doesn't mean you failed."
She turned to him, voice trembling.
"What if I hurt someone next time?"
He stepped toward her, slow and calm, his cloak brushing the grass.
"You will. Eventually. We all do."
She blinked, startled.
"That's supposed to reassure me?"
"No," he said quietly. "It's supposed to prepare you."
And before she could answer—
A twig snapped.
Xerces turned instantly, hands lifting beneath his cloak. Mira's heart lurched.
They weren't alone.
A figure stepped out from behind the trees—hooded, lean, eyes gleaming like embers beneath the shade.
Sael.
"Easy," he said, palms lifted. "If I meant you harm, you'd already be dead."
Xerces moved to block Mira, but she put a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was wary.
"You… followed me?"
"I found you," Sael corrected. "The difference matters."
He looked at Mira, not with fear or anger—but something quieter. Calculating.
"You're not just another village girl."
"I never said I was," she said, lifting her chin.
Sael gave a small, wry smile.
"No. You just tried to hide it. And now half the realm's going to want you in chains. Or worse."
Mira's fingers clenched, ice crusting over the edge of the stream again.
"Are you one of them?"
"I'm one of me," Sael said. "And right now, I'm the only one who can help you stay alive."
Xerces stepped forward, voice low and cold.
"She's not alone."
Sael didn't flinch. But his gaze narrowed slightly.
"No. I see that."
A tense pause.
Then:
"Which is why I didn't come with a blade. I came with an offer."
He reached into his cloak and drew out a small, leather-bound scroll.
"This," he said, holding it toward Mira, "is the location of a place you'll never find on any map. It's where people like you learn how to survive."
Mira stared at it.
Then at him.
"And what's the cost?"
Sael's expression darkened.
"The cost is already coming."