“You’ll see in the morning,” Kaelren said. “Better you don’t spend all night imagining the worst.”
“That’s ominous.”
“That’s practical. Fear exhausts, and you need rest.”
My head was spinning. Whatever they used for flying, marks that shouldn’t exist, a realm that literally consumed foreign objects. And through it all, Kaelren watched me with those silver eyes, calculating, measuring, waiting for me to break.
“The clothing,” he said abruptly. “Change. We leave before dawn.”
“I’m not changing in front of—”
“We’ll step out,” Eltrien said gently. “But you need to change. Your current clothing is already beginning to degrade.”
I looked down. He was right. The edges of my jeans were fraying in patterns that looked deliberate, like something was eating them in artistic spirals. My shirt was developing holes that definitely hadn’t been there an hour ago.
“This place is literally eating my clothes?”
“The realm doesn’t like foreign material,” Nimor said quietly. “It’s trying to make you match.”
“Match what?”
“It,” Kaelren said. “Change, or you’ll be naked by morning. Your choice.”
He turned and left the tent, the others following. Except Peeble, who materialized on my shoulder.
“You should know,” the beetle said, “they’re all terrified of you.”
“They’re terrified? I’m the one surrounded by bug people and mist men and whatever Vashael is under all that pollen.”
“Exactly. You’re human, wearing marks that shouldn’t exist, bonded to their broken leader, and you haven’t gone insane yet. That terrifies them.”
“Bonded? What do you mean bonded?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention that part? The marks recognize each other. His corruption reaches for your Root magic like—well, like magnets, as you might say. You’re connected now, whether either of you likes it or not.
“Yet?”
“Everyone goes insane here eventually. It’s just a matter of degree.”
“Even you?”
“Oh, I went insane centuries ago. It’s quite liberating once you get used to it.”
I picked up the clothes Vashael had left. The leather was soft as butter, worked with patterns that seemed to shift when I wasn’t looking directly at them. The leaf armor was surprisingly light, each piece overlapping like scales. The boots looked like they’d been grown rather than made.
“This is insane,” I muttered, starting to change.
“Yes,” Peeble agreed. “But it’s insanely beautiful. That has to count for something.”
The clothes fit perfectly, like they’d been made for me. Or grew for me. I didn’t want to think too hard about it. The leaf armor adjusted itself as I moved, tightening where it needed support, loosening where I needed flexibility. The boots molded to my feet like second skin.
“How do I look?” I asked Peeble.
“Like you belong here. Which is either wonderful or terrible, depending on your perspective.”
“What’s your perspective?”
“That you were always meant to be here. The realm’s been waiting for you since before you were born.”
