A memory surfaced unbidden: another campfire, years ago, on a scouting mission. Jaedon laughing, telling a bawdy joke. His own body had been whole then, humming with an easy, painless strength he’d taken for granted. The memory was a painful contrast to the here and now. But as he looked at Gessa’s still form, he realized this quiet, desperate vigil held a weight and purpose none of those careless nights had ever possessed. It wasn’t about a survey route or a distant peak; it was about her.
His purpose now was simple: protect her. And in that clarity, a part of him he thought long dead and buried began to stir. The years of feeling like a broken instructor started to peel away, replaced by the cold focus of the man he used to be. For the first time in a long time, as he prepared to carry her across this hostile wilderness, he felt like an Iron Spur. And his mission was to see her open her eyes again.
20
SHIFTING TIDES
Darkness. A deep, dreamless void that had no beginning and no end. Gessa floated in it, a disembodied mote of nothing. There was no pain, no fear, no thought. There was only the black.
The first sensation to pierce the void was a bone-deep ache, a feeling of being hollowed out. Then came the scents: woodsmoke, rich and sharp, followed by the savory aroma of roasting meat. Slowly, other senses bled through. The feeling of warmth on one side of her body and a cool, damp chill on the other. The prickly texture of dry leaves against her cheek. The gentle, rhythmic crackle of a fire.
Her eyelids were as heavy as stones, sealed shut with a weary grit. She fought against the weight, a sluggish curiosity stirring in her mind. With a monumental effort, she forced them to flutter open.
The world was a blurry dance of grey morning light and the deep shadows cast by the rocky overhang. Her mind was a blank slate, a quiet, humming confusion. Then her eyes found Ky. He wasn’t sitting watch, but was already in motion across their small camp. He moved with a stiff, painful deliberation,methodically checking the straps on a makeshift travois he’d fashioned from branches and vines.
His face, etched in the cool morning light, was leaner and harder than she had ever seen it. He wasn’t the bitter instructor or the reluctant mentor. He was a survivor, his focus radiating a weary, dangerous competence she had never witnessed before. Night was a massive shadow at his side, observing his work with intelligent eyes.
The sight of them, so focused and purposeful, was the key. A fragmented memory slammed into her mind: Ky’s hand, strong and grounding on her arm. The deafening roar of the vortex. And before that… Polan. His face twisted with shock. His outstretched hand. The memory of the cold room, the stone, the pain…
The full, horrific memory crashed back into her consciousness, and a jolt of pure terror went through her. Her eyes flew open, wide with a new, immediate horror. The violent, uncontrolled eruption of her own magic. She sat up with a gasp, ignoring the wave of weakness that made the world spin. The abrupt movement had Ky turning from his work, his head snapping her way. Her frantic gaze met his, then darted to the lynx and back again.
Her first words were a raw, rusty whisper, torn from a dry throat. “Did I... did I hurt you? Night?” The terror was not for what had happened to her, but for what she might have done to them.
His assessing gaze was already on her. For a moment, his expression softened, the hard lines of the survivor easing as he registered the genuine fear in her question. He shook his head slowly. “No, Gessa,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You didn’t.” He paused, his eyes filled with a new, grudging awe. “You sent it all the other way.”
The reassurance was a balm, but it couldn’t touch the deeper fear of Polan or the memory of her own power, which remained a cold sickness in her gut. A decade of conditioning took over. She shifted, and a sharp, protesting ache shot through her limbs—a punishment for demanding action from muscles that had nothing left to give.
The simple movement sent a wave of weakness through her that made the firelight swim. With a shaky hand, she pushed a stray strand of hair from her dirt-streaked face, a small, automatic gesture of trying to appear composed. She pulled the familiar mask of stoicism into place, but it felt wrong, ill-fitting. She tried to sit up straighter, to project a strength her trembling limbs betrayed.
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice stronger, but brittle.
Ky’s expression, which had softened for a moment, hardened again. His eyes narrowed slightly, and the brief warmth in them vanished, replaced by a look that cut right through her fragile composure. “Stop,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Don’t do that.”
Gessa stared, confused. “Don’t do what?”
“Don’t pretend you’re not terrified,” he clarified, his voice softening again, becoming an invitation instead of a command. “There’s no one here to perform for. Not anymore. Not for me.”
The words were a shock. For a decade, showing fear had been a weakness, an imperfection to be corrected. She watched him warily across the fire, trying to decipher if this was some new, cruel test. But his gaze held no malice, only a weary, demanding honesty. Before she could think of how to respond, he leaned forward, holding out a skewer with a small, perfectly roasted piece of rabbit on it. “Eat,” he said simply. “You drained yourself nearly to death. You need your strength back.”
She looked from his steady gaze to the offering of food. The straightforward act of care, combined with his demand forhonesty, broke through the last of her walls. Her shoulders slumped, and she took the skewer, her fingers trembling slightly. The meat was hot, savory, and the most wonderful thing she had ever tasted.
She ate a few more bites, the warmth spreading through her, chasing away some of the deep chill. She looked up at him, her eyes still clouded with the memory of the event. “The... the thing I opened,” she said, her voice a raw whisper. “It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t like the ones we practiced.”
Ky watched her for a long moment, the firelight carving deep shadows under his cheekbones. “No,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t a tunnel. It felt more like a rupture. You know the principles; a Wayfinding storm is supposed to rebound on the caster. It’s the price for failure. Yours didn’t.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully as if cataloging the memory. “All that power you unleashed went somewhere. And when we were thrown out of the vortex, the last thing I felt was a shockwave going the other way. Back toward the Academy. Back to where he was standing.” He met her eyes, letting her connect the final piece herself.
He shook his head then, a look of disbelief on his face. “That’s not even the most impossible part. Wayfinders don’t just… arrive. We open a tunnel and travelthroughit. We spool the Line out, creating the flow and current we ride. It’s a journey, not a destination. What you did… there was no journey. It was a violent, instantaneous rupture. That kind of travel… it’s not supposed to be possible. It’s a myth, something recruits whisper about. It violates every law of magic we know.”
His expression was a grim mix of awe and professional uncertainty. “I don’t knowwhatyou did, Gessa,” he admitted, his voice low. “But there is one thing I am sure of. I know where we are.”
The sharp lines of fear around her eyes softened with relief. He knew. They weren’t just a speck tossed into the void; they were somewhere he recognized. The certainty in his voice was an anchor in the chaos.
“You know where we are,” she repeated, the words a confirmation, not a question. A genuine, academic curiosity surfaced through her exhaustion. “How?”
He got to his feet then, the movement stiff, his limp more pronounced than she had ever seen it. He gestured vaguely toward the sky. “The sun set in the wrong place last night,” he said, his voice quiet but sure. “The constellations I saw... they’re the northern sky. Gessa, we’re near the Blackstone Mountains.” He watched her, letting the words land like stones. “We’re hundreds of miles north of the Academy.”
The impossible truth washed over her, and her confusion slowly morphed into a dawning, sickening horror at the scale of what she had unleashed. Hundreds of miles. Hundreds of miles from the Academy, from safety, from everything she knew. The scale of their isolation crashed down on her. She felt a wave of dizziness that had nothing to do with her weakness.
