“I can’t.Someone needs to be here.To watch her.”
"The healers check every hour," Luna countered."And you'll be no use to her if you collapse."She sighed, recognizing the stubbornness in his expression."Fine.Stay if you must.But please consider lying down next time there’s a cot empty."
Without waiting for his response, Luna turned and strode from the infirmary, her small frame somehow commanding the space around her.The heavy door closed behind her with a sound like distant thunder.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire and Thalia's whisper-quiet breathing.Roran stared down at her, at the face he'd memorized from countless stolen glances across forge fires and training grounds.Her dark hair splayed across the pillow, her curls dull and tangled from days without care.Her hands lay motionless atop the blanket, the fingers that had worked such wonders in metal now limp and powerless.
He sank onto the stool beside her bed, his legs finally surrendering to the exhaustion that had been stalking him for days.His hands moved of their own accord, fingers threading through his wild hair, pulling until pain sparked across his scalp—some small, physical discomfort to distract from the vast ache that had taken residence beneath his ribs.
"You have to come back," he whispered, the words falling into the silence like stones into still water."Whatever you're seeing in there, whatever you're learning—none of it matters if you don't come back to tell us."
No response came.No flutter of eyelids, no change in breathing, no sign that any part of her remained tethered to this world and the people waiting for her within it.
A minute passed, perhaps more.Time had become elastic, stretching and contracting according to rules Roran no longer understood.It was the slight shift of weight on the floorboards across the bed that finally drew his attention upward, reminding him that he wasn't alone with Thalia and his grief.
Naj still stood on the opposite side of the bed, his weathered face watchful.The Isle Warden's expression held neither pity nor judgment, but something closer to curiosity—as though Roran were a puzzle he was trying to solve, or a storm pattern he couldn't quite predict.
"What?"Roran asked, his voice rough.He straightened, suddenly self-conscious under that steady gaze.
Naj tilted his head slightly."Your energies have changed," he said, the words slow and deliberate, his accent shaping them into something almost musical."When we first met aboard Thrum'kith, the storm within you was a violent tempest.It seemed to tear at you from within, fighting for release."His tattooed fingers made a gesture in the air, mimicking chaotic winds."Now, it moves differently.More controlled.Deeper."
Roran stared at him, too exhausted to muster a proper response.What did the Warden expect him to say?That he'd spent years hiding his nature, suppressing his powers until they turned venomous within him?That now, after being forced to reveal himself, after using his abilities openly in battle, something had shifted?
Naj seemed untroubled by his silence.The older man leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees, bringing his face closer to Roran's across Thalia's still form."Tell me," he said, his voice dropping to something just above a whisper, "how did it feel?To use your power as a storm-caller against the Deep Tide, alongside your people?Did it feel good?"
The question struck like lightning, illuminating parts of Roran he'd kept shadowed even from himself.How had it felt?In that moment when the black tendrils had reached for the academy walls, when he'd called the storm and felt the answering surge within his blood, when lightning had arced from his fingertips to strike at creatures from the abyss?
"What do you want me to say?"Roran muttered, averting his gaze.But deep within, he knew the answer.
It had felt like breathing after a lifetime underwater.Like finding a name for something he'd always known but never spoken aloud.The storm had answered his call not as a servant obeys a master but as one part of himself recognizing another.And around him, other storm-callers had moved in concert, their magics intertwining, strengthening each other rather than competing.
For those brief, incandescent moments, there had been no division between Isle Warden and mainlanders, no Northern Reaches or Southern Kingdoms—only humans standing against the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
It had been the most exhilarating moment of his life.
Naj smiled slightly, reading the truth in Roran's expression before he could master it."I thought so," the older man said, satisfaction warming his voice."I felt similarly.”
Roran sighed, the sound dragging up from somewhere bone-deep."It felt...right.Powerful.Like finding a missing piece of myself that I didn't even know was gone."His gaze returned to Thalia's face, and the momentary lightness evaporated."But then this happened to her, and none of it mattered anymore."
His hand found hers atop the blanket, his calloused fingers wrapping around her smaller ones.Her skin was cool, but not the deathly chill it had been when they'd first found her.A small mercy, that.
"I should have been with her," he continued, the words emerging in a rush, as though a dam had broken somewhere inside him."I should have known what she was planning.If I'd gone with her to that chamber, maybe I could have helped, maybe she wouldn't have had to..."
He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.They still didn't know exactly what Thalia had done in the Founders' Price chamber, what ancient power she had channeled to drive back the Deep Ones.Only that it had cost her consciousness, and nearly her life.
"You care for her deeply."Naj's observation held no question, only quiet certainty.
"Yes."The admission came easily, requiring no thought."I do."
Naj studied Thalia's face, his expression softening."She is exceptional, your Thalia.Of all the mainlanders, she was the quickest to trust us aboard Thrum'kith.Even quicker than you, though the storm runs in your blood."A note of gentle reproach entered his voice."While you battled the tempest inside rather than harnessing its winds."
"I'm not a mainlander," Roran objected reflexively.
Naj laughed, the sound rich and unexpected in the solemn infirmary."That is not what you insisted when we first met upon the fortress whale.You claimed a village called Shearwater as your home with great conviction."
Heat rose to Roran's face.He remembered his own vehemence, how desperately he'd clung to his Southern identity, rejecting any connection to the Isle Wardens despite the evidence in his own veins."I've done some growing since then," he said."I've learned to embrace my heritage."
"Good," Naj clapped him on the shoulder, his hand heavy and warm."But remember this, Stormchild: you are a storm-caller, yes.Of the archipelago by blood.But you are still a mainland.You grew in the Southern soil.That place—those people—they are what you know best."
