“This feels wrong,” I murmur.
Korr doesn’t answer immediately.
“The ground isn’t settled,” he says at last. “Load-bearing is inconsistent.”
That makes my stomach tighten. Not because it’s dramatic — because it’s precise.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning it will behave unpredictably under stress.”
Illadon glances back, brow furrowed. “From us?”
Rverre crouches, fingers brushing the rock. She doesn’t press her palm down this time. She barely touches it, as if listening through her skin.
“Frommovement,” she says. “From things not agreeing where they want to be.”
I frown. “That’s vague.”
“Yes,” she agrees calmly. “Because it doesn’t know yet.”
Korr stops. He shifts his weight, testing the surface before committing to stillness. His arm tightens at my back.
“What doesn’t it know?” Illadon asks.
Rverre’s wings rustle. “How much to hold.”
The words settle uneasily and the two children look at me, expectantly. I don’t know what it is they expect me to say though.
“I’m not doing anything,” I say, sharper than I intend. “I’m just here.”
She looks at me then. Not accusing. Observing. “Being here is doing something.”
I open my mouth to argue, then stop. There’s no superstition in her voice. There never is. She’s making a statement, the way Rverre does. No matter that her statements so often carry weight and knowledge a child should never have.
Korr exhales slowly. “Then we minimize strain.”
“For what?” I snap. “For me?”
“Fordistribution,” he replies. Remaining calm, but also unyielding. “Uneven weight causes failure. That’s physics, not judgment.”
I look away, jaw tight. Embarrassment burns on my cheeks. I’m the burden being discussed. I’m the one causing the problem, putting the mission in danger.
“I didn’t ask to matter this much.”
“I know,” he says.
Illadon shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “So… what’s the move?”
Korr scans the terrain again, not searching for a path, reading risk.
“We keep going. But we stay flexible. No forcing clean lines where the ground doesn’t want them.”
“Balance isn’t about stillness,” Rverre adds. “It’s about listening when things start to slip.”
I swallow, staring at the stone I can’t feel through my own feet anymore. The truth presses in, quieter than fear, heavier than denial. I’m not shaping the land, but I am part of the load. And if I don’t learn how to exist inside that reality, something else will decide the breaking point for me.
“Follow my path,” Korr says and takes the lead.
