Korr adjusts course by degrees, angling us toward what looks like firmer stone. The decision is sound. I see the logic — the way the surface tightens, the way the sand thins where rock ribs break through.
It should hold. It doesn’t.
The ground shifts under his next step, not collapsing but sliding. The rock plate shearing sideways on a seam hidden beneath sand. He compensates instantly — too instantly —redistributing weight to protect me first.
That’s the mistake.
The correction prioritizes stability, not load.
The stone groans. A low, grinding sound vibrates up through his legs and into me, jarring enough to steal my breath. Korr freezes, stance locked, muscles coiling as he recalculates in real time.
“Don’t move,” he says.
Illadon stops mid-step. Rverre stiffens, wings snapping tight against her back.
The ground beneath Korr’s forward foot continues to creep, slow and relentless, the seam widening by fractions. Not enough to drop us. Enough to punish hesitation.
I feel his micro-adjustments, tension building as he realizes what he’s done.
“You shifted wrong,” I say quietly.
“I compensated for imbalance.”
“You compensated forme.”
He grunts, the sound vibrating in his chest as the stone slips another inch. Rverre inhales sharply.
“It doesn’t like being told where the weight goes.”
Illadon swallows. “Korr?—”
“I know,” he snaps, sharper than I’ve ever heard him. Not anger — urgency. “I know.”
He lowers his center of gravity, bending his knees, trying to distribute pressure back into the ground without transferring it to me. The move is careful. Controlled.
And too late.
The plate drops.
Not far enough to be catastrophic, but enough.
His footing gives, boot skidding as the seam collapses inward. He catches us, but the recovery costs him. His knee hits stone hard. The impact jolts through both of us.
I gasp. He grunts.
Pain flares in my ankle where it jars against his leg. I hiss, fingers digging into his shoulder before I can stop myself.
We don’t fall, but the illusion does. The ground settles again, as if satisfied it’s made its point. Silence stretches.
Korr stays still for a long moment, breath measured, shoulders rigid. When he finally looks down at me, something in his expression has changed. It’s not doubt, but accountability.
“That was on me,” he says.
No excuses or qualifiers. He accepts responsibility with that same calm he continues to display.
Would he still be this calm if it all came down? If what you want most is taken from you the way mine was?
I stop that train of thought. Now is not only the time, never is. He’s breaking through the walls of my defenses. His constant care and attention without demanding in return. The way he is… it’s subtle and I have to stop this before it goes too far.
