My power had flared beyond my control—raw, unyielding. But why? It didn’t feel like drawing from myself. Not the way magic usually does.
This had been different.
It hadn’t risen from me. It had passed through me—cold and burning all at once—as though something vast had briefly taken notice and decided I would suffice. My body had followed, but my magic hadn’t led.
I wasn’t just drained. I felt hollowed—like something had scraped too close to my core and left a thin, aching emptiness behind.
I could still feel their stares, their nervousness pressing against my back like a phantom weight. They had accepted my presence out of necessity, but trust was something else entirely. Some had softened—their nods less guarded, their words laced with something approaching respect. Others kept their distance, watching, waiting, unsure if I was a danger or an ally. A few murmured in hushed tones, their voices barely audible over the creak of the ship.
I had fought beside them. But did they trust me?
After seeing what I had done.
How could they?
How couldI?
No one said it outright, but I could feel it. I wasn’t truly welcome here. The crew wouldn’t need to worry—not for long. Once we made it to port, I’d be out of their hair.
That was the plan, anyway. If I survived the trench.
Even Alaric, for all his dry wit and calculated patience, hadn’t decided what to do with me. Lately, he’d been watching me differently—not just with suspicion, but with something more measured. More careful. His words were still edged, his humorstill cutting, but there was a subtle shift in how he spoke to me, testing boundaries he wasn’t sure existed.
And that uncertainty was almost worse than outright hostility.
He tested me constantly—watching, waiting. Part of me wondered if he was searching for a reason to cast me overboard.
The thought of sinking back into its depths—of slipping into the currents that once cradled me—felt less like a homecoming and more like a sentence.
He’d been an enigma from the moment I stepped aboard. There was a deliberation to him, a guarded intensity that made it impossible to tell whether he was amused or dissecting me like a problem to be solved.
And despite myself, I wanted to understand him. To unravel his secrets. Or to know why he seemed so determined to keep them hidden.
He treated his crew with an ironclad balance of respect and control. With me, his approach was different. Testing. Pushing. Studying.
What was Alaric looking for?
He kept journals filled with notes and maps, pages marked with careful, deliberate handwriting. He spent long days poring over them, a glass of dark, thick liquid never far from reach. He was searching for something too—though for what, I couldn’t say.
He wasn’t just holding onto the quartz. He was waiting.
Like it was only a piece of something greater.
Every glance, every lingering pause before he spoke, every unreadable expression—calculated. Measured. Weighing my presence against something unseen.
My guard stayed up. He was a puzzle I hadn’t yet solved. And that intrigued me more than I cared to admit.
I had spent years asking myself the same questions, tracing faded maps, chasing half-truths. Every answer only led to more questions, more gaps in the story of who I was. The further I searched, the more uncertain I became.
Was I discovering myself?
Or just running in circles—chasing ghosts that had never belonged to me?
I thought I wanted freedom.
Now, I wasn’t sure if I was running toward something. Or away from it.
I hadn’t answered him. Because I didn’t know.
