Tarrik’s gaze flickered briefly to the sacred tree, the faintest furrow creasing his brow. Of all theThrask, Tarrik was the one who spent the most time meditating beneath the tree, listening to its whispers and feeling its rhythms. For Tarrik to see it like this,splintered and diseased, was as much a personal wound as it was a blow to their people.
Finally, Tarrik spoke. “The land feels your return, Viliam. But it also feels… fractured.”
Viliam approached the sacred tree that connected them to their God, Mahoamorah, and placed his hand against the splintering bark. “What is happening?”
“It began a few days ago,” Ilyn approached, his eyes narrowing as they traced the jagged cracks alongNyt’morah’strunk. “The bark cracked first. Then the canopy started to wither.” His face was hard, his square jaw set tight as he spoke. Yet beneath his stoic exterior lay an unwavering dedication to his people. His dark skin gleamed faintly in the filtered light, marked with faint scars that told stories of battles fought to protect Al’tera’s balance.
“We’ve tried everything we know,” he continued. “Prayers, offerings, rituals—but nothing works.Nyt’morahgrows weaker by the day. If this spreads, the balance…” He trailed off, his jaw clamping as he swallowed the rest of the thought.
Viliam turned to face him fully, meeting his gaze. Ilyn had always been the one to push him hardest during their training, their rivalry sharpening them both into better warriors. But where Ilyn’s strength was outward, a shield raised high for all to see, Viliam’s was quiet, deliberate, and introspective. Together, they were an unstoppable force until Viliam’s capture.
Kaela rested a hand on Viliam’s bicep. She knew this news would upset him greatly, and while she was a fierce warrior, she had a calming presence. “The other tribes are untouched, but the land is connected. If this sickness spreads…”
“I believeI know the cause,” Viliam said. The Empire. Thorn’s experiments. Elora. The corruption running through her veins bore his essence, his blood, but it was not the sacred magic of Al’tera. It was an imitation, unstable and unnatural. Could their experiments have rippled back toNyt’morah? Could Elora’s corruption have fractured the balance in ways they did not yet understand?
“I cannot explain it here. We must convene with the elders. There is much to discuss, and the decisions we make will shape the future of Al’tera.”
Ilyn frowned but nodded. “I will send word immediately.”
Viliam’s presence had brought them relief, but his words now left them unsettled. Whatever plaguedNyt’morahwas not an isolated sickness. The land itself was crying out, and the balance was slipping further with each passing day.
Viliam turned back to the tree, his gaze lingering on its withered canopy, as he pressed his palm against the bark once more. The energy that pulsed beneath his hand was faint and uneven, like a heartbeat on the verge of stopping.
The balance was slipping. And if The Empire’s hand was behind this, then war was coming.
Chapter 2
Elora
The dinghy rocked on the restless waves, each jolt rattling Elora’s exhausted body. Her head rested limply against the splintered wooden planks of the boat. Her tongue, dry and swollen, stuck to the roof of her mouth, every swallow raw and scratchy. Hunger had long faded to a dull, hollow ache in her gut.
The last-minute decision to take the retired dinghy instead of hiding aboard the cargo ship had cost her dearly. At the time, it had seemed the only choice. The ship was swarming with guards searching for her, and getting caught would have meant suffering Thorn’s twisted punishments for her defiance. Despite Thorn still managing to catch up to her, Viliam came to her rescue, allowing her to sail off into the night. But the small, discarded boat came with a price: no real provisions, no shelter from the harsh sun, and almost no fresh water.
Tehvan had done what he could for her, hiding a water-skin and a handful of dried meat in her satchel. But no amount of Tehvan’s foresight could stretch rations to cover four days at sea. The waterskin was drained after two; its last drops were a bitter trickle down her throat. The dried meat hadn’t lasted much longer, and by the third day, her stomach had given up altogether, leaving her with only the hollow ache that now gnawed at her insides. Shewasn’t used to being hungry, and the rumbling of her stomach loved to remind her of how little prepared she was to survive the journey ahead.
But finally, there was a city on the horizon creeping closer, inch by inch, with every fickle gust of wind.
By midday, the sun seared her skin as the boat finally drifted into the crowded harbor. Around her, other dinghies ferried goods from the towering ships. Her sodden dress clung to her legs like a second skin, heavy and cold. She staggered onto the dock, trembling from days spent adrift. The solidity of land felt foreign, her knees threatening to buckle under her own weight.
“Hey, miss, let me give ya’ a hand.” A dockworker rushed over as she fumbled with her bag. Without waiting for a reply, he hoisted the bag onto her shoulder with ease. His nose wrinkled slightly, and he turned his head away, covering his mouth with one hand.
Elora glanced at herself. Her dress was stiff with salt, her tangled brunette hair plastered to her face. She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked half-drowned. The stench of sweat and seawater clung to her skin, sour and suffocating. She wasn’t offended at the man’s reaction. After all, she felt just as bad as she looked.
“Where you coming from?” the crewman asked, squinting at her with a curious glare. Elora could feel his eyes roaming over her, noting every detail—the briny uniform of an Institute ward, the battered dinghy that looked ready to splinter into pieces, the exhaustion etched into her features. Not many travelers came from the south, especially not alone, and certainly not looking like this. She could practically see the questions forming in his mind.
A new worry crept into her thoughts: had the dockworkers been told to watch for someone like her? Surely Thorn would have sent word to the neighboring cities by now. He wouldn’t have let her escape go unanswered. She was surprised that she hadn’t been intercepted by his men while on the water. It seemed impossible, but she didn’t have room to doubt his ambitions. He would stop at nothing to get her back. Her heart thudded painfully at the thought, and she fought to keep her expression neutral, even as unease twisted in her gut.
She forced a shrug, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “Nowhere worth mentioning,” she muttered, hoping it would shut him up.
The man studied her for a beat longer than she liked. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not, but he didn’t press the question. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “You look like you could use a meal. And a bath.”
Elora nodded quickly, seizing the opening. “Do you know where I could get both?” she asked, peaking behind the man to get a glimpse of the bustling city. “Cheap, if possible.”
The man snorted, his gaze flicking to her salt-stiffened dress and her few possessions. “Figured as much.” He jabbed a finger toward the bag slung over her shoulder. “You got any coin?”
Elora dug through her satchel. She counted the few coins inside: three silver rounds, and five copper ones. It was all Tehvan had managed to scavenge for her. He must have kept the majority of the coin in his own bag but forgot to give her more when their plans changed.
He whistled softly, shaking his head. “Not much, but it’ll stretch if you know where to go.” His tone shifted, less curious nowand more matter-of-fact, like he’d seen her kind before. “That silver’ll get you three nights at the Rainy Duckling Inn. Cheap place, but it’s clean enough. Copper’ll buy you maybe two hot meals if you’re frugal.” He pointed up the cobblestone road that led toward the heart of the city. “The Duckling’s a few blocks past the market square. Look for the sign with the—well—the duckling. Hard to miss.”
