“You think because the Resh’Agar has taken you for hisamusement,” the Warden pressed, voice rising, “you can spread your lies of divinity while you craft your witch’s tricks?”
Auryn tilted her head. Considered him. Then she looked back at the Anchor.
“You have taken the copper from its heart for the third day now,” she observed. “Do you not realize that you endanger the entire company by doing so?”
The third Warden’s nostrils flared. “Because thatcontraptionyou set was heresy.”
She faced him fully this time. “That word belongs to religion, does it not? But magic is no myth. It is the world’s breath, its song, its language. If you do not listen,” she pressed her palm to the Anchor, “you cannot hear.”
She channeled magic to its core, though doing so bore a heavy cost. Her brow furrowed, the air thinning until her breaths came with more effort than before. Beneath her touch, the Anchor thrummed, steadier now, answering her voiceless call.
The Warden’s hand clamped hard around her forearm. Pain lanced up her shoulder, his intent crawling beneath his skin like a coiled snake ready to strike. A shadowed thing with scales of fear, hurt pride, and envy.
Auryn reached inward on instinct, searching for the Weave—for the power that always accompanied her every heartbeat. Always, it was like water lying still beneath her bones, ready to be drawn. Yet, now, the well was shallow; its threads faint and frayed. For a flicker, she felt it—aradiant pulse, just beyond reach. But it slipped through her like sand through a sieve, leaving only ache.
Closing the rift had hollowed her from the inside out. Even if she called now, the power would tear her more than them.
So, she stilled. Breathed. Lifted her eyes into his. Though her reserves were drained, somethingelsestill lingered in her body after the closing of the rift. Something that now stirred, transforming her voice, giving it an echo from a place too distant for the world’s memory.
“First with your words, now with your hands—do you truly wish to harm me?” Her voice reverberated as rain on steel. “Tell me, is it wise to place your hands into a darkness you do not understand?”
Her words unsettled even the storm. Around them, the rain seemed to falter in its flight from the skies. The Wardens shifted, their cloaks rustling, eyes narrowing; not in contempt but in the prickle of unease—like men who had stepped too close to a chasm and only just realized the depth yawning beneath their feet.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
The Warden’s grip burned. His sneer deepened, and the fire in his eyes ignited as though he meant to do much worse.
“Release her,” a gruff voice demanded, each syllable honed to an edge.
The command cracked like lightning. Zarrek rounded the corner of the tents, his cloak snapping in the wind, his scarred face darkened with rain. His axe was not drawn, but the promise of it was in his eyes as he crossed the mud toward them.
The Warden’s hand fell away from Auryn’s arm as if burned.
Zarrek stopped between them, his broad shoulders a wall of steel. His voice rumbled low, dangerous. “Explain yourselves. Now.”
The Wardens looked away, muttering excuses, but their silence condemned them. Auryn only smoothed the sleeve of her coat where his griphad wrinkled it and turned back to the Anchor. She finished smoothing the knots in the magic, breathing them to life with reserves already nearing empty.
“The hum carries,” she sighed, exhausted. “Even through the rain. Had we copper, we could stabilize it better. For now—for tonight—it will suffice.”
Zarrek’s weight shifted. He glanced at the Wardens one last time, fierce golden eyes daring them to move, then reached for Auryn’s arm. “Come. Enough of this night air.”
Auryn allowed herself to be led, though her eyes lingered once more on the glowing Anchor. Its hum was steady now, but thin. Like a candle flame fighting the wind.
They walked in silence until the tents swallowed the storm’s edge, the shadows deepening into privacy. Only then did Zarrek stop, turning to look at her from beneath the hood of his cloak.
“You’re trembling.” His voice was rough, though softer now than it had been with the Wardens. “Did they hurt you?”
Auryn blinked, surprised. She hadn’t even realized the faint tremor running through her fingers until he named it. She curled her hands into her sleeves. “Only tired,” she confessed. “It takes more from me now, to listen.”
For a moment, Zarrek looked as though he wanted to say more. The air vibrated around him, around the runes that yearned so badly for him to call their names. Instead, he exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.
“They should thank the Void for your mercy,” he muttered. “Another step, and I’d have cut them where they stood.”
Auryn shook her head. “Riftwardens are needed now. Their dowsing rods are…crude…but they do listen.”
Zarrek studied her, the rain sliding down his scarred cheek. “So, not mercy but necessity? Don’t make me change my mind about you, little star.”
“Is necessity less honorable?” she inquired.
