Page 78 of Bone Year

I flip forward.

For the first year of the bond, an eidolon is considered nascent regardless of its physical size. During this period, both eidolon and partner are still learning to sense each other, the eidolon attuning to its partner’s emotions, needs, and physical state, while the partner learns to interpret the eidolon’s subtle cues and communicate through impression rather than words.

A nascent eidolon tires quickly when manifested for extended periods. Most new partners find their eidolons retreating inward after only a few hours of physical presence, requiring rest before emerging again. This endurance grows with time and practice. Seasoned Veilguards can maintain manifestation for days without strain.

Distance too is limited during the nascent period. An eidolon cannot travel far from its bonded partner before feeling an uncomfortable pull back toward them. Pushing against this tether causes distress to both parties. The range extends as the bond matures. Experienced partners report their eidolons scouting miles ahead without discomfort.

I glance at Poppy. She’s rolled onto her back, paws in the air, completely unbothered by the existential weight of what I’m reading.

“So you’re basically a baby,” I tell her.

She chirps without opening her eyes.

I flip forward, looking for the section on anomalies. There has to be more information about them.

Anomalies—eidolons that do not conform to the three standard forms—are exceptionally rare. Historical records indicate four confirmed anomalies in the past five centuries.

The significance of an anomaly eidolon is debated among scholars. Some believe anomalies indicate an individual whose path cannot be defined by traditional means, a healer who will forge their own way rather than follow established patterns. Others suggest anomalies are mistakes, imperfections in the mirror’s ancient magic.

A minority of scholars propose a third theory, that anomaly eidolons are given to those with unusual destinies, individuals fated to bring about great change.

All of that blows my mind.

“There you are.”

I spin around, heart lurching into my throat, but it’s Jace. He’s standing at the edge of the firelight, hands in his pockets, that familiar sweet smile on his face.

“Gods, you scared me.” I close the book and place it in my lap.

“I went by your room, and when I saw you were still gone, I got worried. Figured I’d come check on you.” He rounds the chair next to me and drops into it, stretching his legs toward the fire. He scans the stack of books on the side table. “Eidolons and current. You could ask me about current, you know. From somewhere more comfortable. Like in bed. On top of me in bed even.”

I snicker. “I know I can ask you. I don’t like not knowing anything, and we haven’t covered current much in classes yet. I want to be prepared. It’s so easy for everyone else⁠—”

“It’s not easy for me either. Just because I can feel current doesn’t make it come easy.” He turns his chair to face me more. “Most bloodlines don’t get good at using current until they’ve practiced a lot, and it always comes at a cost.”

“What do you mean when you say you can feel it? Explain it to me. What does it feel like?” I pull my legs underneath me and place my book on the side table so I can get more comfortable.

“You know how you can feel a fire or feel a draft?” He gestures toward the hearth. “Like that, I can feel current, but only if it’s strong. All over the academy’s campus I can feel it, but out there in Valen, back home in Ironfen, I couldn’t feel it unless I was trying to draw from it.”

Flick appears and swoops down next to the fire. Poppy sits up, gives him a disgusted look, and then makes a point to move two feet away before plopping back down. I giggle then look back at Jace.

“Why have I never seen you use it much before?”

“I’ve tried a little bit back home, but nothing big. To warm up my coffee or close my bedroom door for me. Current isn’t supposed to be used unless it’s really needed. I only did those things to practice. Current shouldn’t be used much until it’s taught to you, and even then it costs you when you use too much.”

He looks away from me and toward the fire.

“What does it cost?”

“Doing little things like closing a door or getting help stitching up a wound isn’t a big deal, but the more you pull, the more it drains you physically. Healing a major wound, fighting off infection, working to keep someone alive who’s dying...” He shakes his head. “That’s like running for miles without stopping. Your body pays the price.”

“What kind of price?”

“Exhaustion first, the kind that goes bone deep, then tremors. Nosebleeds. Headaches. Collapse. Hallucinations. Your body shuts down, forcing you to stop.”

“And what if you don’t stop? What if you keep pushing?”

He meets my eyes. “You can do permanent damage, like burn out your ability to channel current entirely. Some healers have pushed so hard they’ve damaged their organs, their minds. Some have died.”