Four Years Ago – Part VII:
The whisperwood fire burned pale blue between them, its smoke curling in phantom shapes that dissolved before they could be named. Hatim gritted his teeth as Kander pressed a salve into the gash on his shoulder. The balm hissed like a living thing, searing through filth and sealing torn flesh with the stench of burnt herbs.
Kander worked without speaking. His hands were precise—not gentle, but efficient. The kind of touch that suggested he'd patched up more dying fools than he could count.
Finally, he sat back. "So," he said, tossing the empty salve jar into the fire, where it cracked and blackened, "you wandered into a sovereign-tier Grove with a satchel of stolen Akar and no way out. Care to explain?"
Hatim's fingers twitched toward the bag at his side. The crystals inside pulsed faintly, their heat a dull echo of the pool's radiance.
"I needed Pure Akar," he said. "For someone."
Kander's gaze sharpened. "Sick?"
Hatim nodded. "Spirit blight. She was touched by the Unbinding."
A muscle in Kander's jaw flexed. "Void-damned Sinks."
"You're noble-blooded," Hatim pressed. "You could—"
"Exiled," Kander cut in. His voice was flat, but his grip on his longstaff tightened. "The Valerian Domain doesn't want me. I don't want them. I'm a Warden now. That means I serve Embermark. Not politics."
Hatim's hope curdled in his chest.
Kander saw it. He laughed—a short, bitter sound. "You think those silk-robed ghouls in House Valerian will give you what you need?" He jabbed a finger eastward, where the Crowns' spires would be, if the trees didn't swallow all sight of them. "They hoard Pure Akar. Twist it into pretty toys. Let the Sinks choke on rot while they bathe in liquid light."
"Then what should I do?" Hatim's voice cracked. "She'll die."
Kander studied him. The firelight carved shadows under his eyes, made the glyphs on his armor flicker like distant stars.
Then, slowly, he reached into his belt and drew out a flask.
It was small, unremarkable—but the moment it caught the light, Hatim felt it. A hum in his teeth. A pressure behind his eyes.
"This won't cure her," Kander said. "But it'll slow the blight. A tincture from the Golden Groves. One dose buys a year."
Hatim's throat tightened. "And then?"
"Then you train." Kander tossed the flask to him. It landed in his palms with a weight that belied its size. "One year. Prepare for the Trial of Resonance. Pass it, and you earn the right to choose a House. Not even the Valerians can refuse that."
"And if I fail?"
Kander stood. For the first time, his voice softened—not with pity, but something worse. Certainty.
"Then the forest buries two people."
Hatim clutched the flask. The glass was warm. Alive.
The path ahead was a knife's edge.
But for the first time, he could see it.
---
The Void Between
Darkness.
Not the clean dark of night, but the suffocating press of nothing. No ground beneath him. No air in his lungs. Just—
—falling—
—the flask slipping from his fingers—
—Kander's voice, distant now—
"Hatim—"
Then silence.
And the terrible, yawning realization:
This is not then.
This is now.