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Sacha nods. “And useful. The Authority won’t follow us here. Their vision is too limited, and the mists disorient those unfamiliar with navigating them.”

We set off down the slope as twilight falls, and the world around us shifts. Sound behaves strangely—muffled one moment, amplified the next, twisting in ways that defy explanation. Light bends, makingshapes in the mist seem closer or farther away, some of them moving when they shouldn’t.

My pulse ticks higher, unease creeping along my spine, like the brush of unseen fingers.

Varam leads us to a well-used campsite in a clearing with the remnants of old fires and crude log benches arranged in a rough circle. The mist stays at the edges, thick enough to obscure everything beyond a few yards, enclosing us in a pocket of privacy that feels more like a snare than a shelter.

“We’ll stay here tonight. No fires. Cold rations only. Don’t leave the circle for any reason.”

While the others prepare for the night, I lower myself onto one of the logs, my muscles aching, joints stiff. The mist shifts and curls, hypnotic in its movement, threading between the trees like it’s searching for something.

I rest my hands on my lap, and stare at them.

I lost control back there.

No wild explosion. But I still slipped.

Sacha sits beside me, offering dried meat and fruit without a word. His presence is calm, unaffected, as though the violence of earlier was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

I take the food without argument, suddenly aware of how empty I feel. The first bite barely registers, but by the third, hunger has clawed its way back into my body. A brutal reminder that survival is an ugly, persistent thing.

“I couldn’t stop it.” I force the words out between mouthfuls. “When that bandit touched me.”

“Minimal manifestation. Better than expected, given the circumstances.” His calm response just makes it worse.

“He said I had stars in my eyes. What did he mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze on the mist, as though whatever they are is more important than my question.

“Old stories persist, even under authority suppression. Tales of those with natural abilities. You fit patterns they would recognize from those stories.”

“And what happens if I can’t get control of this before we reach Ashenvale?” I look down at my hands again, remembering the silver light that flickered across my skin.

“That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that whatever power flows through you responds to your emotions. Control those, and you control the manifestations.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Just control my emotions.That’syour solution?”

“For now, yes. Tomorrow, before we reach Ashenvale, we’ll work on some suppression techniques. It’s unwise to do it here.”

Suppression. Not mastery or understanding.

Because the only way to make this manageable, the only way to makememanageable, is to smother it before it ever rises.

The mist thickens as night falls, insulating us in a shroud of shifting gray. Varam sets the watch rotation, but he leaves me out. I don’t argue. It makes sense. I wouldn’t be much use. Not like this.

Mira walks over and offers me a blanket. She nods toward a flat patch of ground near where she’s arranged her own sleeping space.

“You’ll sleep better there.”

I’m not sure I’ll sleep at all, but I thank her anyway, and settle onto the forest floor, wrapping the blanket around me. But rest doesn’t come easy.

The moment when silver light sparked between me and the bandit plays on a loop in my head. The look of shock on his face. The way the energy pulsed. The way Sacha moved the second it happened.

Would the bandits still be alive if I had done nothing?