Page 48

“The storm last week altered some of the northern paths. Rockslides narrowed the way through the northern pass. We’ll need to be careful when we reach it,” I say.

“How bad will it be?”

“The biggest problem will be stability. Recent rainfall may have weakened already compromised sections.”

By mid-morning, we’ve reached higher ground, where the forest gives way to stunted pines, and wind-scoured stone. The air is thinner, each breath drawing less oxygen into the lungs.

Tisera points toward a dark shelf of clouds passing over the northern peaks. “The weather is turning. We need to reach the pass before that stormcloud gets there.”

I study the sky. The shape and speed of the clouds tell me what I need to know. Four hours, perhaps less, before conditions shift. Hopefully, that’s enough time to reach the pass, if we can keep our current pace.

I turn to Ellie. “We need to move faster. A storm is approaching from the north.”

The trail constricts to a single line of stone, barely two feet wide.

On one side, the mountain falls away in jagged drops.

Sparse brush clings to the slope on the uphill side, but the higher we climb, the more the landscape strips bare.

The wind catches the edge of my cloak as we move.

Not yet dangerous, but no longer ignorable.

Ellie’s breathing changes. She’s not panicking, not yet, but it’s shallow and fast. She places each foot where Tisera indicates, one hand brushing against the rockface for balance.

“You’re doing well.” I keep my voice even. “Not much farther.”

She doesn’t respond, beyond a small nod.

The wind gains teeth. It slides between layers of clothing and presses against us, threatening our balance. The clouds above thicken, turning slate gray. The peaks to the north disappear behind a wall of mist and movement. The air turns cooler, tinged with the scent of oncoming rain.

The ground levels briefly, and then rises again—rock underfoot, worn smooth by centuries of weather. The slope grows steeper. The sky presses lower.

By the time the path curves sharply toward the pass, the light has changed. Not quite afternoon, not quite storm-dark. A gray edge settles over everything.

We reach the approach to the northern pass as the light thins. Sheer rock faces rise on either side, and the path narrows even more to a ledge carved by centuries of wind and water. Far below, the valley floor drops away in vertigo-inducing depth.

“The northern pass,” Tisera says. “It’s a natural corridor between major peaks. The Authority avoids it except during mid-summer. It’s impossible for them to patrol well. We need to cross before the storm arrives. Once the rain falls, the path will be too dangerous.”

I know this place. I remember the wind here. I remember how easily stones turn slick and treacherous. How sound bends. Wind funnels through the narrow space make it almost impossible to stay balanced.

“Proceed with caution,” I warn Ellie. “Test each step before committing your weight. Don’t hurry.”

Tisera goes first, Ellie follows her. I bring up the rear.

The wind strengthens with each step into the narrowing corridor, forcing us to pause and brace when the gusts rise too strong. Then the first raindrops strike—sharp, slanting, driven sideways by wind that claws at our balance.

“We need to move faster,” Tisera calls. “The storm is coming in quicker than expected.”

We are threading our way through the narrowest section of the pass, when my familiar sends back a warning. An image flashes into my mind .

Stone groaning under strain. Weight shifting. Pressure warping the shape of the mountain.

The damage from previous rockslides has left this section unstable, and now the storm is prying at every weakness—rain threading into fractures, wind needling beneath overhangs, drilling into ancient weaknesses with malicious precision.

“ Stop .” My voice is a whipcrack through the wind. “The wall is unstable.”

Tisera and Ellie freeze.

Through my familiar’s eyes, I watch as the fissures spread—fine hairline cracks splintering wider with each gust, invisible to the untrained eye, but alive beneath my senses.

Stone shifts, settling its weight in ways that are dangerous, load-bearing walls grinding against themselves in microscopic movements that will break all too soon.

“Can we still pass?” Ellie’s voice shakes, face pale, as she clings to the stone wall.

“Yes, but with extreme caution.” I scan the fault line—its tension, its depth, its breaking point. Each hairline fracture maps itself in my mind, a web of potential failure points. “Go one at a time. Move as fast as you can, but be careful.”

Tisera crosses first, inch by slow painful inch. The unstable wall creaks audibly as she passes. Small stones dislodge and fall, swallowed by the gulf below. She reaches the far side, steadies herself, and turns.

"Go," I tell Ellie. "Keep to the left edge of the path. Watch your footing.”

She moves. Slowly . Every muscle taut. Her arms hug the inner wall. Her movements are stiff with fear. Every step forward is a negotiation between instinct and terror.

The wind keens. The scent of wet stone thickens, mixing with ozone from the building storm. Ellie’s entire frame shakes. The fear rolling off her is nearly physical—a vibration in the air, a thrum beneath the storm.

My gut twists at the sight of her vulnerability.

At the midpoint, a gust slams through the pass with the force of a hammer.

Ellie flattens herself against rock, fingers digging for purchase.

Eyes squeezed shut. Lips moving soundlessly.

I don’t need to hear her to know what she’s saying.

Prayer, self-assurances, pleas that the mountain won’t collapse beneath her feet.

My reaction is immediate.

I draw breath. Then speak a single word.

“Vashren.”

Power drives outward. Not shadow, but pure voidcraft. The spell ignites, pouring from my palm in threads of force laced with darkness.

It hits the stone in silence, sinking into fractured rock. Shadows follow, flowing through the fissures, anchoring the weak points, pinning pressure where the strain has already begun to build.

I feel the fault lines stretch. Hairline cracks beneath the surface. The subtle drift of stone shifting its weight. The tremor before failure.

The longer I hold, the more clearly I can track it. This section is going to break. I can delay it, but I cannot stop it.

The casting burns low and steady through the center of my chest, a cold fire that devours breath. Sweat slithers down my spine. My breath shortens. Focus narrows. The spell holds, but the cost is building.

“Keep moving,” I call to Ellie. My voice is tight with strain. “The wall won’t hold forever.”

And neither will I.

"I can't." Her voice rises shrilly, cracking with terror that echoes off stone. The wind tears at her hair, plastering it across her rain-slick face. Her fingers dig into the rock, white-knuckled and desperate.

Something rises within me. Not the shadows or the void, but something older. A reflex honed by solitude and long-dead vows. A protective instinct I haven’t felt in longer than I can remember, forcing its way through the walls I’ve built around myself.

"Yes, you can." I force calm into my voice, softening the tone even as the wind howls around us. "One step in front of the other, Mel’shira.” Unexpected One. Why did I say that? I give a slight headshake, and refocus. “ Tisera is waiting for you. Just a few more steps and you can take her hand.”

Every word is a lie I make true by saying it. If she falls, I won’t be able to hold the mountain and catch her. I won’t be able to choose.

She inches sideways, then freezes, shaking her head.

"Ellie, move !" The command tears from my throat as my grip on the unstable mass falters for a moment, just a single heartbeat, but it’s enough to send pain lancing through my ribs as the spell fights to hold.

The storm strengthens, wind and rain driving against my concentration.

Each second challenges the limits of what I can hold.

There’s no time left.

I step onto the path .

The surface is slick beneath my boots, each footfall a gamble. Wind howls through the gap like a living thing.

One breath.

Three quick strides ...

… And I reach for her. My hand closes over her shoulder, the fabric of her tunic soaked and rough against my palm. My other arm snakes around her waist, locking her against me. My chest to her back. Her breath hitches. Her body trembles. Beneath my palm, her heartbeat pounds, frantic and wild.

I dip my head close to her ear. “Move when I move.”

She nods. Once. Barely . A tiny jerk of her chin that nearly costs us our balance.

Together, we inch sideways, bodies aligned.

My shadows still cling to the fault line, but the strain is worsening. Cracks deepen beneath the surface—thin lines of fracture spreading like veins, each one telling me exactly how this wall will fall. The spell pulls against me, harder now, resisting its shape.

Pain flares up my spine. My breath shortens. Every heartbeat comes with a cost.

One foot. Then the next.

Ellie stays pressed against me, matching my movements.

The walls groan under the pressure. Rock shifts. Somewhere above our heads, a piece shears free and falls, just missing my shoulder.

The spell lurches. I force it back into place. Re-anchor. Reinforce. But I’m running on borrowed time.

Every step is split focus—half on keeping her upright, half on keeping the mountain from crushing us. I can’t fail at either .

The wall of rock strains against my will, fighting with the patience of stone, and the hunger of gravity.

The mountain wants to break.

And I can feel myself breaking with it.

Relief floods through me when Tisera's hands reach out, pulling Ellie to safety.

I take one last step, confirm there’s solid ground beneath my boots, and then release the spell.

The mountain lurches behind us, freed from my grip.

The backlash is immediate. A sharp recoil that rattles my spine and hollows out my chest. I stagger.

Only slightly. But enough. My legs almost give out beneath me, my palms slick with cold sweat.

The chill cuts deeper now, as if the wind has found a way inside my ribs and decided to make a home there.

Then the collapse begins.

Stone gives way with a low, cracking groan that builds to a deafening roar.

A cascading failure as nature reclaims what I held by force.

Sections of the path sheer off in jagged chunks, plummeting into the canyon below.

The sound is deafening. A chain reaction of thunder and ruin that shakes the pass to its bones and rattles my teeth.

Seconds later, there’s nothing left behind us but space and wind, and the echo of destruction.

A shape moves in my periphery.

Ellie crosses the distance between us in two strides, and throws herself into my chest.

The impact rocks me backward. Her arms wrap around me. Hard. Desperate. Full-body contact that threatens to topple us both. She’s soaked through. Rain-slicked and shaking. The momentum of it jars through my spine, grounding and jarring all at once.

I freeze.

The weight of another body against mine, unfiltered. Unshielded. It’s too much for my already voidcraft-strained senses. But … I don’t move.

Her forehead presses to my shoulder.

“You held it back,” she whispers. “With magic?”

I make no attempt to deny it. “Yes.”

Her fingers curl into my tunic, knuckles white. She doesn’t let go.

And I can’t make myself step away.

Shadow still clings to my hand, thin threads twisting faintly before the rain peels them away.

My ribs ache where the spell anchored. My breath is shorter than it should be.

The cost of what I’ve just done is beginning to settle.

But I stand here, in the wind and rain, and let a woman from another world regain her balance by holding onto me.

Then lightning splits the sky.

The flash reaches us before the thunder does. In that single strike of light, something moves beneath the surface of my skin. A thread of silver pulses through the shadows still winding over my fingers.

I frown and lift my hand to see more clearly.

“How?” Ellie’s question draws my attention back to her for a single second.

When I look again, the silver is gone.

“No time. The storm comes.” Tisera’s voice cuts through the wind. She gestures sharply at the darkening sky. “We need to reach shelter before it arrives.”

She hurries us through the remainder of the pass. The path grows slicker with each passing minute. Wind howls through the narrow corridor, gusting hard enough that we brace against the walls when it surges.

The collapse behind us has cut off any path of return. There is no going back.

Only forward. Toward Stonehaven.