“I’ll take First watch,” she said simply, voice low but steady.
Ronan, half-drowsy but alert even in rest, studied her for a brief moment before nodding.
“Wake me before the moons dip.”
Kael made a small grunt of approval and gave a short nod before settling down. Lira mumbled something that sounded like a soft thank-you as she curled deeper into her blanket, her breathing already smoothing into sleep.
Within minutes, the others were still.
The only sounds left were the soft crackle of the dying fire and the whisper of wind shifting through the meadow grasses.
Eis took her place at the edge of camp, back against a tree, crossbow resting loosely across her knees. Moonlight washed over the open fields—silver from one moon, pale gold from the other—turning every dew-heavy blade of grass into a glimmering strand.
She did not move for a long time. She simply listened.
Night birds called in sporadic notes. Somewhere deeper in the brush, a small creature rustled through leaves. The wind carried pockets of warm and cold air as it drifted along the ridge. There was no threat here—no weight of danger gathering in the dark. Only the soft, undisturbed rhythm of a calm night.
With that stillness came room for her thoughts to spread.
The ruins lingered at the edge of her thoughts.
Not fear. Not awe. Simply presence—layers of the world pressing close beneath the surface. Strange. Vast. Unfinished.
Stars shifted overhead. Time slid past unnoticed.
Eis rested her forearms on her knees, gaze unfocused, listening to her own breathing. The warmth beneath her sternum lay quiet, contained—stable enough now that she could feel its edges again.
She made a choice.
Not because she needed the spell.
Because she needed to know.
She did not reach for the blank spellcards in her pouch.
Instead, she let her focus narrow and drew directly from the source—intent and structure shaped together, without the buffer of preparation. The warmth gathered faster than before, denser, heavier, as though answering a request it recognized as inefficient.
Pressure built behind her ribs.
Good.
That meant it had limits.
She guided the shape carefully, watching for instability, for backlash—tracking the strain the way she once tracked stamina before a forced march. Circles. Overlap. A single anchor point.
Detection.
The pressure spiked.
For a brief moment, it felt like heat pulled straight from her chest.
Then—
The card formed.
Fully realized between her fingers, dark-blue surface etched instantly with fine silver lines that locked into place without drift or distortion. Clean. Precise. Complete.
Eis exhaled sharply, shoulders tightening as the warmth beneath her ribs flared and then collapsed inward, leaving behind a hollow ache that lingered longer than she liked.
That had taken more than it should have.
She closed her eyes briefly, cataloging the sensation. The depth of the drain. The recovery lag. The way the ache settled rather than vanished.
Useful information.
When she opened her eyes again, she studied the card. It hummed faintly—not eager, not unstable. Simply finished.
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Effective.
And wasteful.
Now she knew.
In an emergency, she could do it.
But if she had time—
She’d never choose this way again.
The card dissolved into pale silver flame, scattering as ash-like motes that spiraled outward in a wide ring. Her sigil answered with a sharp pulse, sending energy across the grass and through the air like ripples on water.
For just a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then the feedback returned—faint, glowing impressions blooming in her awareness.
Within a mile, she sensed:
- Three familiar signatures close by—Ronan, Lira, Kael—steady and peaceful in sleep.
- Small, harmless creatures scattered across the meadow: rabbits, a grazing doe, a fox.
- A loose cluster of life to the north—likely merchants or patrolmen traveling along the ridge road.
- No hostile mana. No twisted beasts. No corrupted presence.
The pulse faded. The last of the spell’s ash drifted away.
Ronan slept upright against a tree, arms loosely crossed, sword within easy reach—his posture never quite surrendering to rest.
Eis crossed the camp and crouched beside him.
“Ronan,” she murmured. “Your turn.”
His eyes opened instantly—sharp, focused, as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all.
He rose with a quiet exhale.
“Anything?” he asked, voice low.
In the emberlight, half his face was cast in warm orange, the other half in shadow, giving his expression a serious calm.
“Clear,” Eis said. “Nothing close.”
He nodded once, accepting her word without hesitation.
“Good. Get some rest. We’ll break camp at first light.”
As she moved back toward her bedroll, Ronan settled where she had been, gaze sweeping across the dark horizon in slow, practiced tracks. The fire snapped softly. Kael murmured in his sleep but didn’t wake. Lira’s hand curled near her cheek, peaceful.
Eis lay down, cloak pulled lightly around her, crossbow within arm’s reach as habit demanded.
She drifted to sleep feeling controlled, prepared—
and not alone.
Eis woke to a world washed in gold.
The fire had burned down to ash. Dew clung to the grass. Lira hummed as she cleaned the cooking pot; Kael stood by the road, stretching and scanning the horizon; Ronan checked the straps on the horses, his movements deliberate.
Eis pushed herself upright and brushed grass from her cloak. Her body felt light—sharpened both by rest and by the lingering clarity of her magic from the night before. The sigil beneath her glove pulsed warmly, signaling that her creation ability had returned once more.
Lira spotted her and grinned brightly.
“Morning, Eis! You really are impossible—you stand watch half the night and still look like you slept in silk sheets.”
Kael snorted as he slung his bow into place.
“Maybe she did. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could conjure a bed.”
Eis let the faintest curve touch the corner of her mouth.
“If I could, I’d sell them.”
Ronan chuckled as he tightened a strap.
“You’d make a fortune in Lumaire.”
The group shared a small laugh—easy, real. The kind of camaraderie earned through shared danger, shared silence, and shared trust.
By noon, the countryside shifted. Wild grass was replaced by long fields of wheat and lavender, stretching out in orderly rows. Wagons passed them more frequently—drivers shouting greetings, guild banners fluttering.
Snatches of conversation drifted through the air:
Grain shortages.
Guild disputes.
Preparations for the Solstice Festival in the capital.
Each step forward felt like movement toward civilization—toward the heart of this world and whatever answers waited there.
Ronan finally slowed and pointed toward the horizon.
“There.”
Eis followed his gesture.
At first, the shape was only a shimmer of gold. Then the haze cleared, and the full outline emerged—
Lumaire.
A city of glass and marble rising from the plains like a dream carved in sunlight. Towering spires stretched into the sky, crossed by drifting ribbons of blue-white mana. Great bridges arced between districts. Lanterns floated like hovering stars above broad avenues. Even from miles away, Eis could hear the faint hum of magic—a heartbeat pulsing across the valley.
Lira exhaled softly.
“Home.”
Kael shaded his eyes.
“You can smell the coin and the trouble from here.”
Ronan smiled faintly.
“Welcome to Lumaire, Eis. Whatever you’re searching for—you’ll find it there.”
“Or it will find you.”
A breeze carried the scent of the city up to them: spices, smoke, iron, and something faintly electric.
Eis stared down at the capital, the place where this strange world seemed to gather all its threads and mysteries.
Whatever awaited her beyond those gleaming walls, her path was leading toward it now.