River blinked.
The numbers spun in his head—royal blood on one side, one of the great houses on the other. That made her the king’s niece. Kidrin’s cousin. A member of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. He stared at her, his thoughts racing. No wonder the knight had bowed. No wonder they’d offered her a deal. It all made sense now, but that didn’t make it any easier to process. River laughed, but it was hollow—a brittle sound that didn’t quite reach his core.
“You could have told us earlier,” he said, his voice strained with disbelief more than anger. Amalia dropped her gaze, suddenly fascinated with her boots. She twisted her fingers together, silent.
Albert stepped in. “People treat you differently when they know,” he said, his tone more somber than usual. “It’s not a good feeling. Realizing people only want to be around you because of who you’re related to, not who you actually are.” Amalia nodded faintly, echoing the sentiment. “Some of the teachers knew. And of course, Kidrin did. But I heard what her life was like growing up in one of the great houses. Always judged. Always observed. I didn’t want that... I couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like if everyone knew about my lineage.” River considered that. Logically, it made sense.
Emotionally... it still stung.
It wasn’t quite betrayal—but it felt like being left out, and he didn’t like that feeling.
Still, if he’d known earlier, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Maybe he wouldn’t have brought her along. Maybe he would’ve treated her like glass—something fragile, something that could shatter and leave him with more grief. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind settled. It didn’t matter. She had become his friend—an important part of the team—and nothing could change that now. Despite that, the discovery clouded his thoughts. How much did he truly know his friends? But doubt was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
He and Callum exchanged glances and nodded. They understood, even if they didn’t like it. As Callum walked over to Albert, River stayed behind—his mind crowded with questions only she might be able to answer. “Amalia,” he said quietly, “can I ask you something… serious?” She glanced sideways, brow raised. “Sure. Shoot.” “I saw a woman—blonde hair, scar on her cheek, green eyes. She… she might’ve been my mother. Do you know anyone like that? Maybe from your court?” Amalia’s expression softened. The teasing edge in her voice disappeared.
She shook her head slowly. “No. That doesn’t ring a bell. But if she was powerful, there might be a record somewhere. My father would know more about older bloodlines and court mages than I do.” River nodded, trying not to show his disappointment. “Thanks.” She bumped her shoulder gently against his.
“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “One step at a time.” Without another word, River resumed walking. Following the others quietly. They pushed deeper into the forest until the trees surrounded them on all sides, and the last rays of daylight vanished behind dense foliage. River exhaled. “Let’s stop here for the night.” “Thank the gods,” Callum muttered, dropping onto the ground with a dramatic sigh. River focused, channeling essence into the ground. With a push of will, he began clearing the brush. It came easier now. The more he practiced, the more it felt like flexing a muscle. Magic was becoming less of a mystery and more of a tool.
“We’ll need firewood,” he said, glancing around. “Dead branches, dry stuff. Someone grab some?” The others looked at him in surprise. River didn’t allow for fires.
“They won’t be able to see it,” he added quickly. “I’ll hide the light.” Albert nodded and disappeared into the woods. River dropped his backpack and knelt beside it, reaching inside with intent. The void space stirred, and moments later, three rolled up sleeping bags materialized in his hands. He tossed them to Callum and Amalia, who each grabbed theirs and began unrolling them across the newly cleared patch of forest floor. While the others gathered wood, River sat cross-legged near the center of the clearing, willing his body to recover. He closed his eyes, letting the world fall away. Time blinked, skipping forward like a skipped heartbeat. When he opened his eyes again, Albert was dropping a bundle of dry branches in front of him. River stirred. Some of his strength had returned, enough to function, but not enough to fight. Not yet. He focused on the pile. Lighting the fire was easy; just a spark of essence was needed. The harder part was concealing it. The trees would shield most of the light, but the smoke... Illusion magic. Again. River grimaced and concentrated. The veil shimmered into place, cloaking the fire in distorted air that bent light and dampened the visible smoke trail.
Communication was always trickier while sustaining illusions. Instead of speaking, he simply pointed to the fire and gestured for the others to cook and eat. Then he closed his eyes again, remaining still. Their voices were soft at first, then louder—laughter, a few quiet jokes. River let their words wash over him like music from far away, a strange comfort against the draining effort of maintaining the construct. It helped pass the time. Helped distract him from the ache. Eventually, the voices faded as the food finished. He heard chewing, then silence.
A gentle tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes. Amalia was crouched beside him, whispering. “We’re done. You can stop now.” He gave a nod and released the illusion. The magic unraveled like silk slipping through his fingers. Then, with a quiet breath, he drew moisture from the ground and snuffed out the fire, leaving only the smell of charred wood and the hush of forest night. He was tired to his core. The sheer essence expenditure from the last few days still clung to him like lead. As the others crawled into their sleeping bags, River stared at the one patch of dirt left for him. They hadn’t been able to afford a fourth—and honestly, he was used to sleeping without one.
He laid down and closed his eyes. Sleep—or whatever it was he experienced—came quickly. Once again, he slipped into darkness.
The time passed in an instant. And yet when he woke his essence seemed to have replenished, even the aches and pains were gone. The sky above was still pitch black, yet he could sense that dawn wasn’t far off.
Quietly, he reached for a book. No memory magic tonight—just the thought of it made him shiver. He needed something simpler. Comforting. He pulled out The Basics of Affinities, a well-worn text he’d returned to many times when nothing else held his attention. The book laid out the standard six affinities:
- Lightning, Water, and Fire: highly destructive, typically used for combat.
- Earth, Nature, and Light: versatile, useful in both combat and creation.
He read how ancient mages had raised mountains, carved valleys, and even built cities with earth and light magic alone. River could barely fathom it. He struggled to hold a simple illusion for more than a few hours—how did anyone command that kind of power? Just as he neared the end of the book, a passage caught his eye: “Those who surpass the 7th Tier are granted unique skills. These vary widely, shaped by the mage’s soul.” He closed the book and lay back, thoughts spinning. Teleportation? Soul-sight? Mind control? The possibilities stirred something in him—a rare, cautious kind of excitement. Soon after, he heard rustling nearby. Amalia was waking up. River walked over quietly. The others were still snoring. He couldn’t resist. Two small orbs of water formed above their heads. With a chuckle, he dropped them.
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SPLASH.
“Really? Again?” Albert groaned.
Callum blinked the water from his eyes but cracked a grin. “You’re lucky I’m starting to think it’s tradition now.” They got up, groaning, and packed their things. Another day began. The next few weeks passed in rhythm. They walked by day, camped at night. River read whenever he wasn’t replenishing essence. Amalia honed her skill with the crossbow and often brought back birds, rabbits, even a wild boar once. Callum cooked whatever she found, and though River never ate, the scent always lingered, warm and familiar. Albert, meanwhile, began to change. His round frame was thinned, replaced by lean muscle. The boy River had met in the academy auditorium was vanishing, piece by piece. Then, one morning, soon after they had started the day’s journey, they crested a large hill.
And there it was.
A massive wall on the horizon. Old. Cracked. Covered in moss and memory. Built long ago to keep what was inside the Wastelands...out of the Kingdom. River stared. Behind that wall lay everything: the unknown, the temple, and maybe, just maybe, the answers he craved. No, he needed the answers. He turned to the others. No words were needed.
They all smiled. They agreed not to travel during daylight. The chance of guards or knights patrolling the area was still too high, and being spotted now would undo everything they had worked so hard for the last month. So, they made camp at the top of the hill, just out of sight of the towering wall that loomed ahead. The mood had shifted. Excitement buzzed under their skin, but so did something colder. Anxiety was thick in the air. Beyond that wall lay the Wastelands, a place none of them truly understood. Freedom, yes. But danger, too. And River could feel the weight of that truth settling into his bones.
They devised a plan. It wasn’t perfect, but perfection was a luxury they couldn't afford. They’d scout for a desolate section of the wall—somewhere rarely patrolled, maybe crumbling with age. Once they found it, they’d huddle together. River would use earth essence to raise them to the top. From there, he and Albert would combine nature magic to manipulate the moss clinging to the wall’s surface, coaxing it downward into makeshift ladders. They had never done anything on this scale. But River believed it could work. And more than anything... they needed it to.
They sat atop the hill, eyes fixed on the wall and the slow-moving patrols below.
Callum broke the silence, pointing toward a bend in the structure. “There. Patrols don’t seem to go all the way to that curve.” “Okay,” River said. “We go there once it gets dark. Everyone rest in the meantime.” Before anyone could reply, River had already closed his eyes. He sank into himself, cycling through his soul techniques. Earth and nature were all that mattered tonight. Every other element faded into the background. The world dimmed, losing shape, fading into the cracks of his mind. He was pulled from his trance by Amalia’s voice. “It’s time.” Opening his eyes, he saw the others already standing, their gear packed, expressions firm. Without a word, he stood and joined them.
They moved as shadows, quiet and deliberate, descending the hill toward the wall. Within an hour, they stood at its base. It was taller than River had expected. Looking up, it felt like the sky was leaning backward, pulling him off balance.
He pressed a palm against the cold stone. Something was off. The wall pulsed faintly with essence—alive in some small way. Runes, maybe. Built into it long ago.
As if Amalia knew what he was thinking, she whispered into his ear “ The Primordials built this long-ago using magic, the runes can still be seen during certain times at night. Interesting... but not important right now.”
They crept along the base until Callum stopped and pointed. “Here,” he whispered. It was the same bend he had spotted earlier. River nodded and motioned for them to gather close. Albert and Callum took position behind him. Amalia stood directly in front of him, her eyes locked on his, her breath brushing his chin.
Shit. Focus.
River closed his eyes and channeled. The ground groaned. A low rumble echoed upward. Beneath their feet, a wide platform formed and began to rise—slow, steady, straining against the weight. As they ascended, the drain grew heavier with each moment that passed. Sweat beaded; his skull throbbed. By the time the platform locked, his fingers were needle-numb and iron laced his tongue. River staggered; Amalia caught his arm. Callum and Albert let out a sigh of relief, “Wow.”
But no one slipped.
They had made it. They were on top of the wall. Stepping onto the wall, they looked around. Shit. River’s gut clenched. He could feel guards further down the rampart. That wasn’t part of the plan. He pointed quickly toward the threat. “Guards,” he hissed, barely loud enough to be heard. Everyone understood instantly. No time for rest. No time for River to recover. They had to move now.
Fuck.
River let the essence drop from his eyes. A surge of energy flushed through him, just enough to push back the haze of exhaustion. He stepped beside Albert, peering down the edge of the wall into the fog below, and signaled urgently. They needed to move. Fast. They both began to channel. River reached out with his essence, brushing against Albert’s as it threaded into the moss.
Normally, in a duel, he’d sever that connection.
But not now.
Now, he reinforced it.
Guided it.
Strengthened it.
Two minds—one purpose. Their essence intertwined, flowing as one.
And still... it wasn’t fast enough. River felt it—a presence drawing near. The guard was close. Too close. Every second that passed tightened the knot in his chest. He pushed harder, channeling more essence downward. His vision blurred at the edges, the drain nearly too much. But finally, finally, he felt it: the moss reached the base of the wall, rooted and strong.
He exhaled, slashed a hand. “Go.” His muscles locked; the command stuttered through him. Amalia didn’t hesitate. She swung over the edge and began climbing down. Then Albert followed, hands moving quickly, breath tight. Callum turned to River, uncertainty in his eyes. He didn’t want to leave River last. But River shook his head and gave him a gentle shove toward the edge. Go. Callum disappeared over the side. River swung his legs over the edge, just as… “GUARDS!” someone shouted from above. The sound of a bell shattered the quiet night. Metal boots scraped stone. Chaos exploded.
“FIRE!”
A chorus of twangs and the sharp hiss of arrows through air. One sliced past River’s cheek, leaving a shallow burn. Below, a wet thunk. Then a scream. River’s gut twisted.
A scream rose from below—cut short.
Then a thud. Heavy. Final.
Someone had fallen. It could’ve been any of them.
One of his friends was down.
He pushed his consciousness outward, farther than he ever had. Rage fueled him—blinding, consuming. The pain of uncertainty twisted into something molten in his chest, and he stopped trying to control the essence. He became the storm. He no longer knew where he ended, and the storm began.
The sky churned in response, dark clouds swirling above as thunder cracked like a whip across the heavens. He reached higher, deeper, pulling at everything he could touch. And as the urgency of moments before bled away, only anger remained. With a sharp pull of his will, lightning answered.
A brilliant flash. A roar. The top of the wall erupted in sparks as the bolt struck true. Screams echoed. Metal clanged. A body fell. And still River felt nothing.
No fear.
No remorse.
Only fire in his veins and silence in his heart. But as if someone had whispered to him from within. A jolt deep within his core. Then the world snapped back; the storm slipped from his grip as the essence buckled. His vision blurred, the world becoming a smear of grey and light. His eyelids turned to stone. His limbs, heavier than the earth itself.
He couldn’t hold on.
His fingers slipped from the moss ladder, and he fell backward.
The last flickers of thought strained in his mind.
Had he doomed them? Or saved them?
He didn’t know.
Didn’t want to.
His body went limp, mind blank—
—as gravity claimed him.