Chapter Text
The stars twist before they fall, the sound a crescendo of cosmos and the universe tearing a hole within itself.
The vortex is bright, almost too bright to look at.
And then, from within the vortex, he falls.
Much smaller than the gash in the sky itself, a body.
He slams into the stream with a hollow sound, the water freezing where it shoots into the air on impact, forming a protective barrier between him and the rest of the forest.
Slowly the vortex begins to close, sewing itself back together with the threads that rise from the source, the boy.
As the light begins to fade, the water gently returns to its natural place, sinking the boy, his face the only part of him not submerged in the silt.
Steam curls off of his body and wraps around the trees and I watch, silent, listening to the half-formed words that leave his lips.
Without thinking, I move forward to get a closer look at him, the shadows wrapped tightly around me, concealing me from any who might be wandering the woods at this hour.
The closer I get to him, the more I make out, pale strands of hair sticking to his face, his soaked clothes heavy on his frame, made for harsh winter.
Not from here, I think. It’s early spring here in Seremond. A slight chill in the morning that fades to a temperate day and back around to that same chill at night.
His eyes flutter, revealing gold ringed by darkness. Over his throat is marred flesh and beneath his skin I can see the glow of threads, weaving themselves into patterns and symbols. Wards of protection, healing, power.
The threads float through the air around him as well, illuminating the water and moss covered stones surrounding him on either side of the stream.
He murmurs something then, though the sound is different, layered in ways I can’t explain and wrong, as if he was speaking underwater. I can’t make out his words, even listening closer, the words barely more than a garbled whisper.
Then, voices. From somewhere further into the woods.
I sink back into the shadows, behind an alcove of stone, and observe in the darkness as they approach. The healer and the blacksmith.
Magelight floods the area, though the closer it comes to my shadows, the more it mutes itself, refusing to cross the threshold.
The healer steps into the stream, stirring the silt that had just begun to settle and kneels beside the boy, pressing his palm to his face. Behind him, the blacksmith holding a lantern that’s almost too small for her, mutters something quietly to the mage before her.
“We can’t just leave him here,” she says softly.
“No,” replies the mage, his fingers checking the boy's pulse. “We won’t.”
And then in a flash, much faster than he should be able, the boy is up, threads exploding, the shockwave causing the other two to cover their eyes and brace themselves. With a sound like metal ground against metal, and eyes glowing like embers in a fire, the boy lashes out, a blade pulled from within the layers of his cloaks and sinks it into the healer's arm.
The healer hisses, clutching at his forearm as blood begins to drip into the stream, mixing into the water and the blacksmith shoots forward, grabbing both of the boy's arms, efficiently subduing him before he slumps forward and the threads go dark once again.
The healer waves a spell over his arm, closing the wound. He brushes the blood away on his clothes.
The blacksmith hoists the boy into her arms, his body limp against hers.
I pull back, further into the night. I have seen enough.
I have found my opening.