Zendar began to remove his garments. His eyes were soft but averted, and Finn caught sight of a tightness in his jaw. He watched as his brother placed his clothing into a careful, neat pile beside the water, then proceeded to yank his boots off his feet with swift, aggressive pulls. Zendar stared at nothing for a moment, then turned expectantly towards Elder Edrys, an eyebrow raised.

The [Grave Robber]’s face folded into a frown. He cast a final, furtive glance in Finn’s direction, then began to undress. His tether did the same.

There was a deepening sense of foreboding in Finn’s chest. His head was awash with ripples, and his mouth had grown dry. He mumbled something about needing to sit a moment, gesturing towards a nearby mound, and felt the eyes of the other men following him as he ambled unevenly over the sodden soil. The mud sucked at his feet as he moved, and he had to jerk himself free, falling and landing gracelessly on his knees. He turned over, leaned back on an elbow. Edrys, he saw, was still watching him.

It will work. If the… if Lord Finric stays near.

Finn stared back at the man, arching an eyebrow. Edrys pursed his lips and gave a small nod, answering the question unasked.

Zendar was now ankle-deep in water. Edrys turned away from Finn and followed. Finn felt a pang, but shoved it aside.

If the… if Lord Finric stays near.

A half-thought crossed Finn’s mind, but he avoided it, chose to focus elsewhere.

The sun was warm, low in the sky, pleasant on his face. He closed his eyes and let the warmth wash over him. He took in a lungful of air, then another, then a third, until he felt he could burst. After a moment his hands and feet began to tingle, and he exhaled, slowly, visualizing his unease as a dark vapor leaving him with his breath. It did not work.

He was not sure how long it had been since they had left Aonenbridge. Though it was still early, he imagined the Keep would already be stirring, rife with the same nervous energy that had been permeating for weeks. He reached for his tether, but felt Omri’s mind as something formless and hazy. Still asleep. Finn reached further, softly so as not to wake him, until, across the distance, he began to feel the grass beneath him coalesce with the rough texture of Omri’s straw pallet. The distant buzzing in the Marsh merged with the snores beside Omri, the other tethers of Aonen Keep.

Finn focused his mind, then tried to reach beyond Omri. He waded for a moment, met a resistance, pushed, and felt it give way. A kaleidoscopic overlay burst behind his eyelids, a vibrant explosion, more than he had been ready for. As if pushed and pulled by a crosscurrent he felt something within his spirit suddenly slip. He tried to steady himself, but for a moment was overwhelmed, cast afloat and carried. He felt a sudden, acute sense of panic. He clutched at the dirt, dug desperately, felt Omri’s muscles twitch in response—and caught himself.

Finn cursed silently as it all began to fall back into place. His heart was thundering in his chest.

He’d never been good at this.

The colors surrounding him—surrounding Omri—had gone cloudy, the images dull, but he could still hear movement, and see shadowy, faceless figures hurrying down passageways. Though their faces remained indistinct, he recognized their forms and knew them to be some of the [servants] and [slaves] of Aonen Keep, all hard at work, preparing for the upcoming celebration.

In just a few hours, there would be a new Lady of Aonenbridge.

A sudden rustle caught Finn’s attention, a soft splash, and his mind snapped back to the Marsh in one dizzying instant. He felt himself slam to his body, and his world spun.

Clinging to the ground once more, digging deeper, he cursed again. There was naught to do but wait, breathing down the heavy waves of nausea. The spinning began to slow, then came to a stop. He raised his head after a moment. Zendar and Edrys were now knee-deep in the water, Edrys’s tether just a few paces behind. Finn felt another pang, and, once again, pushed it aside.

You do trust me, don’t you, little brother?

More than anyone.

He could hear murmurs from the men. He knew he’d be able to catch the conversation if he strained his ears, but he didn’t try. He stared back up at the sky.

There was another rustle, drawing nearer, and the reeds at Finn’s side shivered as something streaked towards him.

Then, a quick, dark flash of movement.

Finn let go of his grip on the ground, leaned over, watched. And grinned.

A dark, sinuous creature had poked its head out from behind the reeds. Sleek, with damp fur which seemed to glimmer and dance in the morning sun. The mink was missing an ear, Finn saw. It had scratches on its nose, and long, obscenely sharp claws.

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Incredibly wise eyes.

“Hey, little guy,” Finn said.

The creature stared at him. It surveyed the surroundings and saw the other men. Zendar and Edrys were now up to their thighs in the water, wading further, ready to dive. The mink turned back to Finn, eyes wide.

“I know,” Finn said. He sank low into the warm soil and placed his palms behind his head. “I know,” he repeated.

Men went mad in the Marsh, on occasion. Many were reduced to shells, never spoke again, and those who did were often incoherent and delirious. When you could get words from them between the babbles and bumbles and cries and shrieks, they would always say it had begun with a silence. And then, what they described as a feeling of unfeeling. The physicians would often focus on that last, but the former, Finn thought, was the craziest part of all. The Marsh was sometimes hushed, yes, but never silent. Even as he lay there that day, as his brother dove into water, as he heard the subsequent lapping sounds settle, the ground beneath him seemed to be rumbling with the sound of a distant thunder, like the ever-present rhythmic thump of a heart. Finn could feel the presence of the mink beside him, but also a thousand other creatures, some larger, some smaller, above the ground, below the ground, swimmers, flyers, crawlers. He could feel the heat of the morning, the smell of day. And as an undercurrent to it all, he could feel Omri. A great distance away, but warm, safe. Comforting.

Finn did not realize how deeply he had dozed until the moment he jolted back awake. When he opened his eyes, things seemed… off. The mink was gone. The sun was higher in the sky, warmer. There was a faint pressure behind his eyes, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

And he was not alone.

He sat up. He felt groggy and sweaty, uncomfortably so.

“Zen?” He looked around. His brother’s clothes were still piled near the water. The surface of the pool was still, too still, as if it had gone days without disturbance.

Finn stood, wiped himself off.

And woke with his face in muck.

He stayed like that a moment, face down, spread-eagled, his mind slow and confused. He felt a tremor in his limbs, a hollowness in his bones. His hands were cold and clammy.

He’d fainted. He’d fainted. That never happened.

The pressure behind his eyes had begun to build. He raised himself cautiously. Sat upright. He felt… heavy, all of a sudden. Overly padded. Like he was still holding in too much air, like something had to be spewed out of him. He exhaled, but it did not help. There was a painful pressure building in his chest, mirroring the one behind his eyes, like his lungs were being pressed down by a stone slab.

Shit.

He studied the ground beside him. He pushed at a small rock, revealing nothing but damp soil. Had something bitten him? Some type of insect, or a venomous water snake, perhaps? How long had he been asleep? He examined the skin around his arms and legs, saw nothing. His heart had begun to race. His hands were shaking, still cold, while the rest of him was beginning to feel warm and feverish. He inhaled, but the air felt… thin, like he was trying to suck water through a pinched wineskin. He felt another wave of panic, which he shoved aside. He needn’t worry, he tried to remind himself—whatever it was, Omri could deal with it. And yet—

There was something looming over him. Something big.

He was not alone.

Finn spun around.

Nothing.

His stomach had begun to churn. He felt his skin grow taut, pulled tight over his face. He clung to the ground, could not quite feel the scrape of the grass beneath his fingers. His palms were numb, tingling. He was soaked in sweat. A bead of perspiration swelled on the tip of his nose, broke away, fell, splashed on his thigh. Then another, off his forehead. It seemed to take ten breaths before it hit the ground. All the while, Finn felt on the verge of heaving. He’d been hit by a sudden tidal wave of nausea. It seemed to him as if he’d never felt anything so strongly. It left him gaping, his mind blank. It began to fade, then rose again, fading, rising, surging and receding, each time quick as the flicking of a finger. It seemed his head might split. He heard himself groan. Then—

Finn?

A rush of relief, as if he had stepped out from a stuffy, stale chamber and into crisp, open air. Omri, he managed.

He felt the hammering of his heart begin to slow. He felt it all begin to fade. Omri. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed him. The connection was faint, spread thin by distance, but not to the point that it should be imperceptible. Never imperceptible.

Finn, where are you? Omri sounded worried.

Finn raised his hands, flexed his fingers. The feeling in his palms was returning, and the pressure on his forehead would soon fade.

I’m with Zendar, Finn said. We’re in the Marsh. An hour or so out of the city. Zendar is… he’s… I’ll… explain later. We’ll be back soon.

Are you alright? Omri asked. What is this—?

I… don’t know, Finn said. There’s this… pain in my head. Could you—?

The next moment he realized he’d been wrong… so wrong.

The pressure on his forehead had faded to that of a pin, or perhaps a pricket—candleless yet warm, lit by memory. Then—

A flame, warm wax suspended over him, brought too near to his skin. It dripped—searing, hardening, dripping again, spreading. It seemed to seep into him, push at him, pull. Then, he did heave. And again. Choked. Spluttered. He reached a hand to the ground. Landed in slick, sickly sludge. Slipped. Hard. His face crumpled to the ground, his cheek scraped.

Finn, what is— who is—

Finn felt a pause.

A panic.

A presence.

WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Omri’s shouts were muffled, but Finn did not have to hear the words to feel them. They went unanswered, and his ears began to ring with a low, grinding toll that reverberated through him, shaved at his bones. He continued to be pushed and pulled, squeezed and stretched, as if his mind were a soaked cloth being wrung out over a bucket, laid out to dry.

WHO ARE—

The feeling was like a sharp prickle of nettles across his entire body, the feeling of being watched. And… more. The feeling of being… invaded.

In his head, he felt himself.

He felt Omri.

And he felt… another.

FINN

[Tethered]

[Nobleman]

[Level 5]

[Anchor Points]: 0

[Skills]: 2

METERS

[Lifeblood]: 142 / 150

[Chaos]: 300 / 150

His mind surged, the walls crashed open, and Finn felt himself slipping with the tide of his spirit as he spilled from his body like a drop of ink in an endless ocean.