It was a strange thing. Trailing after him along swaying reeds where the fire bugs danced, beneath the rustling canopy of deciduous trees, Emberlyth struggled to find the words to speak. It wasn’t that she had nothing to say—quite the opposite. Questions burned in her throat, searing and insistent, too many at once to give voice to. Too many things she longed to ask, too many truths she feared to uncover. As seemed the theme ever since they’d met.

She could have tried to dissuade him from tempting fate like this, but the thought of returning to the Mistlands churned her stomach as much as it did his. She could have asked where he was going, but she already knew he didn’t know. They were just exploring, hoping to find something. She could have asked about his Aethermarks, about her own, about how he was holding up, about what would happen now. But the weight of all those questions pressed heavy against her ribs. Some answers she craved; others, she dreaded.

The estate was left behind. They had crossed the Mistlands. In a sense, their goal was achieved. Would this be where their paths split? She wasn’t sure how to feel about it, except that it would probably be lonely.

She had seen him die and come back to life. That warranted questions, too.

Then there were her marks. Was the silence in them a warning sign she refused to heed? A dozen whispered “Surge”, and not even a spark had sprung to life upon her fingertips. Was she simply drained, or had something inside her been damaged beyond repair?

Her shirt hung in tatters, the cool breeze brushing against her back like a cruel reminder of everything raw and vulnerable. It licked across her skin like salt on an open wound, a physical echo of her doubts. Was her Aethermark even there anymore?

She could have asked him to look but, in a sense, it felt as if she carried the silence of the estate with her. Maybe she always would. It had followed her here, wrapped around her like a cloak. That same stillness she’d grown so accustomed to, so at home in, even as it made her a stranger to her own voice.

And so, she said nothing. Not until the minutes stretched out, and even Penta seemed to grow uncomfortable with the silence. He paused, glanced back, and tilted his head. “I figured you were following me,” he began. “If you’d rather rest, though, I can go fight this moose thing on my own, you know.”

“You? Fighting something on your own?” Ember asked, one eyebrow arching. Once the shackles of silence was broken, the words came naturally. “You want to burn through the rest of your precious ink, or are you just feeling brave?”

“Suit yourself,” Penta shrugged, resuming his steady pace. “It’s not like I mind having some backup fire when I go bargain with a talking, magical beast. You just didn’t look like you were…” He trailed off, glancing over his shoulder again.

Ember hadn’t moved. She stood rooted in place, staring down at her hands.

“…feeling it?” he finished. “What’s the matter? Afraid your moose friend’s going to turn out fireproof?”

“It’s not that,” she murmured. Her fingers curled faintly in the air as she whispered, “Surge.” Nothing. Not even a hint of warmth. She dropped her hand, shoulders sagging. “It’s just… should I be worried if my marks haven’t recovered yet?”

She expected a sarcastic quip—Penta’s usual armor against anything serious—but to her surprise, he hesitated. Maybe he saw something in her expression, the fear she couldn’t quite hide, the way she was already far past worried.

“Depends on the mark,” he said, his voice unusually careful. His hands hovered as if searching for the right gesture, the right tone. “Some take longer than others. Depends on a lot of things, really. Guess the real question is…” He met her eyes, something quiet and steady in his gaze. “Would they usually have recovered by now?”

“I… think so?” Ember said, though the words felt fragile in her mouth. A good night’s sleep was usually all it took, but since leaving the estate, both good sleep and the reliable measure of time had become slippery concepts. Maybe she was just overthinking it? Maybe it was nothing…

Then, Penta’s casual tone shattered that illusion.

“Then a little worry might be in order,” he replied. “Not too much, though. Just a smidge. In my experience, it takes a lot to really mess up an Aethermark. They’re sturdy things. You’d almost have to try to break one.”

He’d probably intended to be reassuring, but now, Emberlyth’s gut twisted. She could still feel it—the memory of that moment. The splitting sensation across her back, flames sputtering in places they didn’t belong, searing heat where there should have been control. She hadn’t done “a little.” She had pushed herself, over and over, far past the breaking point.

And now, something had broken. She was certain of it.

The thought clung to her, heavy and sharp. Her stomach coiled tighter, fear nesting deep in its folds. She opened her mouth, ready to say as much, to spill the worry before it festered further. “Could you please take a look at my back? Could you—” But before the words could escape, Penta was already walking again.

“Either way, I’m starving,” he said, his voice light and breezy. “Even if we don’t find any magical moose to roast, I’d settle for some raspberries. Or, you know, a pecan pie someone’s left unguarded. Maybe…”

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It was an iron ball dropped to the pit of her stomach.

It was a dismissal. A polite one, perhaps, but Emberlyth wasn’t a fool. She recognized the shape of it. Penta had made himself clear back in the Mistlands—her marks were her problem, not his. He didn’t want to get involved.

She’d thought things had changed since then. Thought they’d grown closer, that they’d earned a measure of trust between them. Enough, at least, to share her fears without brushing them off as fleeting worries. That maybe he’d care more about her than breakfast.

Evidently not.

“Oh, look: a branch,” Penta announced, waving his latest prize in her face. Before that, it had been a pine cone—the third in a long and increasingly exasperating line of useless discoveries.

“Yeah, I see,” Emberlyth muttered, brushing past him. They’d been circling the lake for what felt like an hour, and they weren’t even halfway around. The terrain fought them at every step: dense foliage clawing at their legs, sharp drops forcing detours, and a river that had nearly soaked them both. The dim, twilit sky wasn’t helping, nor was the light fog creeping up from the lake’s edges. It wasn’t the living, suffocating mist of the place they’d left behind, but it was enough to obscure their path and set Ember’s nerves on edge.

The one thing certain, the longer they trudged, the smaller this refuge revealed itself to be. Beyond the lake—its still waters the eerie heart of this place—the Mistlands loomed, no more than a few hundred paces in any direction. Another few hours, and they would probably have seen all of it. It was a cage, no matter how picturesque. The realization offered no comfort.

“What’s gotten into you?” Penta asked, falling into stride beside her. His voice carried a forced lightness, like a jester testing the mood of a restless court. “Has hunger soured your mood that badly?”

“Must be that,” Ember replied curtly, her gaze fixed ahead. “Food is all that matters, right?”

Her strides quickened, long legs leaving him behind without much effort. She’d almost hoped that would end the conversation, but his voice carried through the trees.

“Your marks?” he ventured, sounding oddly relieved as he half-jogged to catch up. As if he’d just discovered the source of an unpleasant smell, and it wasn’t him. “Is that what you’re still worried about? I told you, they’ll be fine. There’s nothing to—”

“There is something to worry about,” Ember snapped, spinning on him with sudden ferocity. She snatched the stick from his hand—why was he even carrying it?—and broke it over her knee. The sharp crack echoed over the lake. She hurled the pieces into the water, as hard and far as she could.

The act made her feel marginally better. Marginally.

“At least for me,” she continued, quieter. “I broke them. My marks.”

The words sat heavy between them, the weight of her certainty pressing down on the space like a closing door. The longer she’d tried to feel them—the steady hum of power that had once been as familiar as her own heartbeat—the less there had been to feel. Her Aethermarks, the thing she’d spent six years honing, had vanished in one reckless, foolish night. She hadn’t realized how much that would hurt until just now.

“But I guess for you it doesn’t matter,” she pressed on, emotion making the edges of her voice unsteady. She hated the sound of it. How vulnerable it made her feel. “It’s not your marks. None of your business, right? So, you just keep worrying about finding your damned food, and I’ll figure this out on my own.”

She turned away before he could answer, her steps heavy with a mix of exhaustion and fury. The lake’s fog seemed thicker now, or maybe it was just her vision swimming. Either way, she didn’t care. Let him laugh it off. Let him brush her off again. She couldn’t afford to.

“Hey, Ember, erm—”

“Hey what?” Ember stoward him, eyes flashing. “Is there another stick that’s so damned interesting you just have to show me? Or do you think someone as naive and stupid as me couldn’t possibly manage to break her own Aethermarks?” She snapped her fingers sharply, the sound cutting through the thick, misty air. “Look. Surge, surge. Surge!” Her voice rose with each word, trembling under the strain. “See? Nothing. It’s ruined, okay?”

For a moment, Penta just stood there, wide-eyed, his mouth slightly open like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh, apologize, or bolt. Ember exhaled sharply, rubbing her face with hands that, to her dismay, were trembling.

“Never mind,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “It’s not your fault. Not your problem. I get that.” She looked down, her voice softening despite herself. “It’s just... I guess it really mattered to me. For a long time, these marks were all I had. The only thing that was mine. But now... I guess they’re gone.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. Only now, as she said them aloud, did she feel the full weight of the loss. The Aethermarks had been more than a tool, more than a source of power. They’d been hers. Proof of what she’d built, of what she’d endured. Now, in their absence, the hollow ache left behind felt unbearable.

No matter how skilled Penta was with marks, she doubted he could fix this. Then… why was she so angry at him in the first place? Was it the miserable state of her body, hardly made better by trekking through thick underbrush, that’d made her temper worse than usual? Or was it something deeper than that. Maybe it wasn’t anger at all. Maybe she had just wanted someone to listen. Someone to care about her pain for longer than it took to make a joke. Maybe she wanted, for once, not to feel so completely alone.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Penta’s voice, filling the silence in his own peculiar way. “I—I realize this timing isn’t great,” he began, his tone hesitant, almost sheepish. “But that stag—er, moose—you met. Exactly how magical would you say it felt? Like cabin-on-a-floating-island-in-the-middle-of-a-lake magical, or... no?”

Ember blinked, frowning as her gaze followed the restless motion of his thumb. It pointed toward the lake, toward the direction she’d thrown his stick.

There, where the fog had parted, the lake’s surface shimmered faintly. A large, dark shape floated just above the water—no, not a shape. An island. A fragment of earth, severed cleanly from the world, hung suspended in the air like it had forgotten how gravity worked.

Upon it grew a massive tree, its roots spilling out and curling into the air like claws. Its gnarled branches twisted upward, as if tangled with the very threads of the twilit sky.

And there, nestled between its roots, stood a cabin. A quaint thing of timber and stone, sat precariously on its floating perch, as though some eccentric soul had decided this miniature world in the middle of the Mistlands was the perfect place to call home.

“How...” Ember began, her voice trailing off. Her lips parted in quiet wonder as the words slipped away, leaving only the sight of it to fill the space. “How didn’t we notice this earlier?”

Whatever this was, whatever lived there, it wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before.