Chapter 175

After dinner, we gathered together to talk about the storm. Even the little ones were there, though Briva and Morien contributed nothing beyond looking adorable and consuming an alarming number of cookies.

Mudcross had been hit hard. Landslides. Falling trees. Floodwater ripping through parts of the village. Ashlara had spent most of the storm dragging people from collapsed homes or hauling them bodily out of rushing water while trying to keep panicked livestock from scattering into the mountains.

“At one point,” she said flatly, “someone accused you of bringing the storm.”

The room grew quiet.

Not that I had summoned it directly. Just that I’d somehow angered someone - or something - and this was retaliation.

Honestly? I couldn’t even blame them for thinking it. Not after the war I’d dragged to their doorstep years ago. Not after Brand’s dragon attacks. Not after the bloodchildren. Hell, for all I knew, they might even be right.

Ashlara had stepped in before the argument turned ugly. Apparently she’d handled it well too, which honestly impressed me more than the landslides.

There were still people in the villages who distrusted me. People who feared me. People who had never truly forgiven me for what the villages had endured. I couldn’t really fault them for that either.

Pinefall hadn’t suffered any dramatic catastrophe, but that didn’t make Mirri’s night easier.

She’d spent the entire storm running from one emergency to the next. A child with a crushed leg. A near drowning. An elderly goblin struggling to breathe. A premature labor. Sick livestock. Allergic reactions. Food poisoning. Injury after injury after injury.

Even now, hours later, I could still see the strain sitting heavy across her shoulders.

Snagfield had weathered the storm relatively intact, but fear had nearly gotten people killed anyway - the villagers had wanted to evacuate.

From what I’d seen outside, that would’ve been a death sentence. The mountains had become a maze of mudslides, flooding ravines, and falling trees. Anyone caught outside long enough would have died.

Serah had talked them down.

Some had tried to overrule her outright. Others distrusted her because she wasn’t goblin. But somehow she’d kept that same calm poise she always carried herself with - even under pressure - and convinced them to stay put.

And because of that, people lived.

Reedwatch had flooded badly. Root cellars drowned beneath muddy water. Fields washed away. Homes nearly collapsed under the pressure of the swollen river. And while Grams had been there helping, there simply weren’t enough hands to go around.

Elise had spent the entire storm trying to manage panicked villagers and floodwaters that simply refused to stop rising.

At one point, Iolite appeared long enough to redirect part of the flooding before the entire village was swept away. Then, apparently, she vanished back into the earth before the storm even ended.

Highstone itself had remained mostly safe, though fear spread quickly there too.

Rukkin, captain of the guard, had been injured rescuing two children and couldn’t coordinate the response afterward. No one else wanted responsibility. So somehow it had fallen to Torvek.

He was one of the youngest guards in Highstone. But luckily for everyone else, he was also the most competent.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted. “Didn’t know who to send where. Didn’t know how to get people to listen.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just… tried.”

“And everyone survived,” I pointed out.

He looked faintly embarrassed by the praise.

After everything that had happened, not a single person had died.

Not one.

That alone was a testament to the courage and competence of everyone in the room.

And none of it sat right with me.

“This was a test,” I said finally. “I don’t know by who yet. Or why. But none of this was coincidence.”

Torvek frowned. “How so?”

“Because it was tailored,” I replied. “To every single one of us.”

I looked at him first. “You’re untested. Ridiculously competent, but untested. This was your first real emergency where people were depending on you. Rukkin getting injured wasn’t random.”

His expression tightened slightly.

Then I looked at Ashlara. “Your strength was needed in Mudcross, sure. But that wasn’t the real test.” I leaned forward slightly. “Someone was testing your anger.”

Ashlara’s jaw flexed.

“Yeah, some villagers don’t trust me. Fair enough. But trying to blame me for the storm during the worst emergency of the year?” I shook my head. “People don’t usually waste time assigning blame while they’re actively trying not to drown.”

My eyes shifted toward Mirri. “Pinefall didn’t have landslides or collapsing homes. No dramatic disaster. Just an endless stream of sick and injured people.”

Realization slowly dawned on her face.

“You’re the healer,” I said softly. “So they put every possible healing crisis directly in your path.”

“You were tested too. Your authority.” I smiled faintly at Serah. “Which is ironic considering you’re literally a princess.”

Serah snorted quietly.

“But those people would’ve died if they’d evacuated,” I continued. “And somehow you had to convince frightened villagers not to sprint directly into a deathtrap.”

Finally I turned toward Elise. “You were overwhelmed on purpose.”

She blinked at me.

“You’re a planner,” I told her gently. “A thinker. You like structure. Precision. Time to analyze.” I gestured helplessly. “The floodwaters took all of that away from you. Too many problems. Too many people. Too little time. They were trying to overwhelm you.”

“They were successful,” she said quietly.

“No,” I replied immediately. I met her eyes, softening my voice. “No they weren’t. Nobody died. Even with Grams and Iolite helping, you kept Reedwatch together.” I smiled at her. “You made good decisions without time to think them through. That’s incredible.”

My gaze swept across the room. “You’re all incredible.”

“I don’t know what the hell is happening,” I admitted. “But whatever these tests were?” I shook my head slowly. “You passed them. Every single one of you.” I smiled faintly. “And I’m proud of all of you.”

Morien immediately shoved a cookie directly into Elise’s face and missed her mouth entirely.

“Have a cookie,” she offered, a little too late.

I laughed. “She’s right. You should all have a cookie. You earned it.”

* * *

“What’s the-”

I stopped dead in the doorway.

Inside the warding circles hovered a swirling sphere of magma roughly the size of a beach ball, suspended two feet above the stone floor. Thick, viscous globs occasionally sloughed free from the surface, only to be caught by some impossible, internal gravity and pulled into erratic orbit around the central mass. Slowly - inevitably - their spiraling paths narrowed until they merged with it again.

I’d seen Nyssira do strange things before.

I’d watched her wear the forms of dead gods. I’d seen her head swell to impossible size. I’d seen her vanish entirely from sight.

But this?

This was different. This looked unstable.

It took several long seconds for my brain to start functioning again. When it finally did, I forced the shock and worry down beneath something resembling composure.

“That’s a new look for you,” I said carefully. “Is it comfortable?”

I tried to keep my voice light. Casual. Like I wasn’t one bad day away from having a panic attack over whatever the hell was happening to her. To us.

The magma sphere abruptly dropped to the floor.

It splattered across the stone within the wards, molten rock hissing and spreading in every direction. What struck the invisible barrier flattened against it and slowly oozed downward like burning tar against glass.

Then the mass began to rise. Limbs formed first. Arms. Legs. A torso. A head. A humanoid figure of molten stone pulled itself together from the glowing sludge before rapidly cooling and hardening into Nyssira’s natural shape.

The constellation of her face watched me silently as I crossed the room, grabbed my chair, and dragged it in front of the warding circles.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I sat down.

She stared at me without moving.

“Any headaches?” I continued. “I’m not even going to ask about weird manifestations of Faith. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea how that’s going.”

A faint flash rippled through the stars of her face. The writing crawling across her parchment-like skin slowed briefly before resuming its restless motion.

“I’m also guessing emotional stability isn’t exactly fantastic right now,” I said. “What about pressure? Resistance? Does it feel like something’s… pushing back?”

Everything stopped. The stars froze. The writing halted. Then both resumed at once - sharper this time. Angrier.

The phrases on her skin grew longer. More vivid. More descriptive.

‘I hate you’ became ‘I will peel the skin from your face and feed it to rats.’

‘You will fail’ became ‘You will become the ruin of everyone you love and I will watch with glee as they destroy themselves for you.’

The words shifted and crawled endlessly across her body. Threats. Fears. Rage. Despair.

But one line repeated again and again and again, overlapping itself obsessively across her skin:

I AM STILL HERE.

The stars of her face collapsed inward until only a single violently pulsing point remained, bright enough it looked moments away from going supernova.

“I thought so,” I said quietly. “I feel it too.”

The silence stretched between us for a few moments.

Then I sighed. “I met Myrrakai,” I told her. “Goddess of arcane impulse. Have you met her?”

Nyssira only glared at me.

“Anyway,” I continued, “she said I’m ‘stacking.’ That I’ve gathered too many aspects. More than reality thinks I’m supposed to have.”

I rubbed tiredly at my eyes. “She said eventually reality’s going to try to simplify me. Strip away everything it thinks I’m not until only one thing remains.” I laughed bitterly. “Apparently existence prefers neat little categories.”

I looked up at her again. “I’m worried the same thing is happening to you.”

The words on her skin continued writhing furiously.

“I don’t know what you were like before all of this,” I admitted. “But I do know you’ve become more erratic recently. Your Faith is behaving strangely. And you’ve been dealing with this a hell of a lot longer than I have.”

I leaned forward slightly. “Yes, I’m worried about the world. If you simplify… what happens? Does all the Faith inside you explode back into reality? Do we get catastrophe after catastrophe?”

My gaze sharpened. “But I’m worried about you, too.”

The pulsing star of her face flickered.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. You specifically. Nyssira. The woman sitting in front of me right now.”

I exhaled heavily and leaned back in the chair. “I told you before that I care about your wellbeing. Not because it’s useful. Not because it helps rehabilitate you. Not because I’m trying to manipulate you into becoming a better person.”

I shook my head slowly. “I care because it’s the right thing to do. Because I genuinely care what happens to you.”

The writing on her skin continued to churn angrily beneath the wardlight.

“You don’t have to believe me,” I said softly. “Honestly, I know you probably won’t.” I looked at her for a long moment. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Another silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hiss of residual heat radiating from the stone floor.

Finally, I spoke again. “If something’s happening to you… please tell me.”

I met the furious little star that served as her gaze.

“We’ll figure it out together.” I paused. “Before it’s too late for both of us.”

* * *

The next afternoon - a full three days after I’d sent word - I finally received a response from Crowhurst.

He was busy and unavailable to help.

On one hand, this was Crowhurst. He was kind of an asshole. He didn’t particularly like me. And as a member of the wizard council in Morentis, he genuinely did have a mountain of responsibilities. It wasn’t unreasonable that he might be unavailable.

But with Amberleigh suddenly tied up as well, I was beginning to notice a very frustrating pattern.

So I stepped to Altunvek, capital of Iilvarion, and headed for Jackob’s house instead.

Jackob didn’t have attendants, assistants, guards, or any of the other nonsense important people tended to accumulate around themselves. If I wanted to talk to him, I’d have to simply show up unannounced like a normal person.

I knocked on the door.

A few moments later, Tark answered it. “Uncle Seth!” he shouted before immediately launching himself at me.

I caught him easily and scooped him into my arms. “Hey, Tark,” I laughed. “How’ve you been?”

“Good!” he declared proudly. Then he began squirming violently until I set him back down. The moment his feet hit the floor, he tore off into the house yelling, “Mama!”

I shook my head, chuckling softly to myself as I ducked through the small doorway and stepped inside.

The house smelled exactly as I remembered - warm wood and incense, comforting and faintly exotic. Carved furniture lined the walls - chairs, cabinets, and tables - all painted in vibrant reds, greens, and blues that somehow never felt gaudy in here. Children’s toys littered the floor in small chaotic clusters, worn smooth from use.

A moment later Nomin leaned out from the kitchen.

“Seth,” she greeted warmly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I crossed the room and wrapped her in a hug.

Her face immediately contorted.

“Ugh-” she gasped.

I pulled back instantly. “Everything alright?”

She waved a hand dismissively while cradling her swollen belly with the other. “She gets excited when you’re around,” she said with a tired smile. “Nothing more.”

I relaxed slightly and smiled back at her.

“Jackob’s not here,” she told me. “He’s away on business for a few days.”

I blinked. “Now? With you this close?”

She smiled softly. “He said it should only be another day or two and promised he’d be home before the baby comes.”

My stomach tightened. That didn’t sound like Jackob.

For all his storytelling, wandering, and constant schemes to provide for his family, the man adored his wife and children. Absolutely adored them. He would never willingly risk missing the birth of his daughter. And judging by the way Nomin carried herself, that baby could decide to arrive at basically any moment.

“Is everything alright, Seth?” she asked, noticing my expression immediately.

I forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m just worried about the timing. I know Jackob wouldn’t intentionally miss the birth.” I shrugged lightly. “I’m just worried about travel delays. Storm damage. Stuff like that.”

She smiled and rested a hand against my shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” she assured me gently. “He always is.”

I hugged her again, more carefully this time.

“Do you need anything while I’m here?” I asked. “I could bring Lilae over to help out for a few days if you want. She’s already assisted with two births.”

Nomin laughed softly. “There’s no need for that. I’ve done this once already. The midwife checks on me every day now, and Jackob will be home soon.”

She smiled with complete confidence. “There’s nothing to worry about.”