The Shattered Crowns

Winter recovered slightly the next day. The massive use of Atta, combined with the sanguine flower paste, had left her strength completely sapped. Yet, by morning, her body was able to move freely again, and the group prepared for their departure.

Each of their faces was hidden behind rebreathers as they stood on the forest floor. The thick air smelled of earth and damp wood, but the devices filtered it, puffing out faint streams of vapor.

Mirak and Daenys lingered, their gazes fixed on their home, now fading into the distance.

"I will miss this," Daenys murmured, her voice carrying the melancholy weight of finality.

"Yeah, me too," Mirak said, his tone tinged with a thin reed of regret.

The two lingered in soft conversation while Akash absently touched the edge of his Impresa mark. The sigil burned faintly under his fingertips, a constant, irritating reminder of its presence. Mirak had his path: he would become a Sorcerer. Daenys would forge her own way, discovering her place in the world. As for Akash, he would become a Blademaster. That was his calling, his purpose. And one day, he would stand atop the mounds of Kalla, where his mother's spirit could drift among the stars. She would swim along the chained coils of life to guide him when the time came.

He sucked in a deep breath, scratching the nape of Elys' neck. The massive feline creature purred softly in response, its emerald eyes glowing faintly beneath the canopy's filtered light. "The first step, Elys," he muttered.

Winter had already begun stalking through the forest, her movements fluid and purposeful. From an outsider's perspective, her confidence in such an untamed place might have seemed unnatural. The forest's chaotic maze of towering trees and creeping undergrowth had swallowed countless wanderers whole.

How she had made it to the village in the first place was still a marvel to Akash. Then again, the Atta she summoned to destroy the karnen spoke volumes of her skill. That alone was likely the only reason she'd survived the journey. A forest predator like Mikar would have devoured her if she'd been ordinary.

Shaking off the thought, Akash threw his arms around Mirak and Daenys, pulling them into a tight grip. "We're finally setting out to take the world by storm!" he declared, grinning wide enough to force a snort out of Daenys.

She slugged his arm, her lips quirking into a wry smile. "If we don't start moving soon, I may change my mind and crawl back into my nice, warm bed."

Mirak, still caught in the haze of farewell, said dreamily, "Maybe we'll get to see the Hanging Gardens…"

Daenys scoffed, but before she could respond, Winter's voice drifted back through the trees. "A myth spun by orcs and dwarves. The Hanging Gardens have been lost for centuries." She pushed forward, parting the dense foliage with her staff as she led the way.

Akash inhaled deeply, savoring the rich, earthy freshness of the forest air. His mask hissed as it expelled steam with each exhalation. "We should get moving before night falls," he said, his tone firm now. "Mikar will be roaming by then."

The group fell into agreement, and together, they set out into the unknown.

The path they took was untamed, its uneven trails seldom traveled by villagers. Their rebreathers puffed gentle streams of vapor into the cool, shaded air as they pressed forward. The day passed quietly, uneventfully, though tension still clung to them, a shadow of the dangers they'd faced.

By the time they reached their first resting place, the sunlight streaming through the canopy had begun to dim, golden beams fading to softer hues of orange and red.

"We'll need to make a fire," Winter said, breaking the silence. "My vision is starting to fail."

"I'll gather the firewood," Akash volunteered, glancing at Elys. "She and I will make quick work of it."

Daenys gave him a playful jab with her elbow, then added, "I'll scavenge for berries. Someone's got to make sure we don't starve."

With their tasks set, Akash and Daenys slipped into the underbrush, leaving Winter and Mirak behind.

Winter sighed quietly, leaning against a nearby tree. She watched Mirak as he fidgeted nervously, fiddling with the edge of his cloak.

"Sit and watch, Mirak. This will be your first lesson," she instructed.

Mirak hesitated. "But… we haven't—"

"Watch," Winter snapped, holding up a finger to silence him.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep, steadying breath. The closer they came to the mainland of Lorian, the more saturated the air became with Atta. It prickled at her skin, dancing in faint waves that coiled around her like an unseen current.

The flow came in torrents. It rushed like a river threatening to drag her under, an overwhelming, ceaseless tide that surged and swirled. But Winter was no novice. She had been a Voda—a master of Harmony—for years. This unruly energy, though potent, would not consume her.

Her breaths remained calm and even, a steady rhythm against the chaotic pull of the Atta. It anchored her in place, rooting her against the flow's insistent drag. Slowly, she exerted her will, bending the Atta around her to her control.

Minutes passed in silence before her eyes fluttered open. Where before there had been nothing but empty air, she now saw it: thick, wave-like lines of Atta curling around the trees, unbothered and serene.

Threads of Atta spiraled lazily around Mirak, brushing against him but never penetrating his being. Living things could not absorb Atta directly. It grated against them like a stubborn tide against stone.

If only everyone could see this, Winter mused. If every being in Lorian understood the flow of Atta, the fear and superstition surrounding Sorcerers might finally dissipate. Those who persecuted Sorcerers, those who twisted Atta into something mystical and unknowable, would have no ground to stand on. It was all simple—laws of nature, nothing more.

A vortex placed against one of these trees would be enough to shred it to pieces. The flow of Atta, so gentle now, could become devastating with the right manipulation.

Winter dropped the Atta surrounding her eyes with a wave of her hand. Leaning back, she let her head rest against the bark of the tree. A few shallow breaths helped calm her as dark memories tried to creep in.

The karnen. The battle. The squelching blood and the sickening crunch of carapace underfoot.

Winter forced the thoughts aside. The karnen were gone. What mattered now was teaching her Sergt.

"Ask your questions, and ask them quickly," she said, breaking the silence.

Mirak, startled, blushed faintly and fumbled with the stack of books he'd brought.

"What does using Atta… feel like?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

Winter's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "First," she began, "you must understand that 'using' Atta is not the proper term. What we do is called Harmony. If you wish to become a Sorcerer, you must learn this term—and what it truly means."