Morning came wrong.

  Not in the sky—dawn still broke pale and cold across the road, and the wind still combed through the grass with its usual indifferent whisper—but in Sei’s body.

  He woke with his pulse already too high, like he’d been running in his sleep. His joints ached with the faint, persistent soreness of resistance. Not fatigue. Not injury.

  Friction.

  As if something inside him had been pulling one way all night while he held it in the other.

  He sat up slowly, blinking grit from his eyes, and immediately tasted metal.

  Not blood yet.

  Just the warning of it.

  Eva was already awake. She watched him from across the fire’s dying embers, expression careful. Brannic knelt by the coals, stirring them back to life with a quiet efficiency that suggested he hadn’t truly slept.

  Rhen sat at the edge of the firelight as usual, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the dark line of trees beyond the road.

  He looked over before Sei could look away.

  “You’re pulling against it,” Rhen said, voice low.

  Sei’s throat tightened. “Against what?”

  Rhen’s eyes flicked—briefly—to Sei’s hands. “Whatever you keep pretending isn’t there.”

  Sei flexed his fingers once, slowly.

  The power inside him did not flare. It did not soothe.

  It simply watched.

  Rhen’s mouth twitched. Not quite amusement. Not quite pity.

  “That usually hurts,” he added.

  Sei swallowed hard and stood.

  They moved out by midmorning.

  The terrain changed as the day stretched on. The open grasslands gave way to scattered trees and shallow ravines, the road narrowing where heavy carts had chewed ruts into the earth. Signs of life appeared more frequently—broken branches, wagon tracks, the occasional distant smoke plume.

  Then, near midday, they crested a low rise and saw it.

  A trade hamlet.

  Not a town. Not a fortified post.

  Just clustered buildings of stone and timber near a crossroads, with a few wagons parked awkwardly and too many people gathered in the open for it to be normal.

  Something had happened.

  Sei felt Eva’s posture tighten before she said anything.

  Brannic’s gaze sharpened. “That’s a lot of armed locals for a marketplace.”

  Rhen’s nostrils flared slightly. “Fear.”

  As they approached, the crowd’s movement changed. Not fleeing—no, not yet.

  Turning.

  Watching.

  The first whisper reached Sei like a thrown stone.

  “That’s him.”

  Another, sharper:

  “Green blade.”

  “Dominion-touched.”

  Sei’s jaw clenched.

  A man stepped forward from the edge of the crowd, holding a spear that looked more like a farming tool than a weapon. His eyes flicked between Eva and Brannic, then fixed on Sei.

  “You,” the man said. His voice carried. Others quieted to listen.

  Sei stopped a few paces away. “Me.”

  The man’s lips curled. “They said you were traveling with Toradol’s people. They said you’re some kind of miracle.”

  A woman behind him hissed, “Or a curse.”

  Sei took a slow breath. “I’m just passing through.”

  The man tightened his grip on the spear. “We’ve had enough ‘passing through.’ Enough strangers with power, enough rumors, enough—”

  His voice broke, not with emotion but with strain.

  “Enough bodies,” someone shouted from deeper in the crowd.

  Sei felt the air shift. Not magic.

  Tension.

  Eva stepped forward, voice calm but steel-backed. “We don’t want trouble. We’re not here to take anything.”

  The man’s gaze snapped to her.

  Recognition.

  “Captain Brimholde,” he said, almost spitting the words. “Of course.”

  Eva’s expression didn’t change. But Sei saw her eyes flicker—sharp, assessing.

  “They said you’d come back with a monster,” the man continued.

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  Sei’s stomach tightened.

  He knew who the “monster” was supposed to be.

  He felt Rhen’s presence at the edge of the group like a cliff face.

  Someone in the crowd pointed past Eva—past Brannic.

  At Sei.

  “No,” a voice snapped. “Not her. Him.”

  Sei’s pulse quickened.

  The warmth in his palm flickered faintly.

  Not green.

  Not yet.

  A woman pushed through the crowd, face wet with sweat and dirt. “If you’re the healer,” she said, breathless, “prove it.”

  Her eyes were wild. “My boy—”

  A shout cut her off.

  From the far side of the hamlet, a scream rose, high and raw. People turned.

  Another scream followed, then a chorus of panicked voices.

  “Move!”

  “Get help!”

  “Gods—he’s not breathing!”

  Sei didn’t think.

  He ran.

  Eva moved with him instantly. Brannic followed. Behind them, heavier footsteps pounded the ground.

  Rhen.

  They pushed through bodies and found the source.

  A half-collapsed storage shed near the edge of the hamlet. Timber beams lay splintered across the ground. A cart had overturned nearby, its wheels snapped, sacks of grain spilling like entrails.

  And beneath a broken beam—

  A child.

  Small. Maybe eight. Face pale beneath dirt, lips tinged wrong. A woman—his mother—knelt beside him, hands shaking as she tried to lift the beam with bare strength.

  “It fell,” she sobbed. “It just—he was inside—please—”

  Sei dropped to his knees.

  His training snapped into place like muscle memory.

  Airway. Breathing. Circulation.

  The boy’s chest barely moved. Blood bubbled faintly at his lips with each shallow breath.

  Crush injury. Internal bleeding.

  Sei felt the world narrow.

  He pressed his fingers to the boy’s neck.

  A pulse.

  Weak. Thready.

  “Eva,” Sei said sharply. “Lift the beam—slowly. Don’t jerk it.”

  Eva nodded once and moved, bracing herself, strength and technique combined. Brannic joined her, and together they raised the beam just enough for Sei to slide closer.

  The mother’s sobs turned into frantic words. “Is he—? Is he—?”

  “He’s alive,” Sei said, voice steady. “Barely.”

  The crowd gathered at the edge, forming a ring of faces and fear.

  Someone whispered, “Do it.”

  Someone else whispered back, “Don’t let him touch him.”

  Sei’s teeth clenched.

  He looked down at the boy. This wasn’t the summit. This wasn’t Severin. This wasn’t politics.

  This was a child dying.

  Sei placed his hands over the boy’s chest—careful, gentle.

  He closed his eyes.

  Breathed.

  He summoned the warmth the way he had with Rhen.

  Soft. Pale. Controlled.

  Light gathered faintly beneath his palms, barely visible in daylight. It seeped slowly, searching for damage, urging tissue to obey.

  The boy’s breath hitched.

  Then slowed.

  Too slow.

  His pulse faltered.

  Sei’s eyes snapped open.

  Not enough.

  He felt it instantly—the limitation of restraint.

  He could keep it subtle and watch the boy slip away.

  Or he could act.

  A voice in the crowd rose sharp, accusing. “He’s not doing anything!”

  Another voice, cracked with grief and rage: “You’re letting him die!”

  Sei’s stomach twisted.

  He pushed harder.

  The warmth brightened slightly, still restrained, still controlled—but the boy’s body was failing faster than Sei’s control could keep up with.

  The power inside Sei surged, impatient.

  More.

  He felt it pressing against his ribs, climbing toward his throat.

  His hands trembled.

  The metallic taste in his mouth sharpened—

  Blood filled his mouth suddenly. He coughed, and red splattered the dirt beside the boy’s head.

  Gasps erupted.

  “See?” someone hissed. “He’s cursed—”

  Sei swallowed hard, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. His vision blurred for a heartbeat.

  The boy’s pulse slipped again.

  Sei’s breath caught.

  No.

  Not like this.

  Not because he was afraid of being seen.

  He leaned closer, voice low, almost pleading—not to the crowd.

  To himself.

  “Hold on,” he whispered.

  He pushed.

  Not the Scalpel.

  Not the green.

  But stronger—like opening a valve wider than he had dared.

  Light flared beneath his palms, brighter now, still pale, still healing-centered—but undeniable.

  The boy’s chest rose sharply.

  He sucked in a ragged breath, coughing wetly.

  Color returned in a slow wash, like dawn creeping back over a horizon.

  The mother’s sob turned into a broken laugh. She clutched her son’s hair and whispered his name over and over.

  Sei stayed there, hands still, until the boy’s breathing steadied.

  Then he pulled back—

  And the world tilted.

  Pain lanced behind his eyes, sharp and nauseating. His nose began to bleed, warm and steady down his upper lip.

  He pressed two fingers under his nostrils, breathing through his mouth.

  Not collapsing.

  Not yet.

  But the strain was clear.

  The crowd didn’t cheer.

  They didn’t relax.

  They fractured.

  Some faces softened with relief, gratitude trembling behind fear.

  Others hardened.

  The man with the spear stared at Sei as if seeing him more clearly—and liking what he saw less.

  “That wasn’t natural,” someone whispered.

  “It saved him,” someone else said back, voice fierce.

  “Saved him how?”

  Sei rose slowly, swaying slightly before Eva’s hand steadied his elbow.

  Her voice was low. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m fine,” Sei lied.

  Rhen stood at the edge of the circle, looming like a wall. His gaze swept the crowd—predatory, warning. He didn’t speak.

  He didn’t need to.

  The same man with the spear stepped forward again, eyes darting once to Rhen and then back to Sei.

  “You did it,” he said. “You saved him.”

  There was no gratitude in his tone.

  Only calculation.

  “And now,” he continued, “we’re supposed to trust you?”

  Sei wiped his nose again, blood smearing his hand. His breathing came shallow, controlled by sheer will.

  “You don’t have to trust me,” Sei said quietly. “You just have to stop getting in the way.”

  The words slipped out harsher than he intended.

  A murmur rose—anger, agreement, fear, admiration, all tangled together.

  Eva’s gaze sharpened. “We need to move.”

  Brannic nodded once. “Before someone decides this ends differently.”

  They backed away carefully, leaving the mother clutching her son, leaving the crowd in pieces behind them.

  Sei felt eyes on his back as they departed—some warm, some cold.

  All watching.

  They made camp farther down the road than usual that night.

  No fire at first. No conversation.

  Only the sound of wind and horses shifting uneasily.

  Sei sat with his back against a tree, hands trembling faintly as the aftereffects caught up to him. The nosebleed had stopped, but the headache remained—heavy, pulsing behind his eyes like a second heartbeat.

  Eva sat nearby, sharpening her blade in slow strokes that didn’t need sharpening.

  Brannic wrote something by dim lantern light—notes, likely, for the council.

  Rhen remained at the edge of their small circle, eyes fixed outward, listening to the world.

  After a long silence, Rhen spoke without turning.

  “You tried to do it small,” he said.

  Sei swallowed. “Yes.”

  “And it wasn’t enough.”

  Sei didn’t answer.

  Rhen’s voice was low, almost thoughtful. “That’s the price of pretending the world cares about your comfort.”

  Eva’s sharpening stopped.

  Sei’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t thinking about comfort.”

  Rhen glanced over, eyes hard. “You were thinking about consequences.”

  Sei’s throat tightened. “There’s a difference.”

  Rhen’s expression didn’t soften. “Not to the boy.”

  The words hit like a blunt instrument.

  Sei looked down at his bloodstained sleeve.

  Rhen turned away again, gaze returning to the darkness. “You saved him,” he added, quieter. “Don’t forget that.”

  Sei exhaled slowly.

  He didn’t know if that was approval.

  Or warning.

  Later, when the camp finally fell silent and the lantern dimmed, Sei lay awake staring at the canopy above.

  The power inside him rested beneath his skin—quiet again, but altered.

  Not satisfied.

  Not angry.

  Aware.

  He understood something now, with a clarity he didn’t want:

  If he held back, people died.

  If he acted, the world reacted.

  There was no version of this where he remained untouched.

  Near the road’s edge, half-buried in dirt where their horses had shifted, Sei noticed something before sleep finally claimed him.

  A small, deliberate mark burned into a piece of wood—fresh, blackened, shaped like a crude symbol.

  Not Toradol.

  Not any neutral seal.

  A mark he did not recognize.

  But the intent behind it was unmistakable.

  A message left for someone watching.

  Sei’s stomach tightened.

  The road wasn’t just carrying them home.

  It was broadcasting them.

  And somewhere in the dark beyond the firelight, something listened—patiently, hungrily—to the sound of restraint finally beginning to crack.