A few weeks passed.
Sonder spent most of them in the village.
The people were kind enough, but there was always a bit of distance. So most afternoons she ended up alone.
In the evenings, she returned to the tower, glancing up at the top floor where she knew Vell was resting, wondering if there was any change.
When at last the Yellow Mage called for her, her stomach tightened like a knot. She climbed the spiral stair, each step heavy.
At the top, he was waiting in what seemed like his workroom, the air sharp with the smell of blood.
He didn't let her stand. He gestured firmly to a stool, and she sat while he remained upright, wrapped in his yellow cloth, arms folded.
"He is not worse," the mage began, "but he is not better either. I have done everything within my skill. Yet he does not wake, nor does he grow stronger."
Sonder leaned forward. "Why? What's wrong with him?"
"It is something far beyond my grasp," he admitted. "Not a wound, not an illness. His body is healthy, but something gnaws at him from afar. Darkness. I cannot name it, only sense its pull. No shred of his mind or power can be spared for the waking world."
Her hands tightened on her knees. "Then what can we do?"
"Power," he said simply. "It must be met with power greater than what drags him down. Only then might he stand again. But such strength is rare… if it even exists within reach of us."
"What about the tears?" she asked quickly. "Can't they cure him?"
He shook his head. "They were never meant for that. They mend flesh, soothe pain, and delay death, and they have done so here. Without them he would already be gone. But to counter what grips him? They cannot. The most they can do is buy time. Months, perhaps years, if he endures as he always has. But never forever."
The words sat heavy on her chest. It wasn't the answer she wanted.
Her hand moved almost without thought, brushing against the pocket of her dress. The shard. She had carried it since the barrow, saying nothing.
Slowly, she drew it out and uncurled her fingers. The shard lay in her palm, sharp-edged, its surface black as obsidian.
"What about this?" she asked quietly.
The room stilled, and even in the lantern light, it seemed to grow darker.
The glow behind the mage's face wraps fixed on it at once until they become two narrow points. Something shifted in him. He stepped closer, hesitant at first, then with growing urgency, like a starving man drawn toward a meal.
He reached out his hand and demanded in a hoarse voice, "Give that to me."
Sonder froze for a moment and then curled her fingers shut around the shard, pulling it back to her chest.
His hand twitched toward her, then stopped. A faint hum seemed to radiate from the shard, and for a heartbeat the air between them felt crowded and tense, like two predators watching the same prey.
Then the mage drew back a step. His shoulders loosened, and the glow in his wrappings dimmed as he exhaled. "Forgive me. That was… unbecoming. I don't know what came over me."
He steadied himself, but his gaze flicked once more to her closed fist before tearing away. "That piece holds a power I don't recognize. Dark, yes, but not feeble. There is strength in it. Dangerous strength. If there are more of them, and if they are joined together…"
He rubbed his gloved fingers along his sleeve, lost in thought. "Then perhaps. Perhaps the whole would be enough to match what claims a hold on Vellichor."
Sonder looked at him. "Do you know what it is?"
"No," he admitted. "Given how I behaved merely looking at it, I would never think of trying to search for the other pieces. And yet… it may be the only path left to you. If you can find the rest, if you can restore it, you may have a chance. For you, it may be better than waiting while he fades."