The mission was supposed to be routine.
A run through the jagged eastern ridge, escorting a merchant cart from one small town to another. Dangerous terrain, yes, but low-risk for a team of mixed experience. At least, that was how it had been described at the Guild desk.
By the second day, Kael was already regretting agreeing to this group.
---
The Sub Focus this time was Mirek, a mage older than Kael by at least a decade. Broad shouldered, long-limbed, with ink stains on his fingers that never seemed to wash off.
Mirek had been watching Kael since the moment they met, his gaze sharp and searching in a way that reminded Kael too much of the scholars from the larger guild halls.
"You recite your spells differently," Mirek had said on the very first day.
Kael hadn't answered, just adjusted the strap of their pack and kept walking.
---
Their team for the job was six strong. A balanced formation—two melee, two archers, and two mages. Kael preferred these rotations: predictable, with clear roles. It made it easier to control outcomes.
But Mirek was proving to be a problem.
Not because of how he cast, but because of how he stared every time Kael's lips moved.
---
The ridge was as treacherous as promised. Narrow trails, sharp drops, and the constant whisper of rockfall from above. Every night, Kael found a quiet place away from the group to write, to work through lines of rhyme and rhythm.
Every night, when they returned to the fire, Mirek's eyes tracked them.
By the fifth night, Kael had grown tired of it.
"You'll hurt your eyes if you keep staring," they said quietly as they sat at the edge of the firelight.
"I've been around a long time," Mirek said, unashamed. "I've seen a lot of people cast spells. None of them sound like you."
---
The question was in his voice, unspoken. Kael shrugged. "Then you've been listening wrong."
That shut Mirek up for the moment, but Kael knew it wasn't the end.
---
The next morning, everything went wrong.
The path narrowed to a single line of footing, cliffs rising on one side and falling away on the other. The merchant's cart groaned as the wheels hugged the stones, and the air was heavy with the smell of dry pine.
Kael's senses prickled before they saw it—a faint shimmer in the air, just far enough ahead that it looked like heat.
---
"Stop the cart," they called.
The driver, a stocky man with sun-creased hands, blinked. "What for?"
"Trap," Kael said.
And then the ridgeline erupted.
---
A half-dozen figures burst from the rocks above, ropes snapping tight as they slid down the cliff face. Bandits. Their blades flashed in the early light as they dropped into the caravan's path.
The rest of the team moved instantly. Archers nocked, fighters stepped forward. Kael's staff was already spinning, the words coming low and fast.
---
> "Wind, hold me steady.
Guard the stones from breaking free.
Clear the path for me."
The barrier snapped into being, deflecting the first volley of arrows.
But it was only the beginning.
---
The bandits weren't the only danger. Behind them came a roar—not human, not anything close. Something large shifted in the treeline above.
Kael's eyes flicked up. That wasn't part of the plan.
The trees shook, and out came something that made even the bandits falter—a beast with scales like cracked iron, its body coiled and sinuous like a serpent but with legs that dug into the earth. Its eyes burned red.
---
"Mirek!" Kael shouted.
"I see it!" Mirek's hands were already weaving fire.
But Kael's focus locked tight. The bandits had come here for an ambush. Whatever that beast was, it hadn't been part of their plan.
Which meant they were all in trouble now.
---
The first sweep of its tail knocked three bandits clean off the ledge, their screams trailing into the abyss.
Kael didn't hesitate. They dove into their mana core, feeling the pulse of the rhyme they'd practiced for months now.
> "Fire meet the wind.
Rage with me, and do not end.
Strike, my furious friend."
The words slammed into the world like a thrown spear. The spell that answered wasn't a simple fireball—it was a column, a twisting pillar of flame pulled upward by wind.
It wrapped around the beast's side, forcing it back from the path.
For an instant, the thing's red eyes locked on Kael, fury bright enough to sear. Then it lunged.
---
Mirek was suddenly beside them, chanting in the harsh, mechanical cadence that most mages used. Fire poured from his palms, clashing with the monster's advance.
"Push with me!" he shouted.
Kael matched his rhythm, but their words were their own, smoother, sharper.
The fire doubled. Mirek blinked at them, caught off guard even as they fought side by side.
---
The combined blast drove the creature back far enough for the fighters to rally and strike its exposed legs. The serpent-beast howled, twisting away from the cliff, then crashed into the trees in retreat.
For a long time after, the only sound was heavy breathing and the groan of the wagon wheels.
---
When the group finally moved forward again, Mirek stayed close to Kael.
"You were holding back," he said quietly. "And you speak the language like you understand it."
Kael didn't deny it. They just looked forward and said, "Then maybe stop staring and start listening."
Mirek laughed, a short, startled sound.
---
The ridge felt emptier after the beast retreated, but nobody in the party mistook the silence for safety. The trail ahead stretched like a thin thread pinned against the mountainside, every gust of wind threatening to shove the wagons off.
Mirek fell into step beside Kael, hands clasped behind his back, as if he hadn't just emptied half his core of mana.
"You could have burned it alone," he said finally.
Kael's grip on their staff tightened. "No. I could have stalled it. Killing it would've taken more than I had."
"Not from what I saw."
---
Kael glanced at him. "Why are you so interested?"
"Because I've studied spellcraft my whole life," Mirek said. "And you speak the language like someone who knows what every word means."
Kael said nothing. Ahead of them, the wagon driver muttered to the horses. The path dipped and tilted; every wheel-turn creaked like a warning.
Mirek pressed on. "I've been around hundreds of casters, Kael. They chant. They recite. You… talk to it."
---
Kael exhaled through their nose. "Does it matter?"
"It will," Mirek said. "Someone who can shape spells instead of just repeating them? That doesn't stay quiet."
---
By the time they made camp that evening, the air was sharp with cold. They set up on a ledge barely wide enough for three tents, the cliff wall looming to one side and the drop on the other. The fire was small, the flames fighting the wind.
Kael sat at the far edge of the firelight, writing in their notebook as usual. They could feel Mirek watching them again. This time, they didn't wait for the question.
"What is it you want from me?" Kael asked, keeping their eyes on the page.
---
"To understand," Mirek said honestly. "I've been studying the language of the gods for most of my life. I know its grammar, its sounds, its history—at least, what's been pieced together. But when I cast, it's just… sound. I'm borrowing words without knowing why they work. You speak like you know."
Kael paused, pen still. "And if I do?"
"Then I'd like to learn."
---
For the first time in months, Kael lifted their gaze and really looked at Mirek. There was no mockery there. No greed. Just the kind of obsession that scholars carried like a second heart.
Kael shook their head. "Knowing isn't safe."
"I didn't ask if it was safe," Mirek said.
---
The fire snapped, sparks darting up into the night. Kael closed their notebook and set it aside, resting their hands on their knees.
"Do you think it matters how a spell is spoken?" they asked.
"Of course," Mirek said instantly. "Sound is structure. It guides the flow."
"No," Kael said quietly. "Sound is just the surface. What matters is meaning."
---
They didn't elaborate. They stood, brushed the dust from their trousers, and moved to the edge of the ledge where the wind was coldest. For a moment, they stared into the darkness where the beast had fled hours earlier. Then they sat, back against the rock, and pulled their blanket around their shoulders.
Mirek didn't follow, but he didn't stop staring, either.
---
The next day, the ridge tested them again. Loose rocks, sudden drops, and narrow turns that forced the wagoners to hold their breath.
And always, in the back of Kael's mind, the sense that something was still watching them.
They kept their spells ready, the haikus already coiled on their tongue, ready to snap loose.
---
By midafternoon, the trail opened into a small plateau, a flat stretch of stone just wide enough for the caravan to rest. They decided to stop for a short break, to let the horses drink and to scout ahead before the descent.
Kael moved to the edge, scanning the valleys below. From here, they could see for miles—forest, broken hills, the gleam of rivers catching sunlight like thin silver blades.
Mirek joined them, arms folded.
"You've done this before," he said.
Kael arched an eyebrow. "Escorts?"
"No. Carrying secrets like they're another weapon."
---
Kael's gaze stayed on the horizon. "Everyone carries something."
"True. But not everyone knows what they're carrying."
---
That night, long after the party had settled, Kael pulled their notebook out again. The fight from the day before lingered in their mind. That moment when their words and Mirek's flames had merged, doubling their strength. It had been raw, unplanned—but it had worked.
And it left them thinking: What else could be shaped by meaning alone?
---
They wrote:
Shared casting amplifies.
Words align when purpose aligns.
Two can hold more than one alone.
---
When the morning came, the path finally sloped down into safer terrain. They left the ridge behind without seeing the beast again.
But Kael kept glancing over their shoulder. That fight wasn't finished. Not really.
---
As the road widened and the danger eased, Mirek finally said, "You know, Kael… next time you decide to break the rules, maybe don't do it where half the party can see."
"Next time," Kael said, "I'll try."
But even as they said it, they knew they wouldn't. Not if someone's life depended on it.
---
The last two days of the mission felt longer than the first five. Once the ridge fell away, the landscape opened to rolling, dry grasslands dotted with stunted pines. Safer, yes—but the party stayed on edge. They all remembered the beast.
Kael's eyes kept scanning the horizon. That red-eyed thing had retreated, not died. It had chosen to leave. They didn't know if that was better or worse.
---
Mirek walked beside them through most of the final stretch.
"You ever think about what this is all for?" Mirek asked suddenly.
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Which part? Escorting merchants? Fighting monsters? Or the guild work in general?"
"All of it," Mirek said. "We throw ourselves into the wilds for coin, but there's more to it for most of us. You don't fight like someone who just wants coin."
Kael stayed silent for a moment before saying, "I fight to make sure I get where I need to go."
---
"And where's that?" Mirek pressed.
Kael shook their head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Mirek smiled faintly. "Try me."
---
The conversation ended there, not with an answer, but with the kind of silence that comes from someone who doesn't intend to explain themself any further. Mirek let it drop.
For now.
---
By the time the roofs of the destination town appeared on the horizon, the merchants were nearly cheering with relief. The caravan picked up speed, rolling into the dusty streets with the creak of worn axles and the clop of tired horses.
The Guild annex here was barely more than a long hall with a ledger desk and a locked supply room. But it was enough. The moment the wheels stopped, the merchants unloaded, signed the paperwork, and handed over the sealed letter of completion.
---
While the others dealt with their pay, Kael walked outside and stood under the awning, letting the evening breeze cool the sweat on their neck.
It was then that Mirek joined them, leaning against one of the wooden beams.
"You're going to go far," Mirek said after a long pause.
Kael glanced at him. "You sound sure of that."
"I am," Mirek said. "Not because you're strong. Because you're different."
---
Kael tilted their head. "Different makes you a target."
"It also makes you necessary," Mirek said simply. Then he straightened, pulling a folded scrap of parchment from inside his robe. "Here."
Kael hesitated before taking it. It wasn't a contract, just an address, scrawled in neat, blocky handwriting.
---
"What's this?" Kael asked.
"My workshop," Mirek said. "If you ever want a place to practice without someone breathing down your neck, come find me. I've been researching the language of the gods for years. I don't need your secrets. I just want to be around when you rewrite the rules."
---
Kael looked at the paper for a long moment, then slipped it into their pocket. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Maybe not," Mirek admitted. "But I'm offering, anyway."
---
That evening, after their wages were tallied and distributed, the team disbanded. Some went to the taverns, others to the inn. Kael, as usual, chose the quietest route: a rented cot in a small boarding house on the edge of town.
They sat by the window in the fading light, notebook balanced on their knees. Outside, children were chasing each other down the dirt street, shouting and laughing.
They began to write:
**Trust no one.
Learn from everyone.
Decide who can stand beside you when it matters.**
---
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of cooking fires. Kael set down the notebook and stared out into the night.
Mirek had been different from the others. Not safe, not entirely—but not a threat, either. Maybe, Kael thought, it was good to know there were people who didn't want to own knowledge. Just witness it.
---
When they closed their eyes that night, the memory of the beast's red eyes came back to them. So did the memory of two streams of fire, theirs and Mirek's, merging into one.
It had been dangerous. Uncontrolled.
But it had worked.
---
The next morning, before leaving the town, Kael stopped outside the annex. The streets were still empty, the air cold enough to turn their breath to mist. They pulled out their notebook, flipped to the page where they'd written Mirek's offer, and traced the letters with one finger.
They didn't know if they'd ever use it. But they didn't throw it away.
---
By the time they headed out again, the sun was rising, gilding the town in pale gold. Another road. Another party. Another test.
---
Six months had passed since their last birthday. In that time, they had learned something important:
Even when people started to notice, even when the world seemed to tighten its grip, there was still room to choose where to walk—and who to walk beside.