The next morning came with a sharp chill in the air, the kind that seeped into Vaelen's bones before he was even fully awake. The sky stretched wide and pale above him, the endless plains glowing gold in the early light. He stirred slowly, every muscle stiff from sleeping on the hard ground. His stomach growled with a hollow ache that felt worse than the bruises still clinging to his body.
The woman was already awake. She sat on a flat rock near their camp, cloak drawn close, her posture straight and unmoving. For a time, Vaelen wondered if she had slept at all.
"You'll need food today," she said at last, her voice even, calm. "Water alone won't carry you far."
"I know," Vaelen muttered, his throat rough. "But I don't… know how to get it."
Her gaze lingered on him only for a heartbeat before drifting back toward the horizon. "That's a problem you'll have to solve. Not every trial is about the Current. Sometimes, survival is just survival."
The words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. He hated that he had nothing, not even the basic skills to keep himself alive. Still, he pushed himself to his feet, refusing to let her see how weak he felt.
The grass whispered around him as he wandered further from their camp. The sun climbed higher, bringing with it an oppressive heat. Sweat clung to his brow, insects buzzed constantly in his ears, and every step through the tall grass felt like wading through a living ocean.
He searched desperately for anything—roots, berries, anything edible. Hours passed in a haze of hunger and frustration. He dug at the earth with his bare hands until his nails ached, unearthing a few stunted roots that were bitter to the taste but chewable.
At one point, he thought he saw movement in the grass ahead. Heart pounding, he crouched low, inching closer. A hare darted out, its fur flashing in the sunlight. Vaelen lunged clumsily, arms outstretched. His body hit the ground hard, grass and dust filling his mouth, the hare long gone before his hands even touched empty air.
"Damn it!" he spat, pounding the dirt with his fist.
The fractured Current stirred within him, restless and mocking. He could feel it shivering beneath his skin, eager, almost hungry.
'If only I could use it,' he thought, closing his eyes. 'One spark, one push—just enough to catch something. But every time I try, it feels like fire chewing through my veins.'
Later, he caught sight of a quail picking through the grass. He slowed his breathing, crept closer, then lunged again. The bird burst upward in a flurry of feathers, wings beating against his face as it escaped into the open sky. Vaelen fell back into the grass, chest heaving.
'Useless,' he thought bitterly. 'Even a starving bird is faster than me.'
By the time he trudged back to camp, he carried only the ugly roots he'd managed to dig up. The woman glanced at him, her face unreadable.
"You didn't give up," she said, nodding at the dirt-streaked roots. "That matters more than the taste."
Vaelen didn't answer. He chewed one of the roots slowly, the bitter flavor making his stomach lurch, but the ache dulled. Barely.
The sun was already lowering by the time his strength returned enough to sit upright. He leaned against the tree they had camped beneath, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.
"Tell me," the woman said suddenly, breaking the silence. "What do you remember of your life before this?"
The question hit like a blade to the ribs. He swallowed hard, hating the emptiness it pulled up. "Nothing," he said finally, voice edged with bitterness. "It's all broken. Empty."
Her eyes softened, though her tone stayed steady. "Then perhaps that is why your Current resists you. The flow is tied to self. If the self is shattered, the Current cannot settle."
Vaelen clenched his jaw. "So I'm broken. That's it?"
"No," she said firmly. "You are incomplete. There's a difference."
The word lodged itself in his chest like a stone. Incomplete. Not whole, but not hopeless either.
As night fell, Vaelen lay awake beneath the stars. The fractured Current pulsed faintly, in rhythm with his heartbeat. It wasn't violent tonight, not like before. More like a presence—restless, patient, waiting.
'Incomplete,' he echoed in his head. 'If I find the missing pieces… will this stop? Will I stop being afraid of myself?'
A distant sound broke his thoughts—the faint thud of hooves across the plains. Vaelen froze, sitting upright. In the distance, torches bobbed like fiery stars against the dark. A small group of riders cut across the horizon, moving in formation.
"Who are they?" he whispered.
The woman stood beside him, her gaze sharp. "Plainswatch patrol. They serve the Lysaran crown. To them, you'd be nothing more than a danger… or a tool."
Fear tightened his chest. "So I'm supposed to hide forever?"
"For now," she said. "You're not ready to be seen."
The riders drew closer. Vaelen's breath quickened. He crouched low, every muscle tense as if the very grass around him could betray his presence. The patrol's torches flared brighter, their shadows long against the ground.
One rider pulled on his reins, slowing. His torch lifted, light spilling across the plains. For a breathless moment, Vaelen swore the man's eyes swept over their camp. His chest burned from holding his breath. The fractured Current stirred sharply, almost flaring on its own, as if ready to lash out.
'Not now,' Vaelen begged it silently. 'Not now!'
Then, just as suddenly, the rider turned away. The patrol pushed on, their hooves fading into the distance until silence reclaimed the plains.
Vaelen exhaled shakily, only then realizing his hands were trembling.
The woman pulled her cloak tighter. "Sleep, Vaelen. Tomorrow, we walk farther. The plains won't keep you safe forever. And neither will I."
Her words lingered long after she turned away.
"You're leaving?" he asked quietly.
"Not yet," she replied, her back to him. "But soon."
The fractured Current stirred again, uneasy, as if it too had heard her words. For the first time, Vaelen realized how fragile his safety truly was. He curled beneath the tree, clutching his knees, the bitter roots lying half-eaten beside him. His stomach still ached, but the emptiness in his chest was worse.
'I don't want to be incomplete forever,' he thought, eyes closing against the night. 'I don't want to be no one.'
Above him, the stars shimmered, silent and distant, as the wind carried whispers across the grass—like secrets meant for someone else.