CHAPTER 43 — The Weight That Followed Them Back
The moment they stepped back through the ward, Aiden felt the marsh fall away.
Not the scent.
Not the memory.
That stayed.
But the pressure—the bone-deep weight of the Warden's attention—slid off him like a hand withdrawing from his spine.
He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until his lungs burned.
The courtyard air tasted too clean. Too bright. Too normal.
Myra exhaled hard. "I hated that," she said, voice cracking. "Like… hated it. All of it. The fog. The staring. The weird swamp heartbeat. The giant maybe-monster writing Aiden's name on the ground. Ten out of ten: would never recommend."
Nellie didn't speak.
She was pressed against Runa's side, fingers digging into the dwarf's cloak, eyes unfocused like she was listening to something far away.
Runa didn't rush her.
Didn't touch her.
Just stood solid beside her, one gauntleted hand hovering near Nellie's shoulder—close enough to be chosen, far enough not to overwhelm.
Veldt strode ahead without slowing, heading toward the Verdant Hall for the debrief. Lirienne shadowed him like a wind-mirror, silent and sharp.
Aiden followed the others toward the inner terrace, but each step felt wrong.
Lighter than they should.
Like the marsh was pulling at him still.
Myra noticed.
She slowed, falling into step beside him. "Storm's loud again," she murmured.
"Can't shut it up," he said, jaw tight.
The pup nudged his ankle with a low whine, sparks popping off its fur.
Aiden scooped it up on instinct.
Its tiny heart hammered against his palm.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Storm-call answering storm-call.
Myra glanced at the pup, then at him. "It looked at you," she said quietly. "Like… at you. Direct."
He didn't answer.
Because he was afraid of what he'd say if he tried.
They reached the second terrace archway, where the noise of the Academy returned—students crossing bridges, the hum of distant training, faint laughter drifting from the practice fields.
It felt wrong.
Too normal after what they'd just walked through.
Aiden slowed.
Myra stopped with him. "Hey."
He didn't meet her eyes.
If he did, he wasn't sure the storm wouldn't surge again.
Myra elbowed him—lightly. "You don't have to hold it together when we're not in front of teachers, you know."
He dragged a hand through his hair. "If I let go right now, I don't know what it'll do."
"Then don't let go," she said. "Just… stand here. Breathe. I'm not asking you to break."
That surprised him enough to look at her.
Her expression wasn't scared.
Or worried.
Just steady.
Like she already accepted the weight he carried and wasn't going to move.
Aiden swallowed. "Myra—"
"We saw its mark," she whispered. "We saw it look at you like it recognized you. And you're still here. You didn't break. Runa's right—you're less of a walking hazard now."
"That's not comforting."
"I'm not trying to comfort you," she said. "I'm trying to remind you you're not doing this alone."
His storm stuttered.
Just a fraction.
Nellie's voice broke the moment.
"Aiden?"
She stood a few steps behind them, wrapped in Runa's cloak because she'd started shivering somewhere on the walk back. Her Verdant mark pulsed faintly under the fabric.
"I can still feel it," she whispered. "The pull. But it's… softer now. Like it's waiting."
Aiden felt that too.
Waiting.
Watching.
He held the pup closer. Its fur hissed with static.
Veldt's voice carried across the terrace. "Stormthread! Inside. Now."
Myra grimaced. "Wonderful. I love being yelled at when I'm emotionally fragile."
Runa snorted. "This is your normal state."
"Rude," Myra muttered. "True, but rude."
Aiden followed them into the Verdant Hall.
---
The briefing chamber was colder than usual.
Runes along the walls dimmed to a deeper green, as if the room itself wanted to hear clearly.
Veldt stood at the center, arms folded. Lirienne lingered near the far wall. Meris stacked vials on a stone shelf with the mechanical efficiency of someone too tired to worry about noise.
Aiden, Myra, Nellie, and Runa formed a line.
The pup sat at Aiden's feet, tail curled neatly around its paws.
"Report," Veldt said.
Myra pointed to Aiden. "Storm hazard goes first."
Aiden shot her a look.
Veldt didn't blink. "Raikos."
Aiden forced himself to speak.
"The pressure started before we reached the old Hollow edge. Not strong. Just… watching."
"Describe the watching," Veldt said.
Aiden did.
The storm.
The bone-deep weight.
The moment the fog shifted and something immense peered through it.
And the mark pressed into the mud—spiral, line, jagged bolt—his own storm-sign burned into the earth like a message.
When he finished, the room felt smaller.
Meris frowned deeply. "Warden patterns shouldn't mimic student marks. That implies memory."
"It implies interest," Lirienne said.
"And that," Veldt added, voice low, "is the part that concerns me."
Nellie raised her hand halfway, then lowered it. "It… felt like something was pulling threads under the marsh. Wrong ones. Ones not meant to move."
Veldt turned. "Define wrong."
Nellie swallowed. "Threads always pull toward something alive. Or something hurting. Or something growing. These ones were pulling toward… emptiness. Like the marsh was bleeding and something wanted to follow the wound."
Meris went still.
Lirienne's jaw clenched.
Runa took half a step closer to Nellie, as if shielding her from the words she'd just said.
Myra exhaled shakily. "Okay, nope. Not loving this. Can we go back to the part where the worst thing was Aiden exploding at random?"
"That part was not better," Aiden muttered.
"Debatable."
Veldt raised a hand.
Silence returned.
"You four are not to go near the marsh without authorization," he said. "Not even to the ward boundary. Not even for training. If the Warden marks territory again, the Academy will decide the response."
Aiden stiffened. "But—"
"This is not an argument," Veldt said sharply. "You are raw. Your marks are unstable. The Warden is adapting. That combination is a threat to all of you."
The pup gave an indignant crackle at being included.
Aiden clamped his mouth shut.
Myra nudged him. "He's right. You almost fried a puddle just by being looked at."
"That puddle deserved it."
"It was a puddle."
Runa elbowed both of them into silence.
Veldt continued:
"Stormthread will resume normal training tomorrow. Specialized regimen begins at dawn. Physical defense with Ironjaw. Mark-stabilization with Meris. Scout coordination with Lirienne. And Raikos…"
Aiden braced himself.
"You will meet Elowen tonight."
Myra let out a very unheroic squeak. "Tonight? Already? But he just almost exploded—"
"Exactly," Veldt said.
Aiden's stomach dropped.
Elowen.
The only person whose presence made his storm pause instead of surge.
He wasn't sure if that reassured him or terrified him.
Runa stepped forward. "Master Veldt. Permission to escort him."
"Denied."
Runa's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because she asked for him alone."
The room stilled.
Even the pup froze.
Myra whispered, "Oh that is so ominous."
Veldt ignored her.
"You are dismissed. Eat. Rest. Do not wander."
Stormthread bowed—some more neatly than others—and filed out.
---
They didn't go straight to the dorm.
Myra dragged them toward the southern terrace, where a narrow overlook hung above the lower valley. It was quiet here, the kind of quiet that didn't feel watched.
They sat.
Nellie tucked herself between Runa and the railing, drinking the herbal water Myra shoved into her hands.
Runa pretended not to adjust her cloak around Nellie's shoulders.
Myra sprawled across the bench with dramatic exhaustion.
Aiden leaned against the support post, the pup climbing onto his lap and curling there.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then Myra said softly:
"So. The Warden can write."
"Not comforting," Nellie whispered.
"It could have written something worse," Myra said. "Like 'dibs.' Or 'soon.' Or—"
Runa put a hand over her face. "Please stop."
"I'm coping," Myra said.
"You are unraveling," Runa corrected.
"Same category."
Aiden didn't laugh.
He couldn't.
His gaze drifted toward the north wall.
He could feel it still.
Not the full weight.
Just a ghost of the attention.
Like a thought brushing the back of his mind, distant and waiting.
Nellie noticed.
She always noticed first.
"Aiden?"
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"You're somewhere else again."
He exhaled slowly. "Just thinking."
Myra nudged him with her boot. "Bad thinking or normal thinking?"
"…storm thinking."
All three girls groaned.
Myra tossed a leaf at him. "Okay, pick one: talk about it, or let Runa lecture you on healthy emotional management."
Runa frowned. "I do not lecture."
"You absolutely lecture," Myra said. "You lectured me for ten minutes about eating breakfast."
"You were eating only dried fruit and regret."
Nellie giggled, then winced at the sound surprising her.
Aiden rubbed his thumb over the pup's fur.
"It looked at me," he said finally. "Like it recognized me. Like… like I'm supposed to answer it."
"You're not," Nellie said firmly. "Not yet. Not without Elowen. Not without us."
Runa nodded. "Nothing that large and that old gets to choose you on its own."
Myra added, softer:
"And you don't owe it anything just because it decided to stare at you."
Aiden swallowed.
"Then why do I feel like it's waiting for something I haven't done yet?"
Silence settled again.
Nellie leaned her head against Runa's shoulder.
Myra leaned her head back against the bench.
The pup pressed its nose into Aiden's ribs.
And Runa said what none of them had found the words for:
"Because storms don't choose when they arrive. They choose what they do afterward."
Aiden didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because for the first time since stepping into the marsh, the storm under his ribs eased.
Not much.
But enough.
Enough to breathe again.
---