CHAPTER 66 — The Shape of a Choice
No one slept after Sereth Kain left.
They lay down. They closed their eyes. They pretended.
But the camp hummed with a quiet, collective alertness—like a bowstring drawn too tight to ever truly relax.
Even the fire refused to settle, its flames low and restless, snapping softly as if reacting to things no one else could see.
Aiden sat with his back against the same fallen trunk, knees bent, cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. In his hands, he turned the disk of dark wood over and over, thumb tracing the shallow grooves carved into its surface.
It was heavier than it looked.
Not in weight.
In consequence.
The symbol carved into it refused to settle in his vision. When he focused directly on the lines, they slid half a thought sideways, blurring just enough to make his eyes ache. When he loosened his gaze—stopped trying to understand it—the mark calmed, becoming just another strange object in a world that had long since stopped pretending to make sense.
It reminded him uncomfortably of the Warden.
Nellie watched the disk with visible effort not to stare, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
"It's blurring you," she said softly. "I can feel it. The threads don't… snap to you the way they were. They hesitate. Like they're waiting to see which version of you they're supposed to follow."
Myra leaned back on her hands, staring up into the branches overhead. "Great. So now the universe has lag."
Runa huffed once, approving. "Lag keeps you alive."
Garrik remained standing. He hadn't sat since Sereth vanished into the trees. His gaze stayed fixed on the darkness beyond the firelight, posture rigid, hand resting near his spear as if the forest itself might suddenly lunge.
"I don't like Pathfinders," he said at last.
Myra turned her head. "That implies you've met one before."
Garrik nodded once. "Once. When I was younger. Caravan I ran with took a road that shouldn't have existed anymore."
Nellie's voice was careful. "And?"
"And half of us arrived three days before we left," Garrik said flatly. "The other half never arrived at all."
Silence followed that.
Not the comfortable kind.
Even the forest seemed to lean closer, branches creaking softly as if adjusting their grip on the night.
Aiden's grip tightened on the disk. Sereth's words echoed again, uninvited and unwelcome:
The roads have started choosing sides.
"What does that mean?" Aiden asked quietly. "Actually mean."
Garrik finally turned. Firelight cut deep lines across his face. "It means you're no longer just walking through the world," he said. "You're part of how it decides where things go."
"That's not fair," Nellie said immediately.
Garrik didn't argue. "No. It isn't."
The pup padded over and sat squarely on Aiden's boot, looking up at him with bright, intent eyes. Its lightning was subdued now—not gone, but folded inward, like it was learning restraint simply by staying close.
Aiden crouched and scratched behind its ears, feeling the faint static prickle against his fingers.
"Do you feel different?" he asked it under his breath.
The pup tilted its head, then pressed its forehead against his knee.
Agreement.
Or loyalty.
Or both.
Aiden didn't know which frightened him more.
They broke camp before dawn.
Not because Garrik ordered it—but because the forest never fully relaxed again. Even after Sereth's departure, the night felt thin, stretched tight over something restless beneath.
Sleep came in fragments at best, filled with half-dreams of roads folding in on themselves and symbols that refused to stay still.
The eastern path Garrik chose wasn't a road.
Not really.
It was a suggestion of direction, marked by subtle absences—trees that leaned away instead of toward, stones that clustered as if guiding feet between them. The kind of route experienced caravans learned to recognize instinctively, even when maps refused to acknowledge it.
Aiden walked near the center now, flanked by Myra and Runa, Nellie close behind. The disk stayed tucked inside his shirt, resting just above his sternum.
The effect was subtle.
But undeniable.
Where before his awareness had brushed against everything—threads tugging, marks humming, pressure building—now there was a margin. A thin layer of distance between him and the wider world.
Not safety.
But space.
"It's like wearing gloves," he murmured as they walked.
Nellie nodded, eyes unfocused as she listened to something deeper than sound. "Yes. You can still feel things. You're just not… imprinting on them as hard."
"That sounds dangerously vague," Myra said.
"Welcome to advanced metaphysics," Nellie replied weakly.
They walked for hours.
No attacks came.
No beasts tested the perimeter.
That worried Garrik more than if they had.
By midday, the forest shifted.
The trees grew taller, straighter, their bark pale and smooth like bone bleached by years of sun. Moss clung in long, trailing curtains. The ground dipped and rose in slow, deliberate waves, each slope feeling measured rather than natural.
"This is wrong," one of the hunters muttered.
Garrik slowed. "We're off the mapped edge."
Myra frowned. "Off as in lost?"
"Off as in the map refuses to admit this place exists," Garrik said.
Nellie swallowed. "Threads are… braided here. Tightly. Like something's been maintaining them."
Aiden felt it too.
Not pressure.
Pattern.
The air itself felt arranged, curated in a way that made his storm uneasy.
Then the trees opened.
They stepped into a wide clearing—perfectly circular, grass trimmed to ankle height as if tended by invisible hands. At the center stood a single structure.
Stone.
Low.
Ancient.
A ring of upright slabs arranged around a shallow basin carved into the earth. Symbols etched into every surface—old, worn, but intact.
Runa's breath left her slowly. "That's not natural."
"No," Garrik agreed. "That's intentional."
The pup growled softly.
Not fear.
Warning.
Aiden took one step forward—
—and the disk beneath his shirt pulsed.
The marks under his skin tightened in answer. His storm flared, then stilled, as if waiting.
The air noticed him.
"Stop," Nellie said sharply. "Aiden—don't."
He froze.
The basin shimmered.
Then filled.
Not with water.
With reflection.
A surface like dark glass formed, and within it—
Movement.
Aiden saw trees.
Different ones.
A road he didn't recognize.
Figures walking.
A caravan.
And at its center—
Him.
Older. Harder. Storm scars etched deep into his arms, eyes lit with restrained lightning.
He staggered back.
Myra caught his arm. "What did you see?"
He swallowed hard. "A choice."
The reflection shifted.
Fire.
Broken stone.
A city wall cracking under stormlight.
People running.
Someone screaming his name—not in fear, but in accusation.
Then darkness.
The basin went still.
Nellie's hands trembled. "That wasn't a vision. That was… a projection. A probability anchor."
Garrik's expression darkened. "A Crossroad Stone."
Myra blinked. "A what?"
"A relic," Garrik said. "Older than the Academy. They show travelers the paths that could unfold from here."
Aiden's chest felt tight. "So what—I pick one?"
Garrik shook his head. "No. You commit to one. Even if you don't realize you've done it."
The clearing felt very quiet.
The pup stepped forward and placed one paw on the edge of the basin.
Nothing happened.
Then it placed its second paw.
The basin rippled again.
This time, the image was different.
A narrow forest path. Scarred. Winding. Hard.
Aiden walking it—not alone.
Myra at his side.
Nellie behind him, hands glowing faintly.
Runa ahead, hammer resting on her shoulder.
The road was damaged.
But intact.
The basin dimmed.
Nellie exhaled shakily. "It responded to the bond."
Garrik stared. "Or to what the storm chose not to become."
Aiden looked down at the pup.
It yipped softly.
Certain.
Simple.
Aiden straightened.
"We don't stop here," he said.
Garrik raised a brow. "You're sure?"
"No," Aiden replied. "But I'm done letting places decide for me."
The disk warmed beneath his shirt—not resisting.
Agreeing.
He turned away.
The moment he did, the clearing lost its tension. The air loosened. The basin dulled into ordinary stone.
They moved on.
Behind them, the Crossroad Stone remained—silent, patient, waiting for another traveler who might choose differently.
As the forest closed in once more, Aiden felt the road settle beneath his feet.
Not obedient.
Not hostile.
But aligned.
Whatever was coming next—
It wasn't just watching anymore.
It was following.