By the third day, Ryn stopped pretending he wasn't terrified.
The fear didn't go away, it just changed shape. It settled into his chest, heavy and constant, like something waiting for him to mess up again.
The training hall was louder today. Quills scratched, parchment rustled, apprentices whispered under their breath like they were afraid the maps might hear them.
Ryn sat hunched over his desk, staring at the blank parchment floating in front of him.
Blank maps were worse than mistakes.
"You're scowling at it," Kael muttered from the seat beside him. "That usually makes things worse."
Ryn sighed. "It started first."
Kael snorted. "You don't negotiate with a map by glaring."
Easy for him to say.
Master Elara paced slowly at the front of the hall. "Today's lesson is interaction," she said. "Landscapes do not exist in isolation. Water erodes. Wind reshapes. Time remembers."
That last part made Ryn's stomach drop.
"Draw a living terrain," Elara continued. "And do not fight it when it responds."
Do not fight it.
That sounded like advice given to people who hadn't almost leveled a town square.
Ryn dipped his quill into the ink. It shimmered, thicker than it should have been.
"Okay," he whispered. "We're just… talking."
The parchment warmed.
He drew a river first. Narrow. Careful. The water appeared outside the guild walls, flowing calmly through the grass.
So far, so good.
He added a hill. Then trees. He imagined roots gripping the soil, holding everything together.
The map pulsed.
Something tugged back.
Ryn's hand stuttered. The river swelled suddenly, cutting deeper into the land. A section of hillside crumbled.
"No, no..." He tried to correct it too fast.
The map resisted.
Pain sparked behind his eyes, sharp and sudden. He gasped, nearly dropping the quill.
You're pushing, a voice seemed to whisper, not words exactly, more like pressure inside his skull.
Ryn froze.
"I'm sorry," he whispered instinctively. "I'm not trying to control you."
The pain eased.
He loosened his grip. Slowed his breathing. Focused not on what he wanted, but on what made sense.
The river calmed. The land settled.
Around him, apprentices stared.
Kael leaned closer. "Did it just… argue with you?"
Ryn swallowed. "Yeah."
Kael's expression shifted, not amused this time. "That's… not normal."
That wasn't reassuring.
Master Elara stopped beside Ryn's desk, studying the map. "Your magic listens," she said quietly. "And it speaks back."
Ryn looked up at her. "Is that bad?"
She didn't answer right away. That was answer enough.
Later, during independent practice, Ryn tried to recreate the effect.
It didn't work.
The map stayed stubbornly silent, responding only with dull, predictable terrain.
Ryn slumped in his chair. "Of course. The one time it talks to me, I can't do it again."
Kael glanced over. "You don't summon that kind of thing on command."
"Then how did it happen?"
Kael hesitated. "Probably because you weren't trying to be impressive."
Ryn snorted softly. "Trust me, that's still true."
That night, Ryn stayed behind after the hall emptied. He didn't want to go back to his room, not yet. The silence there pressed too hard.
He drew again.
Not landscapes this time. Just lines. Shapes. Borders.
The map warmed beneath his fingers.
Careful, something seemed to hum.
Ryn's breath caught.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay, I hear you."
The ink moved smoother than before, almost guiding him. He wasn't leading anymore. He was listening.
Then the parchment darkened.
A shadow bled into the lines.
Ryn stiffened. "That's not..."
The map pulled.
He cried out as the air thickened, pressure slamming into his chest. Somewhere outside, stone cracked.
Ryn slammed the quill down. "Stop!"
The parchment went cold.
He collapsed back into the chair, gasping.
Master Elara stood in the doorway.
"You crossed a boundary," she said.
Ryn's voice shook. "I didn't mean to."
"I know," she replied. "But intention will not save you every time."
She stepped closer. "Some maps do not want to be drawn. And some remember who tries."
Ryn stared at the parchment, heart pounding.
"Then why can I hear it?" he asked quietly.
Elara's gaze sharpened. "That," she said, "is what makes you dangerous."
That night, Ryn dreamed of ink flooding the streets, of maps folding the city in on itself.
He woke with his hands clenched and the faint certainty that something, someone, had noticed him.
And it was waiting.