Rhaen left the sinkhole before the heat settled back into silence.
He did not rush. Moving without guidance had taught him that haste carried a sharper cost now. Each step was measured, each pause deliberate, as if the land were counting how often he chose awareness over instinct.
The stranger did not follow.
That absence stayed with him longer than their presence had.
"They know where I am," Rhaen said quietly as he climbed toward higher ground. "They just don't know what I'll do."
The ember pulsed faintly, compressed but alert.
Distance had been taken.
Choice had been returned.
The terrain shifted gradually as Rhaen moved eastward. The ash thinned, replaced by brittle stone veins that fractured under pressure. Heat vents appeared less frequently, but when they did, they burned hotter, sharper, less forgiving.
This was not a place meant for prolonged travel.
Rhaen stopped at the edge of a narrow ravine and studied the descent. Without guidance, there was no sense of safest footing, no quiet nudge toward stability. Only sight and judgment.
He tested a stone with his weight.
It held.
He descended slowly, using the wall for balance. Halfway down, the ground shifted beneath him, a slab sliding loose with a muted scrape. Rhaen reacted instantly, heat flaring just enough to stabilize his fall.
He landed hard but upright.
Pain flared through his leg, dull and immediate.
Rhaen exhaled through clenched teeth.
"That's the second," he muttered.
No response came.
The land was listening, but it was no longer correcting.
At the bottom of the ravine, Rhaen paused and assessed the damage. His leg would hold, but not indefinitely. Each misstep now carried weight beyond discomfort.
He closed his eyes briefly and reached inward.
The ember responded, steady but distant, like a fire contained behind thick stone. It would burn if he asked it to, but not without consequence.
"Not yet," he said.
The ember remained still.
The ravine opened into a shallow expanse where ash had settled into layered drifts, hardened by heat and time. Scattered fragments of old structures protruded at odd angles, half-melted, half-buried.
This place had been occupied once.
Not settled.
Used.
Rhaen moved carefully through the remains, scanning for signs of recent activity. There were none. Whatever had drawn people here had failed long ago.
He stopped beside a collapsed wall and brushed ash aside with his boot.
Markings.
Not sigils.
Scratches, shallow and uneven, carved by hands rather than tools. Symbols repeated again and again, each variation slightly distorted.
Warnings.
Rhaen traced one with his finger.
"Stay back," he murmured. "Or stay aware."
The ember warmed faintly, not in approval, but recognition.
Rhaen did not linger.
He climbed out of the expanse and continued east until the ground rose into a jagged plateau. From there, he could see far into the wastes, heat distortions rippling in uneven bands.
That was when the land shifted.
Not violently.
Not deliberately.
It sagged.
Rhaen froze as the ground beneath his feet softened, stone compressing like clay under sudden pressure. He leapt backward, landing just as the section he had stood on collapsed inward.
A sinkhole formed silently, swallowing ash and stone alike.
Rhaen stared at it, heart pounding.
"That wasn't me," he said.
The ember pulsed once, tight and restrained.
Agreement.
The collapse continued for several seconds before stabilizing. When it stopped, the land felt wrong, like a wound hastily closed.
Rhaen approached cautiously and knelt at the edge.
This was not Binder suppression. There were no anchors, no flattened resonance. This was exhaustion.
The land had given too much.
Rhaen closed his eyes.
For the first time since losing guidance, he did not reach outward.
He listened.
Not for direction.
For need.
The ember responded slowly, warming not in surge, but in pressure. The sensation carried meaning without words.
Balance.
Rhaen swallowed.
"You want me to choose," he said quietly.
The warmth held steady.
Rhaen stood and stepped back from the sinkhole.
"I won't patch this," he said. "Not like before."
The ember tightened.
"But I won't ignore it either."
He turned away and continued on, deliberately choosing a route that avoided further strain on the weakened ground.
Behind him, the land settled.
Not healed.
But spared.
Night deepened as Rhaen moved, ash clouds thickening overhead. The light dimmed into muted gray, then darker still. Heat became his only reliable marker, guiding his pace rather than his direction.
That was when he sensed it.
Not pursuit.
Presence.
Rhaen stopped and turned slowly.
A figure stood several paces away, half-hidden by drifting ash. They wore no insignia, carried no visible tools. Their posture was relaxed, but not careless.
"Are you lost?" the figure asked.
Rhaen did not answer immediately.
"Depends," he said. "On who's asking."
The figure smiled faintly. "Someone who counts consequences."
Rhaen felt the ember tighten.
Not alarm.
Assessment.
"You shouldn't be here," Rhaen said.
"Neither should the land be collapsing," the figure replied calmly. "Yet here we are."
Rhaen studied them carefully. There was no suppression field, no distortion in the air. Whatever authority this person held did not come from force.
"You saw the sinkhole," Rhaen said.
"I felt it," the figure corrected. "That kind of strain leaves ripples."
Rhaen's jaw tightened. "Then you know why it happened."
"Yes," the figure said. "Someone is asking the land for more than it can give."
Rhaen held their gaze. "And what do you want from me?"
The figure took a step closer, stopping well short of arm's reach.
"To see whether you understand what you're becoming," they said. "Or whether you'll repeat the same mistakes with a different shape."
Rhaen exhaled slowly.
"I'm not here to rule," he said. "And I'm not here to burn everything down."
The figure nodded. "Good. Those paths are predictable."
"And predictable is controllable," Rhaen replied.
The figure's smile widened slightly. "You learn quickly."
Silence stretched between them, heavy but not hostile.
Finally, the figure stepped back.
"You've crossed a threshold," they said. "Not of power. Of responsibility."
Rhaen felt the weight of those words settle into his chest.
"What happens now?" he asked.
"That depends," the figure replied, "on how much distance you're willing to carry."
They turned and walked away, vanishing into the ash without sound.
Rhaen stood alone once more.
He looked down at his hands, then at the land beneath his feet.
Distance had been taken.
Guidance withheld.
In its place, something heavier had been set.
Choice.
And consequence.
Rhaen turned east and continued forward, careful not to lean too heavily on the fire within him.
The land did not guide him.
But it did not turn away either.
End of Chapter 10