Ren stared at the ledger the Echo had handed him in his head.
His thumb rubbed the fossil scale at his throat until the metal left a crescent of heat.
Around him, Li's hut smelled of stew and smoke.
"Lin offered a ride," Kira said without preamble, eyes hard as flint.
"Edge of known maps, maybe more. He watches you in exchange."
Ren's jaw tightened.
The scar below his ear tightened along with it.
"And the price?" he asked.
"Documentation. Access to your... change," Lin had said earlier.
"I record, you survive."
Ren paced the small room until the floor mapped his feet with dark scuffs.
Li's cane tapped a slow rhythm by the doorway.
"A boat moves you away from threatened shores," Li said, voice like a knot tied tight.
"The danger here will find you if you wait."
Kira folded her arms until the straps of the glider creaked.
"Running doesn't always mean safety. It can mean leading the hunters to another field."
"And staying here?"
Ren's fingers closed on the journal his father left.
Leather cracked.
Ink ghosts stared back.
The map's edge was a bite at his ribs.
Li set the chest on the table and pushed it toward Ren.
"Your father trusted you with this for a reason. He also trusted that you could make hard choices. A ship gets you time."
His thumb rubbed the pendant at Ren's throat.
Kira's voice softened then, dangerous with care.
"You leave to become what? A tool? A monster? Or do you leave to learn control? Are you going so you'll be more like yourself, or less?"
Ren swallowed the question whole and let it turn inside his mouth.
Night gathered on the cliff and Ren walked the rim until the clouds made the world anonymous.
He asked the Echo in the dark: "What am I?"
The voice answered with a ledger-flat certainty.
"YOU ARE A SEED. GROWTH OR FIRE DEPENDS ON WATER AND TRAINING."
Numbers blinked faintly—PADs and options—then quiet.
Kira found him at the edge, hair braided messy, boots caked in ash.
"Decided?" she asked.
He handed her the map like passing a torch.
"I accept Lin's terms," Ren said.
"But with rules. He documents only what I permit. And he teaches everything he knows—energy, the Reigns beyond clouds. No secrets taken without my consent."
Kira's mouth curved, not a smile but a knot loosening.
"You'd better mean that. If he writes us into a legend, I'll charge him for the use of my name."
Lin's craft smelled of oil and old paper when he returned at dawn.
"You ready to be annoyingly alive?" he asked, juggling straps and an overlarge satchel.
His eyes lingered on the pendant like a taxman inspecting coins.
"You keep your hands off the inner pages," Ren replied, folding the map into his shirt.
"And you don't share what you record without asking."
Lin set the wooden hull on the ground and crossed his arms.
"Curiosity is my work. Consent is my preference. Both accepted. I want to witness the evolution, not cause it. I know certain lines—how energy bleeds through seams."
Kira spat a laugh.
"So you trade knowledge for an observation seat."
"Exactly," Lin said, amusement flat as stone.
"And safety of passage to the limit of known charts. Beyond that, I'll steer clear."
Li's fingers tightened on Ren's shoulder.
"Remember the cost, boy. Your jade scale sings; it draws things. The Split Hammer will hear rumors, if not the song itself."
Ren's knee ached where the saw had nicked him.
He slid the pendant into his palm and the metal pressed like a question.
"Then teach me to tune it while we travel," he said.
"No secrets. No surprises."
Lin's grin softened.
"We bargain as scholars and survivors. I'll teach. You'll let me write. That's the deal."
Kira's eyes cut to Ren with something like a threat wrapped in care.
"If you go, you go to control this. Not to chase glory. Promise me."
"I promise," Ren said, voice low and tethered.
Li's cane scraped the dirt as he rose.
"Pack light. Prepare the glider. If you travel the days of clouds, mend more than wings. Mend your ropes to others."
He leaned close.
"And remember—your father left warnings for you, not to be feared but followed."
Ren folded the journal and tucked it into his coat.
The pages' missing parts felt like teeth ripped from a jaw.
The map's crease fit under his thumb like a map of decisions.
The Echo ticked in his mind.
Kira slapped a satchel into his hands.
"Food. Tools. A stupid number of rivets. And take this."
She thrust the small calibration key into his palm.
"If you get cocky, I'll weld your ears."
Lin adjusted a sail.
"We leave at dusk. I'll navigate to the limit. From there you choose."
Ren breathed and let the cliff wind braid him into shape.
The village behind him hummed with repair.
They moved through the village with purpose and quiet.
Li fixed a strap on the glider while Kira checked seams.
Conversation stuttered between practicalities and old jokes.
"Listen," Lin said suddenly as he packed tools into the craft.
"You have resilience."
He turned to Ren, eyes serious for once.
"But you move like a sack of potatoes when fighting."
Kira's head snapped up.
"Excuse me?"
Lin rubbed his chin.
"Your form is durable. Your structure resists cuts. But you lack fluidity. If you face men who aim for joints and not hearts, you'll be cut down."
Ren bristled.
"You offer training, then?"
Lin shrugged.
"I know a man in the village, old, stubborn. He teaches movement. For a fee, he'll tutor you without turning you into a puppet."
Kira tossed a wrench at Ren and missed on purpose.
"Come on. You said you wanted to be useful, not decorative. Learn to move."
Ren felt the map under his fingers like a pulse.
The Echo murmured at the margin of his thought.
He squared his shoulders and looked at Lin.
"All right," he said, voice steady.
"Teach me. And help me get to the Forge's border."
Lin extended a hand, scholar's smile returning.
"Deal. Prepare for discomfort, and bring paper. I like details."
Kira shoved the calibration key into Ren's palm with extra force.
"Use this. Measure the currents. Don't be a lighthouse for monsters."
Ren rolled the metal between his fingers.
Lin paused as if recalling something unimportant.
He spoke, voice half-amused and half-business.
"Ah, and perhaps you want to learn to fight. Your form is resilient, but you move like a sack of potatoes being kicked. I know an old man in the village who knows a style or two. For a fee, of course."