The stone in Kaelen's pocket wasn't just burning now. It was 'screaming'.
He felt it before he understood it...a pressure building behind his eyes, a white-hot lance of agony that split his skull clean in two. The futures weren't just flickering at the edges of his vision anymore. They were 'flooding'.
He saw everything.
He saw the Hunters walking through the capital gates, their void-eyes sweeping across the crowds like searchlights. He saw them killing a guardsman with a touch, the man simply 'unmaking' into ash and silence. He saw them moving through the streets, methodical, unhurried, following a trail only they could perceive. He saw them turning toward the inn where he and the others were staying.
He saw a hundred thousand possible endings.
In ninety-nine thousand of them, he died.
"Kaelen." Lysander's voice was sharp now, cutting through the tide. A hand gripped his shoulder. "Kaelen, you're bleeding."
