Lysara is in the restricted archives again.
This has become her habit. She spends more time buried in historical records than she does in normal social interaction. Kaela jokes that Lysara has taken up residence in the library, and while it's meant as teasing, there's genuine concern underneath the humor.
I find her in the deepest section of the restricted archives, surrounded by books that haven't been opened in decades. These are the oldest records in Verdwood—histories dating back centuries, accounts of events that most people have forgotten.
And she's found something that's made her hands shake.
"Look at this," Lysara says without preamble, pointing to a passage in an ancient text written in the formal script of old Verdwood. "This is a record from approximately two hundred years ago. It describes a child born with 'marks of convergence' who manifested 'curse and gift simultaneously.'"
I lean closer, reading the archaic language. The description matches mine almost exactly—a child who could touch ley lines, whose body bore marks of void corruption, whose power frightened the village despite the child's good intentions.
"There's more," Lysara continues, pulling out another book. "This one is older—approximately three hundred and fifty years ago. Another convergence-marked child. Different region entirely, but the description is nearly identical. And here—" She spreads out a third text. "Four hundred years ago. Then jumping back to five hundred and fifty years ago."
"How many of these are there?" I ask quietly.
"I've found six distinct historical records," Lysara says, her voice vibrating with excitement and something that might be fear. "Spanning approximately a thousand years. Which suggests convergence-marked children appear once every two hundred years or so. Maybe less if some records have been lost."
I'm not the first. I'm not a mistake. I'm a pattern. The thought hits me, cold and sharp.
"What happened to them?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
Lysara's expression darkens. "Read the outcomes."
I pull the texts closer and read carefully. The first child was killed by a mob when her power manifested. The second was locked away in a sanctuary, forbidden from using their gifts. The third was captured by a proto-cult and forced to create void corruption zones. The fourth disappeared entirely—no record of what happened.
And then, at the bottom of one passage, there's a different entry.
This child, according to the record, lived to adulthood. Integrated their curse completely. Used their power to help their community survive a void incursion. Lived peacefully for approximately forty years before dying of natural causes at age seventy-three.
"This one," I say, pointing to the entry. "This one succeeded."
"Yes," Lysara says. "Which proves it's possible. Convergence marks don't guarantee failure. It depends on support, training, and a thousand other variables."
She closes the texts carefully and turns to face me directly.
"Ren, if convergence happens approximately every two hundred years, and it's happened at least six times in recorded history, then the possibility exists that there are other convergence-marked children alive right now. In other regions. Possibly on other continents."
I absorb this information slowly. I've always understood theoretically that I wasn't unique. Master Dren told me about Elian. But understanding theoretically and confronting the possibility emotionally are different things.
"You want to search for them," I say.
"I want to propose that we search for them," Lysara corrects. "I need to bring this to the council first. Propose an organized research effort. We have the resources and the knowledge base to at least attempt to identify potential candidates."
"The council will refuse," I say. "They're already nervous about what I am. Searching for more convergence-marked children will terrify them."
"Probably," Lysara agrees. "But they need to understand the implications. If convergence marks exist in multiple individuals across multiple regions, then the convergence phenomenon is larger than we've been treating it. It's not about one unusual child. It's about a pattern in how magic and void interact across humanity."
Elder Stoneheart listens to Lysara's presentation without interrupting.
She lays out the historical records, the frequency patterns, the statistical probability that other convergence-marked individuals currently exist. She presents the research clearly, methodically, with all the precision of a scholar who's spent weeks verifying every detail.
When she finishes, Elder Ironwood is the first to speak.
"This is dangerous information," he says flatly. "If other regions discover that there are multiple convergence-marked individuals, they'll respond with fear. They'll see us as a threat rather than fellow victims of void corruption."
"Or they'll see an opportunity for alliance," Lysara counters. "If convergence-marked individuals could coordinate their efforts, their combined power might be able to address void corruption on a continental scale."
"Or it might create a cabal of void-touched individuals that regional governments would feel compelled to destroy," another council member argues. "You're proposing we actively search for and identify potential magical threats."
"I'm proposing we search for other people like Ren," Lysara says sharply. "People who didn't choose to be what they are and who are likely suffering in isolation, wondering if anyone else in the world understands what they're experiencing."
The council exchanges uncomfortable looks.
"The research is compelling," Elder Stoneheart says carefully. "But the council is divided on the wisdom of pursuing it. Some believe knowledge of other convergence-marked individuals represents a strategic advantage. Others believe it represents a strategic liability."
"Then let me put it to a vote," Elder Ironwood says. "I vote against authorizing a search. Too dangerous. Too destabilizing."
One by one, the council votes. It's close, but ultimately the result is clear: the council refuses to authorize an organized search for other convergence-marked individuals.
Master Dren, who's been observing from the back of the chamber, stands.
"Then I propose an unauthorized search," he says quietly. "Scouts, operating independently of council mandate, investigating historical records and oral histories to identify potential convergence-marked candidates."
"That would be violating direct council order," Elder Ironwood warns.
"Yes," Master Dren agrees. "But some things matter more than council orders. If there are other children like Ren suffering in isolation, without training or support or understanding, then helping them matters more than political boundaries."
Elder Stoneheart studies Master Dren carefully. "I won't officially authorize this. But I also won't actively prevent scouts from conducting historical research on their own time."
It's a compromise that technically keeps Master Dren within political bounds while still allowing the search to proceed.
Kaela is furious when she hears the council's decision.
"They refused?" she demands, pacing the library study area. "They literally refused to even research the possibility that there might be people like you out there?"
"Political prudence," Lysara says quietly. "Fear of the unknown. Standard human response to things we don't understand."
"But it's the wrong decision," Kaela says. "If there are others like Ren, they need help. They need to know they're not alone. And we could help them if the council would just authorize—"
"The council won't authorize," Lysara interrupts gently. "So we'll have to do this without authorization. Master Dren implied he would help. We could coordinate with him. Conduct the search independently."
"That's violating council orders," I point out.
"Yes," Lysara says. "And I've been thinking about whether that matters more than helping people who are probably suffering."
Kaela stops pacing and looks at her. "You're saying you'll break council rules?"
"I'm saying the rules aren't always right," Lysara says carefully. "And some things matter more than rules. If there are convergence-marked children out there without support, without understanding, without mentors who can help them integrate—that matters more than council authorization."
It's a significant statement coming from Lysara. She's spent her entire life respecting authority, following protocols, maintaining propriety. Suggesting she'd violate council orders is a fundamental shift in her behavior.
"We should do it," Kaela says immediately. "We should search."
"We should be careful," I say. "Unauthorized missions could have real consequences if we're caught."
"More consequences than knowing there might be people like you suffering somewhere and doing nothing?" Kaela challenges. "I'm not accepting that as an option."
I think about what it was like before Dren. Before I understood. The fear, the isolation, the... wrongness. The absolute terror that I was the only one.
If there are other kids feeling that right now...
"We'll do it carefully," I say. "We'll coordinate with Master Dren. We'll move slowly enough that we don't raise suspicion. But we'll search."
Lysara nods, and I see relief wash across her face.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For choosing to help. For choosing to potentially violate council orders for people you've never met."
"That's what you do when you love someone," Kaela says. "You fight for them even when it's difficult. Even when it breaks rules you used to respect."
She's talking about me, but I think she's also talking about what she's learned from this past year with Lysara. She's learned that love sometimes means bending rules. Learning that absolute adherence to authority isn't always right.
That night, we work with Master Dren to develop the search strategy.
He pulls out records he's been maintaining for decades—notes on convergence-marked individuals from historical accounts, cross-referenced with regional reports of unusual magical phenomena.
"I've been tracking this for longer than I should have been allowed to," Master Dren admits. "Because I always believed another convergence-marked child would appear eventually. And I wanted to be ready."
He shows us locations where historical records mention children with convergence markers. Different regions. Different time periods. But enough of a pattern that we might be able to predict where to search.
"We start with the nearest regions," Lysara suggests. "Work outward systematically. Cross-reference historical records with current magical phenomena to identify likely candidates."
"This will take months," Master Dren warns. "Possibly years if we want to conduct thorough research."
"Then we work as long as it takes," Kaela says simply.
The three of us—Kaela, Lysara, and I—along with Master Dren, sit in the training yard looking at maps marked with potential search locations. It feels like we're beginning something larger than ourselves. Something that will change the course of our lives in ways we can't yet comprehend.
"If we find another convergence-marked child," I say carefully, "we'll have to offer them what I have. Support. Training. Understanding. That's a commitment."
"Yes," Lysara says. "And it's a commitment I'm willing to make. Because no one should have to figure this out alone."
Kaela reaches over and takes my hand. "We're building something here. A network. People who understand. People who aren't afraid. That matters."
Later, on the rooftop under stars that pulse with ancient power, Lysara shares something she discovered in her research.
"There's a legend," she says quietly, "about convergence-marked individuals creating a network of balance across the world. Not fighting the void, but balancing it. Creating stability points that prevent total corruption."
"Is that what the prophecy was about?" I ask.
"Maybe," Lysara says. "Or maybe the prophecy is broader than we've understood. Maybe it's not about one child saving or destroying the world. Maybe it's about multiple children learning to work together to maintain balance."
The implication settles over us. We're not just trying to help one other convergence-marked child. We're potentially trying to establish the infrastructure for something continental. Something world-spanning. Something that could reshape how humanity relates to the void forever.
"That's a lot of responsibility," Kaela says.
"Yes," Lysara agrees. "But if we're going to take it on, we should do it consciously. We should understand what we're building."
I hold both their hands and look up at the stars.
"Then let's build something worth building," I say. "Let's find the others. Let's help them. Let's create a network of convergence-marked individuals who understand each other and support each other."
"That's going to be dangerous," Master Dren says from the shadows where he's been standing and listening. "Powerful individuals coordinating across regions will frighten governments. Will attract cult attention. Will create conflicts we can't yet predict."
"Yes," I acknowledge. "But the alternative is isolation. Suffering in silence. Wondering if you're the only one in the world who understands what you are."
Master Dren nods slowly. "Then we do this right. We do this carefully. And we do this with eyes open to the consequences."
Below us, Verdwood settles into sleep. But on the rooftop, we're beginning to plan something that will extend far beyond this village, far beyond this region.
We're beginning to build something that might change the world.