I lasted four hours.
Four hours, pacing the newly rebuilt training yard in Verdwood, listening to Torren and Zara practice their synchronization, and feeling like my skin was on too tight. Master Dren and the primary delegation had left for Riverholt, and I was exactly where the council wanted me: safe, secure, and completely, utterly useless. Every step I took, every command I gave to the defense details, felt like a lie. I wasn't an anchor; I was a prisoner, locked away by my own symbolic importance.
By the fifth hour, I knew I couldn't do it. The memory of Takeshi, of his regret, of dying while the people he promised to help were somewhere else, was too strong. I was here, while the real work was happening out there.
I found the council in an emergency session, already debating Mira's intel. I didn't wait to be announced.
"I'm going with them."
The room went silent. Elder Stoneheart looked at me, his face a mask of weary patience. He had been expecting this. "Ren. We have been over this. You are the First Anchor. You are the primary cult target. Leaving the walls is an unacceptable risk to our single most valuable... asset."
"And what good is your asset sitting in a box?" I shot back, my voice echoing, harsher than I intended. "The cult knows I'm here. Staying in Verdwood doesn't make me safe; it just makes Verdwood the target. It just guarantees that when the Harvest comes, they will bring their entire, overwhelming force down on this village to get me."
I stepped forward, my gaze sweeping over them—Ironwood, Stoneheart, the others. "But if I go to them... if I stand in front of the Riverholt council, if I stand in front of the other settlements Mira told us about... they won't be listening to a report. They'll be looking at proof. They'll see what a trained, convergence-marked person looks like. They'll see what we're building. That's how you forge an alliance. Not with letters. With presence."
"He's right," Lysara said, stepping forward. She looked miserable, torn between her strategic mind and her loyalty. "From a tactical-psychology standpoint, Ren is the symbolic center of this resistance, whether he likes it or not. His presence in a diplomatic mission carries a weight that no one else's can."
"It's madness!" Elder Ironwood slammed his hand on the table. "It's reckless grandstanding! What if the cult has an ambush waiting? What if they've been watching our gates? If they capture him... not just Ren, but the 'First Anchor'... the morale of this entire network, this... this idea... it shatters. Instantly."
"They will try to capture me anyway," I insisted, my voice low and hard. "In five weeks, they are coming. That is a fact. The only choice I have is what I do with the time I have left. Do I spend it hiding under my bed? Or do I spend it building the army we desperately need to survive?"
The debate raged for another hour, but the energy had shifted. My argument, born from Takeshi's desperate, suffocating regret, was too raw to be denied. They agreed. Heavy restrictions. A full security detail. Constant, magically-relayed communication.
Kaela just stood up, her arms crossed. It wasn't a question. "I'm going. He's a diplomatic idiot and he'll promise them our entire grain supply to be 'nice.' He needs a minder. And a bodyguard."
Lysara was the one who looked truly broken. The thought of splitting our trio, the core that had held us all together, was a physical blow. "I... I should stay. The children. Elara's integration. The analysis of Mira's intel... I am... more useful here."
"So we split," I said, and the words tasted like ash. "You're our command center, Lyss. Our anchor. We'll be the tip of the spear. We'll link every single night through the relay. You'll be the strategist; we'll be the... the boots on the ground."
It felt wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong. Separating us felt like cutting a piece of my own soul out. Lysara must have felt it, too. She grabbed both our hands, her grip so tight her knuckles were white. "Six weeks," she whispered, her voice raw. "To do what should take years. Stay... alive. Both of you. Just... stay alive. And check in. Every. Single. Night."
"Promise," I said. Kaela just nodded, her jaw set.
We traveled fast, pushing the horses harder than was kind. Dren, me, Kaela, Mira, and a six-scout security detail. The mood was grim. We were behind, and we knew it. Mira, whose presence was a constant, nervous hum, proved her worth immediately.
"The main roads are a death trap," she explained, her finger tracing a thin, spider-web line on our map the first night. "They'll be watched. Cult spotters, void-tainted animals... they'll know we're coming before we're within a day's ride. But these secondary trade routes... they're considered low-priority. Too much civilian traffic. The cult avoids them to maintain secrecy. We'll be slower, but we'll be invisible."
Kaela watched her, her suspicion a tangible thing. She cornered Mira during a water break on the second day, her voice low and flat. "I don't get you. Two weeks ago, you were planning our deaths. Now you're our chief strategist. How do we know this isn't the most complicated trap of all? Your 'defection'... it's too convenient."
Mira didn't flinch. She just looked... tired. "It's convenient because I was there. I was on the command team, watching the siege through a void-touched scrying shard." Her gaze drifted to me. "I watched... I watched you, the 'First Anchor,' ignore the breach at the main gate. I saw you run back, into the thick of it... because that little girl, Zara, was about to be overrun. You chose... you chose her... over the 'strategic objective.' And then... I watched her and the boy merge their shadows to protect you."
Her voice cracked, just for a second. "The cult philosophy is that the curse is a weapon. That it demands corruption. That integration is a lie, a weakness. Everything I was ever taught... it's all built on the idea that power means sacrificing others. And I watched you, all of you, sacrifice yourselves for each other. I realized... I realized I was the one who'd been fed the lie. I'd rather die trying to build... that... than live for their 'truth.'"
Kaela held her gaze for a long, silent moment. She didn't say, "I trust you." She just nodded, once, and walked away. It was enough.
That night, the magical relay crackled, and Lysara's voice was a lifeline. "Status is stable. Torren and Zara... Ren, they did it. They held a two-way synchronization for fifteen minutes. Unsupervised. Their control is... it's becoming second nature."
A flash of pride, sharp and painful, hit me. My kids. "That's... Lyss, that's incredible."
"But Elara is struggling," her voice went tight, anxious. "Her integration is... it's unstable without you. The nightmares are back. She needs the four-way resonance, Ren. She needs you as an anchor to practice her advanced control. I... I can't stabilize her on my own. I'm not... marked."
The guilt was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I was out here, chasing a political victory, while Elara—the person we'd just rescued, the one who needed me most—was backsliding. I was failing her.
Kaela, sitting next to me, read my face in the dim magical light. "You can't be everywhere, Ren," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "You're one person. That's the point of the network. She has Torren. She has Zara. She has Lysara. She has to learn to anchor to them, too. Stop trying to be the only pillar, or you'll be the reason the whole roof collapses."
She was right. But the guilt didn't go away.
Riverholt, when we arrived, was a different town from the one we'd left. It was a fortress. The bustling market was gone, replaced by militia checkpoints. New, raw-wood barricades blocked half the streets. The air of prosperity was gone, replaced by the sharp, metallic tang of fear.
We weren't met by a polite escort. We were met by Captain Stonebridge, at the head of a full unit of soldiers. Their shields were locked. Their spears were leveled. Her face was a mask of cold, controlled fury.
"Elara is gone," she said. No greeting. No preamble.
The world tilted. "What? No. We... Lysara said she was struggling, but..."
"She escaped. Three days ago." Stonebridge's voice was dead. "Killed two of my guards on her way out. Smashed the entire wing of the barracks. We've been tracking her, but she's a ghost. A 91-percent-integrated ghost who's now a murdering liability."
The words didn't... they didn't compute. "Killed... Elara? No. She... she wouldn't."
"Tell that to their families," Stonebridge snapped. "And now she's out there, a walking bomb, probably making a straight line to the cult, armed with everything she learned about your village and this one."
"Or she's running scared," Kaela countered, her hand moving to her sword. "You caged her for eighteen months. What did you do?"
"We were providing sanctuary! As agreed!" a new voice said. Councilor Aldrich walked up, flanked by more guards.
But I saw it. The flicker of a glance between Stonebridge and her lieutenant. The guilt. "What did you do?" I repeated, my voice low.
Stonebridge's jaw tightened. "Councilor Aldrich... received your warning about the Harvest. He ordered... 'increased monitoring.' More guards on her. Protective custody, to ensure her safety."
"You put her back in a cell," I whispered, the sickening realization flooding me. "No. You didn't even do that. You just... you put more guards on her. She thought you were putting her back in the cage."
"She misinterpreted the situation!" Aldrich said, his face red.
"She panicked!" I roared, my own control slipping. "She was traumatized, and you treated her like a prisoner, and she responded like a cornered animal! This isn't a betrayal. It's a tragedy. And it's your fault!"
"We have to find her," I said, my mind racing. "Now. Before the cult does. Before she does something else she can't take back."
"That is not why you're here," Master Dren's voice was a low growl in my ear, his hand clamping on my shoulder like a vise. "We are here for the alliance. For the war."
"She is the war!" I argued, trying to shake him off. "She's what we're fighting for!"
"She killed two of my men!" Stonebridge's voice was a raw wound. "She is a murderer. And she is Riverholt's problem. You are here to talk strategy."
The council meeting was a nightmare. The opulent room was gone, replaced by a cold, stone war-room, filled with soldiers who stared at us, at me, with open hostility and grief. Aldrich was blunt.
"You come here, warning of an apocalypse. You ask us to trust the word of a cultist. And in the process, your... 'network'... has unleashed a monster that has killed two of our own. You will understand, Master Dren, why our willingness to 'ally' is... limited."
Mira stepped forward, her voice shaking but firm. "Then let me give you proof. The cult is staging forces for this entire region. There's a supply depot. Hidden. In the Blackwood Forest, two days east of here. It's disguised as an old logging camp. Send your two best scouts. Ones you trust with your life. They will find weapons, armor, and void-sealed containers. Or... they'll find a cult ambush waiting for them. Either way, you get your answer."
Her gamble was breathtaking. She was offering them a target, and potentially, her own life if it was a trap. After a furious, whispered debate, the council agreed. But that would take days. Days we didn't have. Days Elara didn't have.
"In the meantime," Dren pressed, his voice a low, reasonable gravel, "we must discuss coordination. The siege of Verdwood proves..."
"It proves your settlement is a target," one of the military commanders barked. "You're asking us to tie our fate to your sinking ship. We will wait for our scouts. Three days."
The meeting was over. We were dismissed.
The second we were out of that stuffy, hostile chamber, I made the call. "We're finding Elara."
"Ren," Dren warned, "that directly contradicts strategic priorities..."
"I don't care," I said, my voice shaking with a cold, clear rage. "She's one of us. We are not... I am not... abandoning her. We don't leave our people behind. We don't."
I was thinking of Takeshi. Of the kids he'd left. The promise. This was the test.
Dren studied me for a long, hard moment, his gaze unreadable. "Four hours," he said finally. "That's what I'll give you. Four hours to find a trail. After that, the mission, and the war, comes first. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
Mira knew, of course. "She's not running to the cult. She's running from you. From herself. She'll be in the northern forests. Isolated. Difficult terrain."
We split up. Dren and Mira. Me and Kaela.
It was useless. Three hours of pushing through dense, trackless forest, my heart sinking with every step. Nothing. She was gone. We'd failed her.
And then... I felt it.
It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a sight. It was a feeling. A cold, jagged scream in the back of my mind. A resonance signature, not of power, but of pure, undiluted self-loathing, guilt, and terror.
"This way," I said, breaking into a dead run, following the thread of pain.
We found her in a shallow cave, huddled at the entrance, soaked from the river she'd clearly used to cover her trail. She was feral. Her marks were glowing a sick, pulsing violet. Her shadow was a writhing, defensive mass of solid, sharp tendrils. She scrambled to her feet when she saw us, a broken, jagged piece of wood gripped in her hand like a knife.
"Stay back!" she shrieked, her voice a raw, animal sound. "I'm not... I'm not going back to that cell! I'll kill you! I swear, I'll kill you, too!"
"We're not here to take you," I said, my hands up, my voice as calm as I could make it. I could feel her power... it was so unstable, so close to just... breaking.
"Liar!" she screamed. "You're with them! You'll lock me up!"
"We're not," I said, taking a slow step. Her shadow lashed out, a solid spike of darkness that shattered the rock where I'd been standing.
"Kaela," I said, not taking my eyes off Elara.
"Got it," she said, her own sword out, but she wasn't advancing. She was just... a wall. A presence.
"Elara," I said, my voice firm. "I'm Ren. This is Kaela. We're your network. We are not here to hurt you."
"I... I killed them," she whispered, the words collapsing out of her. "The guards... I... I didn't mean to. They... they grabbed me... and my shadow... it just... it... it reacted." She looked at her own hands in horror. "I'm a monster. Just like they said. I'm a... I'm a murderer."
"You are not a monster," I said, taking another step. "You're a terrified kid who was caged for a year and a half. You panicked. That is not murder. That is a trauma response."
"They're still dead!" she sobbed.
"Yes," I said, my heart aching for her. "They are. And that's something you'll have to carry. We all... we all have to carry things. But you don't have to carry it alone. And you don't let it define you. You don't let it be the end."
I let my own shadow move. Just a simple, calm, non-threatening tendril, extending it into the space between us. "We don't abandon our people, Elara. We never abandon our people. Not when they're scared. Not when they're angry. And not when they're broken."
She just... collapsed. The fight, the fear, the feral energy... it all vanished, leaving a sixteen-year-old girl sobbing in the dirt. Kaela was beside her in an instant, her sword gone, her hand on Elara's heaving back.
"I don't... I don't deserve this..." Elara choked out.
"None of us 'deserve' anything," Kaela said, her voice rough. "We just... we choose to show up for each other. That's what makes us different."
We camped near the cave that night. Dren and Mira found us, drawn by the sudden calm in the resonance. We sat around a low, smokeless fire.
"She can't go back to Riverholt," Mira said, stating the obvious. "They'll execute her."
"And she can't stay here," Dren added. "She's a beacon for the cult."
"She comes with us," I said. "Back to Verdwood."
"Riverholt will never agree," Dren said. "She's their 'citizen.' Their 'murderer.' "
"Then we negotiate," I said. "We tell them the truth. She's unstable because of their methods. The only way to ensure she doesn't become the monster they fear is to let us, her network, train her. It's not a request. It's... it's the only solution."
It was a diplomatic nightmare. We were about to walk back into that war room, ask them for a military alliance, and, in the same breath, demand they hand over the "murderer" of their own guards.
I used the relay to update Lysara. Her reaction was a sharp, indrawn breath that hissed over the connection.
"...Ren. She killed people. They'll... they'll declare us enemies, not allies. This could cost us everything."
"They won't," I said, my voice hard with a certainty I didn't entirely feel. "We're bringing her back, Lyss."
"Back? To Verdwood? What about the alliance? What about..."
"Then we bring her back anyway," I said, the decision solidifying, absolute. "We'll deal with the politics. We are not leaving her."
There was a long, long silence on the other end. "You're choosing the person over the mission," Lysara said, her voice a strange, tight mix of exasperation, terror, and... pride. "That's... very you."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"It's a complicated thing," she replied, her voice soft. "It's the right thing, Ren. Which is why it's probably going to make the war that much harder. Just... be careful."
The connection died, leaving us in the silence of the forest. Tomorrow, we'd walk back into Riverholt. We'd have to try and build an alliance with people who, right now, probably wanted to execute us all.
"The alliance isn't worth it," I said, to Kaela, to the night, "if we become the kind of people who leave our wounded behind."