Ryn didn't sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, stone scraped against stone and the wolf rose again, too tall, too close, its hollow eyes fixed on him like it remembered.
So when dawn crept through the thin curtains of his room, he was already sitting upright on his bed, staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else.
They were still shaking.
"Get it together," he muttered, pressing them against his knees. "You're not dying. You're just… apparently a threat to public safety."
That didn't help.
The walk to the Guild of Cartographers felt longer than it should have. Bramblewick was awake now, vendors shouting, children running past, life continuing as if the square hadn't nearly been destroyed the day before.
That was the worst part.
No one said anything as he passed, but some people stared. Others didn't look at him at all, which somehow felt worse.
He kept his head down.
The Guild tower loomed ahead of him, tall, narrow, its stone etched with symbols that made his eyes itch if he looked too long. The doors were already open, as if they'd been expecting him.
Of course they were.
Inside, the air smelled like ink, parchment, and something faintly metallic. Old magic, maybe. The kind that had settled into the walls and decided it wasn't leaving.
Ryn hovered just inside the doorway, suddenly very aware of how out of place he felt.
"Don't block the entrance."
He jumped.
A boy about his age brushed past him, dark hair tied back carelessly, staff resting over one shoulder. He didn't even slow down.
"Sorry," Ryn blurted automatically.
The boy glanced back, eyes sharp and assessing. "You're the square kid."
Ryn winced. "I...yeah."
"Huh." The boy's mouth twitched. "Didn't expect you to look so… breakable."
Ryn opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn't sure what the correct response to that was.
The boy snorted. "Relax. I'm Kael." He jerked his chin toward the hall. "Come on. First lesson's about to start, and you do not want to be late for Elara."
That name again.
Ryn followed, heart thudding.
The main hall was massive. Maps covered every surface, walls, floors, even the ceiling. Some were still, others subtly shifting, rivers flowing, borders breathing like they were alive.
Ryn felt dizzy just looking at them.
These people live with this every day?
A woman stood at the center of the hall, posture straight, presence heavy enough that the room seemed to bend around her. Her silver hair was pulled back neatly, her expression calm in the way storms sometimes were right before they broke.
"This," she said, without raising her voice, "is not a place for curiosity without discipline."
Everyone fell silent.
"I am Master Elara," she continued. "If you are here, it is because you have the potential to alter the world. That does not make you special. It makes you responsible."
Her gaze moved, then stopped on Ryn.
He swallowed.
"You," she said. "Step forward."
His legs protested, but he did it anyway.
"You created an unsanctioned manifestation in a public square," Elara said calmly.
Ryn's face burned. "I didn't mean to."
"I know," she replied. "Intent does not erase consequence."
That hit harder than yelling would have.
She gestured, and a piece of parchment floated toward him, settling in the air at chest height. It was blank. Too blank. Like it was waiting.
"Draw a hill," Elara said. "Nothing more."
Ryn hesitated. His fingers tightened around the quill.
Don't rush. Don't panic. Don't think about wolves.
He drew.
Slowly. Carefully. The line curved, steady but not stiff. The parchment warmed under his touch.
Outside, stone shifted. A small hill rose near the courtyard wall, clean and harmless.
Ryn exhaled before he realized he'd been holding his breath.
"Again," Elara said.
This time, the hill wobbled. The edge sagged, soil slumping awkwardly before collapsing into itself.
Ryn flinched. "I, I didn't..."
"You doubted," Elara said. "The map heard you."
His stomach twisted.
Around him, quills scratched confidently. He didn't need to look to know Kael was doing just fine.
"Map magic is not obedience," Elara continued. "It is negotiation. And right now, you are shouting and apologizing at the same time."
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the hall.
Ryn's ears rang.
"Again," she said.
His hand shook. He hated that it did. Hated that everyone could probably see it.
I can do this. I already did it once. I just need to stop freaking out.
He drew the hill again. This time, he focused on the weight of the earth, the way dirt wanted to settle.
The hill formed. Stable.
Elara nodded once. "Better."
It wasn't praise. But it felt like relief.
During the break, Ryn escaped to the courtyard and sat hard on the edge of the fountain.
Kael dropped down beside him like he'd been invited.
"You overthink," Kael said.
Ryn laughed weakly. "I nearly crushed half the square yesterday."
"Exactly," Kael replied. "You're trying not to mess up instead of trying to draw."
Ryn frowned. "That's… not helpful."
Kael shrugged. "Worked for me."
Ryn glanced at him. "You ever lose control?"
Kael didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the far wall, where old maps were carved into stone.
"Everyone does," he said finally. "The smart ones just don't do it where people can see."
That didn't make Ryn feel better.
That evening, the anomaly appeared.
It started as a wrongness in the air, like the square was holding its breath again.
Ryn felt it before he saw it.
The cobblestones rippled. Lines twisted where no map had been drawn. Something pulled itself together out of mistakes and leftover magic.
"Oh no," Ryn whispered. "No, no, no, this isn't..."
The creature rose, smaller than the wolf, but denser. Heavier. Like it had learned.
People screamed.
Ryn didn't think.
He dropped to his knees and spread his parchment, hands moving on instinct. He drew boundaries, containment lines, anything to slow it down.
The anomaly resisted.
Pain flared behind his eyes. His thoughts tangled. I'm not ready. I can't...
Yes, you can.
The thought wasn't his.
Ryn froze.
The map pulsed.
Understanding hit him all at once, not knowledge, but feeling. The anomaly wasn't attacking. It was unfinished. Confused.
"Okay," Ryn whispered, voice shaking. "Okay. I see you."
He redrew, not to erase, but to guide. Lines softened. The shape unraveled gently, like it was being laid to rest instead of destroyed.
When it vanished, Ryn collapsed forward, palms flat on the stone.
He was breathing hard. Laughing. Almost crying.
Master Elara stood nearby.
"You learned faster than expected," she said.
Ryn looked up at her, exhausted. "I was terrified."
"Yes," she replied. "Good."
That night, alone in his room, Ryn stared at his quill.
It felt heavier now.
Not powerful.
Responsible.
And somehow, that scared him more.