Days bled into one another, each a mirror of the last. We pushed through the oppressive green twilight of the forest, our world shrinking to the few feet of ground in front of us. The journey was a grueling slog, but a new rhythm established itself. I became the provider, the diviner. Each morning, I would quiet my mind and listen to the earth, my senses spreading like roots. I'd find the thin, silvery song of underground streams or the vibrant, wholesome hum of edible plants. My power, born in an open desert, was becoming a tool for the deep, secret places of the world.
Kael, in turn, became the navigator and the historian. When the canopy thinned enough to see the sky, he would read the stars, unfamiliar to me, and plot our course. During our brief, weary rests, he would speak of the world before the Magi, of the different kinds of wild magic the Library had only hinted at. He spoke of them not as weapons, but as dialects of the earth's song, and I began to understand that my Sandsong was but one verse in an epic I was only just beginning to read. The dynamic between us had shifted. He was no longer just my protector; he was my teacher, and I, his guide.
It was on the fourth day that I felt a new song in the forest—one that was jarringly out of place. It was a low, heavy, dissonant thrum that spoke of hunger and territorial aggression.
"Something's here," I whispered, stopping mid-step. "Something large."
Kael froze, his hand resting on the hilt of a long knife he kept hidden in his cloak. We began to see signs. A massive tree trunk scored with claw marks far too high for a wolf or bear. A deer carcass, picked clean with an unsettling neatness. We were trespassing, not in Magi territory, but in the hunting ground of a powerful, native predator.
That night, we dared not light a fire. We found shelter in a shallow overhang of rock, the cold seeping into our bones. As a deep, starless dark settled over the forest, the creature's song grew louder. We heard it moving through the undergrowth—the heavy tread, the snap of branches. It was circling our position, its predatory curiosity a palpable pressure in the air.
It was a massive, cat-like beast, its fur the color of mottled shadow, that stepped into the small clearing before our shelter. Its eyes glowed with a faint, phosphorescent light, and a low growl rumbled in its chest. It hadn't seen us yet, but it had scented us.
Kael drew his knife, a useless gesture against such a creature. Panic flared in my chest, hot and sharp. My first instinct was to lash out, to try and form a weapon from the gritty soil beneath us. But that was the old way. That was the song of Dominion.
Instead, I took a deep breath, pressing my palm against the ground. I didn't try to create a wall or a spear. I focused on the earth directly in front of the beast, and I sang a song of deep annoyance. I found the resonant frequency of the small pebbles and grit and made them vibrate, creating a low, intensely irritating hum that no creature would want to stand on. It was the magical equivalent of a swarm of biting flies.
The creature paused, shaking its massive head. It took another step forward, and I intensified the vibration. It growled, not in aggression now, but in confusion and irritation. It pawed at the ground, trying to find the source of the annoyance. It looked towards our dark alcove, its glowing eyes trying to pierce the gloom, but the ground beneath it was simply too unpleasant.
With a final, frustrated snort, the beast turned and padded away, melting back into the shadows to find less irritating prey.
I held my focus until its heavy song had faded completely into the distance. Only then did I collapse back against the rock, a cold sweat covering my skin. I hadn't hurt it. I hadn't fought it. I had simply made my presence an annoyance it didn't want to deal with.
Kael let out a long, shaky breath and slid the knife back into its sheath. "The Library taught you well," he murmured into the darkness. "Sometimes, the most powerful weapon is the one that is never drawn."
We didn't sleep much that night, but we survived. And as the first grey light of dawn filtered through the trees, we saw it. Through a gap in the canopy, not far ahead, the trees began to thin, giving way to the gentle, rolling hills of open farmland. We had made it through.