The triumph was brief, a single, bright spark that was immediately smothered by a wave of violent nausea. Kaelen stumbled to his knees, vomiting into the moss. His head throbbed as if split by an axe, and a deep, resonant ache settled into his bones, a fatigue that felt centuries old. The world swam, the vibrant silver trail of the Echo now a painful, blinding glare.
Lyra was at his side in an instant, her hand firm on his shoulder, holding him steady. "Breathe. Deep and slow. You've drawn too deeply, too soon. Your body is not a Warden's. It does not know how to bear the cost."
"The cost?" he gasped, spitting the bitter taste from his mouth. His whole body trembled with a chill that had nothing to do with the forest air.
"Every action has an equal reaction," she said, her voice clinical, though her grip was steadying. "To push the Aether, it pushes back. You channeled a force that can level cities. Your mortal frame is the conduit. You are lucky you only emptied your stomach and not your mind into the Echo." She offered him a waterskin. "Drink. Small sips."
He obeyed, the cool water a minor blessing. As the immediate sickness subsided, it was replaced by a hollow, scraped-out feeling. He felt… thinner, as if a part of his essence had been blasted out along with the concussive wave.
"What was that?" he whispered, staring at his still-trembling hands. "I didn't… I didn't know I could do that."
"That was raw, untrained Resonance," Lyra stated, finally releasing his shoulder and standing. She kept a wary eye on the surrounding woods as she spoke. "Most Aethermancy is a careful application of force—a scalpel. What you did was a hammer. An inefficient, dangerous, but undeniably powerful hammer. You did not use a Glyph or Channel it through muscle. You spoke the language of creation itself and shouted a command." She glanced back at the dead Hound. "And it listened."
The reality of what he had done began to sink in. He had killed that… thing. Not with a blade, but with a thought, with a feeling. The power was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure. For a fleeting moment, he imagined turning that power on the men who had come for Borin. A cold satisfaction washed over him.
Lyra's voice, sharp as her daggers, cut through the fantasy. "Do not let it seduce you. That path leads to becoming what we fight. The Umbral Cults are full of those who sought power to set the world right and lost themselves in the silence. Power is a tool, Kaelen, not a solution. And you are a very long way from mastering it."
She was right. The hollow ache in his soul was proof enough. This was not a gift; it was a transaction, and the price was a piece of himself.
"We cannot stay," she said, her tone returning to its pragmatic cadence. "The death-cry of a Blight-spawn will have been felt. They will converge on this location." She shouldered her pack and offered him a hand up. He took it, his legs still unsteady.
"Where are we going?" he asked, his voice stronger now. The boy who counted sheep was gone, buried in a thicket next to a nightmare. The man who was left needed a purpose, a direction.
"To a safe point," she replied. "A place where the Aether is turbulent, a whirlpool that will hide your signature from their Hounds and Sniffers. There is a node of power two days' journey from here. A place the old maps call the 'Shattered Temple.' We can regroup there."
She didn't wait for his agreement. She simply started moving, expecting him to follow. And he did. This time, it was different. He wasn't a reluctant prisoner being dragged to safety. He was a student, walking behind his master, the weight of the dagger she had given him a tangible reminder of the new world he inhabited.
He focused on the Echo as they walked, not just to follow the trail, but to understand it. He listened to its layers—the deep, foundational hum, the higher, melodic frequencies that wove through the trees and stone, and the new, jarring static of the distant Barrier's decay. He tried to feel the Aether Lyra was Channeling, the subtle drawing-in of energy that fueled her preternatural grace and endurance. It was like a soft inhalation from the world around her.
He also felt his own body, the lingering fatigue, the hollow space where his power had erupted. It was like a muscle he never knew he had, now sore and strained.
As dusk began to bleed into a deep, starless night, Lyra found a shelter beneath the sprawling, exposed roots of a colossal ironwood tree. They ate in silence—tough journey-bread and dried meat from her pack.
Finally, Kaelen spoke into the quiet, the question that had been burning in him since the river. "The Aegis… the Wardens. You knew about me. You've been watching me?"
Lyra finished a mouthful of bread, her gaze fixed on the small, concealed fire she had allowed. "We watch all potential Resonants. The signs are there, in childhood. The dreams. The sensitivity to places of power. The 'imaginary friends' that are often faint Aetheric echoes. Most never fully awaken. They live their lives as dreamers, artists, or madmen. You… your signature was always strong. Like a lighthouse. We knew it was only a matter of time before the Umbral Cults saw it too."
"Did Borin know? Who you were?"
"He knew enough," she said, her voice softening almost imperceptibly. "He knew you were special. He knew there were those who would harm you for it. He was instructed to live a normal life, to keep you normal, and to light a signal fire in the hearth of The Grinning Griffin if strangers with dead eyes ever came asking. He never did. He chose to stand and fight instead. He bought us these days with his life." She looked at him, the firelight dancing in her wintery eyes. "Do not cheapen that sacrifice with regret. Honor it with purpose."
Kaelen absorbed her words. The pieces of his life were rearranging themselves into a new, darker mosaic. His entire childhood had been a disguise, a prelude to a war he never knew was being waged over his head. Borin hadn't just been a father; he had been a guardian, a soldier on a secret, endless watch.
He looked down at his hands again, no longer trembling. The hollow feeling was still there, but it was no longer just emptiness. It was space. Space to grow, to learn, to become something more than he was.
"At the Shattered Temple," he said, his voice low and steady. "You'll teach me? Not just to run and hide. You'll teach me to use this? To fight?"
Lyra held his gaze for a long moment, then gave a single, sharp nod. "I will teach you to survive. The fighting… that will be up to you."
It was enough. For the first time since he saw the crack in the sky, Kaelen felt a sliver of control. The Echo was no longer a curse or a haunting. It was a weapon. A dangerous, double-edged weapon that could hollow him out, but a weapon nonetheless.
And he was done being prey.