Ryn Elowen knew, knew, he wasn't supposed to be doing this.
That knowledge sat heavy in his chest as he crouched in the corner of Bramblewick's square, knees pulled close, parchment spread across his thighs like a secret he wasn't brave enough to admit out loud. The afternoon sun warmed the cobblestones beneath him, but his fingers were cold.
"Just a sketch," he muttered, more to convince himself than anything else. "Not real. Not magic. Just… lines."
The quill trembled anyway.
He'd been told a hundred times that maps were not toys. That they weren't drawings. That every line meant something. But Ryn had grown up copying old charts for coin, tracing coastlines and roads until ink felt more familiar than his own handwriting.
So when the parchment in his hands began to glow faintly, just a soft shimmer, like light caught in water, his first thought wasn't fear.
It was wonder.
His breath caught. "Oh."
The glow pulsed, responding to him. To his attention. His heart thudded harder, faster, like it was trying to warn him. He should have stopped. Anyone sensible would have.
Instead, Ryn leaned closer.
He drew a line.
It was supposed to be a street. A harmless one. A curved path leading nowhere important. His wrist moved slowly, carefully, the way he'd always drawn. The ink darkened as it touched the page, thick and alive in a way ink had no right to be.
The ground shifted.
Ryn jerked back so fast he nearly fell over. The cobblestones in front of him rearranged themselves, stones scraping against stone, forming the exact curve he'd just drawn.
"Oh no," he whispered. "No, no, no.."
People screamed.
A fruit cart toppled as the ground buckled beneath it. Apples rolled everywhere. Someone shouted his name. Someone else shouted run.
Ryn couldn't move.
The parchment burned warm in his hands as the glow intensified, the lines writhing like they were impatient. His pulse roared in his ears. Stop. Stop it. I didn't mean...
The ink moved on its own.
A shape emerged from the street, stone folding into stone, rising higher and higher until it stood taller than a horse. Limbs formed. A snout. Empty eyes carved from shadow.
A wolf made of cobblestone.
Ryn's stomach dropped.
"I didn't draw that," he breathed, voice breaking. "I swear I didn't."
The creature let out a sound that wasn't quite a howl,more like grinding rock, and took a step forward. The square erupted into chaos.
Ryn's hands shook so badly the quill slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. His chest felt too tight, like there wasn't enough air in the world.
Think.
You did this. So undo it.
He scrambled for the quill, fingers numb, and dragged it across the parchment in a desperate, ugly stroke. The map flared blindingly bright.
The wolf froze.
Then it cracked.
Stone split apart, crumbling inward as if the shape itself was being erased. In seconds, it collapsed into rubble, dust rising into the air like a held breath finally released.
Silence fell.
Ryn stayed on his knees, staring at the mess he'd made. His ears rang. His palms stung where the parchment had burned him. Around him, townsfolk whispered, cried, stared.
He felt small. Stupid. Terrified.
"I didn't mean to," he said to no one in particular. "I really didn't."
A slow clap echoed behind him.
Ryn flinched and turned.
A figure stood at the edge of the square, wrapped in dark robes that seemed to swallow the light around them. Their face was hidden, but Ryn could feel their gaze like pressure on his skin.
"You drew reality," the figure said calmly. "And reality answered."
Ryn's throat went dry. "I, I didn't know I could do that."
"That," the figure replied, "is what makes you dangerous."
The words landed heavier than any shout.
The robed stranger stepped closer, voice dropping. "Maps are not pictures, boy. They are commands. And you have just proven you can issue them."
Ryn shook his head, panic surging again. "I don't want this. I almost hurt people."
"But you didn't," the figure said. "Which means you have instinct. Raw, uncontrolled instinct, but instinct all the same."
They straightened. "You will come to the Guild of Cartographers tomorrow."
"What if I say no?" Ryn asked before he could stop himself.
The figure paused. For a moment, Ryn thought they might laugh.
"You won't," they said simply. "Because now you know what happens when a map is left untrained."
And just like that, they were gone.
No flash. No sound. Just empty space where they'd been standing.
Ryn sat there long after the square cleared, dust settling around him. His hands still wouldn't stop shaking.
He stared down at the parchment.
It was blank now.
As if nothing had ever happened.
But the faint warmth lingered, seeping into his skin, a reminder he couldn't shake.
"Great," he muttered hoarsely. "I broke the world. On a Tuesday."
Somewhere deep inside him, beneath the fear and the guilt, something else stirred.
Not excitement.
Not pride.
But the terrifying realization that this wasn't an accident anymore.
This was a beginning.