The instrument hummed against Ren's palm like a small, impatient heart.
Dawn dragged a thin line of light over the cloud-sea.
The pendant at his throat lay quiet under shirt, a fossil scale chilled to metal.
He squinted at the tiny gauge Kira had fashioned and set it against the cliff wind.
"Read it," Lin had said the night before.
"See the currents before you listen to the sky."
Ren inhaled until ribs ached and let the breath fall slow.
The Echo's soft prompt threaded through his mind.
He pushed his hands into his knees and tuned to the space between gusts.
"Relax your jaw," Kira called from the ridge.
"Don't clench like you're bracing for a blade."
Ren loosened his teeth until his mouth tasted like iron.
The key warmed with his palm; its tip kissed the air and flashed a thin line.
Numbers ticked in the corner of his vision.
He inhaled.
He let the breath become a bridge.
"Think of the air as a song," Lin said, perched on a low stone.
"Not notes. Gaps. Listen to the silence between notes."
A gull cried and the sound slid off the edge of the world.
The air under Ren's palms moved differently—a thin lift that had hesitated then passed.
He mapped it with the key.
"Good," Kira breathed. "Hold."
The Echo chimed, almost approving.
The cliff air tasted of salt and metal.
Sweat beaded at Ren's brow; the scar under his jaw pinched like a taut rope.
The first minute passed; the second followed.
Energy drew from him in a way that came with a price.
"Don't pull from yourself," Lin murmured. "Open, don't drain."
Ren spread his hands on his knees and imagined the wind as a rope he could step through.
A whisper of current threaded up his sleeves.
A patch of skin along his forearm prickled.
For a second, scales shimmered faint at the edge of sight.
"Three minutes," the Echo announced.
Kira clicked her tongue.
At four minutes thirty, the world slid.
Light sharpened, then tore white at the edges.
He counted backward with teeth clinched and the gauge sang a small victory.
He continued—because failing felt worse than falling.
At precisely five minutes the Echo declared the task complete.
A small pulse ticked beneath his ribs.
He sagged forward, lungs empty and humming.
The cost came immediate: limbs heavy as wet rope, a headache like a struck gong.
The victory tasted like copper and something small and brittle called hope.
Kira laughed—a quick, sharp sound—then shoved a cup of broth into his hands.
Her fingers brushed the pendant with a practicality that felt like affection.
"Look alive," she said.
"One PAD. Don't spend it on stupid things."
Lin packed a handful of odd tools into his satchel.
He shrugged and grinned at Ren.
"You held it. Not perfectly, but without eating yourself. That's progress."
Ren thumbed the fossil scale until the warmth numbed.
The Echo's tree flickered at the periphery of his sight.
PADs counted small and stubborn.
"Where are you going?" Ren asked, standing unsteadily.
Lin's bag creaked with loose contraptions.
"I push my boat to the wind-stitched river for a look-see. You want something, ask."
He peered at Ren's map tucked into his shirt.
"About that Jade Forge?"
Ren met Lin's eyes.
"You know where it is?"
Lin's smile sharpened like a blade.
"I know enough to find the edge of the known world. Beyond that is rumor and bad ink. I'll take you to the border of honest maps. But I don't cross into stories for free."
Kira spat a laugh that held both anger and a bargain.
"What do you want, then? Coin? Your dignity?"
Lin's fingers toyed with the apple core in his pocket.
"Curiosity is my currency. Access to your experiment, the evolution. Document it. I'm a scholar—formerly. I want to observe how an untrained focus integrates with a human channel."
Ren bristled.
"You want to watch me like a specimen?"
"I want to learn," Lin said bluntly. "And document. There's prestige in watchers who can say: 'I saw the first change.' That prestige keeps my lights lit."
Kira's jaw clenched.
"So you'd trade a ride for a front-row seat to whatever happens to him. Charming."
Lin shrugged.
"Make the terms and call it what you will. I get to record progress, you get a ride. You get closer to Jade Forge. I get evidence. And no, I won't cross the last stretch."
Ren's fingers closed around the map.
His father's scrawl tensed under his touch.
The glider promise hovered behind his ribs.
"What's the cost?" Ren asked.
Lin's eyes brightened.
"Access. Time. Stories. I'll need to watch. Ask questions. Call it fieldwork. In exchange, I push you to the edge of known maps."
He tapped his satchel.
"And a share of whatever curiosity uncovers. That includes: testing your reaction to calibrated currents, access to your notes, and permission to document you in ways that might be uncomfortable."
Kira's laugh was short and sharp.
"You think we'll sit passively while you poke him with notebooks?"
Ren's jaw set.
"If I let you watch," Ren said slowly, "you keep your hands off my map. No one reads those missing pages but me and Li."
Lin's gaze flicked to the leather curl.
"A fair trade. I'll take you to the border, and I'll not touch the inner pages. But I record everything I see. That's my price."
Kira's fists curled.
"And if the Split Hammer shows up while you're scribbling?"
"You don't want to bet against them," Lin said, voice suddenly very quiet.
"That's why I won't cross certain lines. But I will bring knowledge, and knowledge buys options."
Ren stood with the map heavy against his ribs.
The Echo pulsed in cool tones at his mind's edge.
"You'll take us to the edge," Ren said finally.
"One trip. No extra hands on the map. And I'll let you observe—on the condition you do not expose us."
Lin nodded once.
"I agree. But understand—documenting is exposure by nature. Notes leak. Words travel. I can try to be discreet, but secrets have their own lives."
Kira spat a string of curses into the wind.
"Fine. We need roads and the glider fixed. You help us get supplies, and I'll secure passage."
Lin's face brightened.
"Perfect. Dawn tomorrow. I have a makeshift craft that will push us to the boundary of known charts."
Ren's hand tightened on the pendant.
The Echo's branches blinked.
"Agreed," he said.
Lin shouldered his pack and threaded the apple core into his coat.
Kira caught Ren's eye and threw him a look that mixed command and shelter.
"Don't let him write anything stupid about me," she muttered.
Ren laughed, a thin sound of nerves and faith.
"I'll be on my best behavior."
Lin waved a hand.
"Don't die before dawn. I enjoy my work and would like the story I write to have a protagonist still breathing."
The Echo flared with a note of caution.
The interface pulsed with text that filled Ren's skull.
He had twenty-four hours to decide.
ALLIANCE OFFERED. RISK OF SECRET EXPOSURE: HIGH. SURVIVAL BENEFIT: MEDIUM. DECISION REQUIRED IN 24 HOURS. OBSERVATION: THE STRANGER HAS... MEMORY LEAKS. PARTS OF HIS MIND ARE... BLURRED.