Camp Beneath the Weeping Sky
Night fell under a meteor-dappled sky. The air smelled of ozone and old regrets.
Cael couldn't sleep. Mireth sat by the fire, sharpening a curved dagger that hummed faintly with wind Essentia.
"You keep watching me," she said without looking up.
"You never talk about why you're helping me," Cael replied.
She smiled—bittersweet.
"Because I once walked in your shoes.
And the world didn't break… because I chose to run."
Mireth's Backstory: A Lost Sealbearer
She tells him the truth:
"I was part of a failed expedition to investigate a relic site five years ago.
There were six of us. One of them found a shard—like yours."
Cael tensed. "What happened to him?"
"He opened something.
And it opened something in him."
She paused. Then whispered:
"He killed three of us. I ran.
And I've been trying to make it mean something ever since."
The Ashfield Memory
She describes the Ashfield Tragedy—a village that disappeared overnight in a silent implosion of mana.
"No screams. No flames. Just… negative space.
A hole in reality that hummed with his voice."
Cael realized her fear of him wasn't just logic—it was trauma. A wound reopened by his presence.
But she still stayed.
"I believe you're not like him.
Not yet."
Cael's Response
He hesitated. Then handed her a page from his notebook: diagrams, Void theory, even his fears.
"If I start changing… will you tell me? Even if it hurts?"
Mireth met his eyes.
"No.
If you start changing, I'll stop you. Even if it kills me."
They said nothing more that night. But something between them shifted—from tense alliance to tragic trust.
A New Disturbance
At dawn, the shard pulsed. Cael turned north.
"The next seal… it's close. But it's wrong.
It's bleeding."
They packed their things. Mireth's wind blade sang once, then went still.
They moved.