(Before the End, I Returned)
Chapter 6
(First Contact)
Pryan did not sleep.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling while the words from the parchment circled without settling. They did not repeat cleanly. They broke apart, returned out of order, pressed in from different angles.
What you do not understand will collapse.
What you do not limit will consume you.
He exhaled slowly and sat up.
The room was dark, the kind of darkness that came from familiarity rather than absence. He knew where everything was. The window to his left. The table near the wall. The faint outline of the chair where he left his coat.
If he was going to try, it would be now.
He slid his feet onto the floor and stood. The stone was cold beneath him. That helped. It kept his thoughts from drifting too far.
Pryan closed his eyes.
At first, he did nothing.
He listened to his breathing. Felt the slow rise and fall of his chest. Let his thoughts thin instead of forcing them into shape. This was not magic training. This was closer to waiting.
When he felt steady enough, he raised one hand.
A sword came to mind immediately.
Not because it was complex, but because it was familiar. He had trained with one for years. He knew its weight. Its balance. The way it bit into the air when swung properly.
He focused.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, narrowing the image. Not the entire weapon. Just the blade. Straight. Clean. Simple.
A pressure formed behind his eyes. Sharp enough to make him flinch.
The image wavered, then shattered.
Pryan lowered his hand and breathed out through his nose. The room tilted slightly before settling again.
He waited a moment, then tried once more.
This time, something did appear.
A faint outline hovered in front of him, no longer than his forearm. It had no edge. No weight. It was wrong in a way he could not immediately explain.
The shape collapsed before he could examine it further.
Pain followed. Not physical, exactly. A tightness that wrapped around his thoughts and squeezed.
He stumbled back a step and sat on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched.
So that's what collapse feels like.
After a while, the pressure faded enough for him to stand again.
Weapons were too much. He could feel that now. Not because they were dangerous, but because they demanded knowledge he didn't fully possess. He knew how to use them. That was not the same as knowing them.
He let the idea go.
Instead, he turned his attention inward.
His legs felt heavy from the day's training. His shoulders ached faintly. He focused on that sensation and imagined it easing. Not disappearing. Just lightening.
The effect was subtle.
His posture straightened before he realized it. His breathing smoothed out, becoming deeper, steadier. The ache in his shoulders dulled, not gone, but quieter.
It lasted only a few seconds.
When it ended, exhaustion rushed in all at once. Pryan grabbed the bedpost to steady himself as the room swayed.
He laughed once, quietly, more from surprise than amusement.
So it works like this.
Support. Not creation.
He waited until the dizziness passed, then tried again. This time, he imagined steadier hands. A firmer grip. The sensation he felt when his stance was correct and his balance true.
The effect came faster.
And ended faster too.
His head throbbed, a dull pulse that made him wince. He stopped immediately, sitting back down and pressing his palm against his temple.
This was enough for tonight.
Or it should have been.
As he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his thoughts drifted without direction. Images surfaced and faded. Training grounds. Pages from books. The hidden chamber beneath the library.
Then something else.
Small. Familiar.
A creature he had seen countless times in the gardens and outer courtyards of Heir Doom.
A mireling.
They were harmless things. Palm-sized, round-bodied, with soft gray fur and wide black eyes. Mirelings fed on insects and moss, nesting near damp stone and shallow water. Children liked them. Servants tolerated them. No one thought much about them at all.
Pryan knew their shape. Their habits. The way they curled into themselves when startled. The faint warmth of their bodies when held.
The thought came unbidden.
And stayed.
Before he realized what he was doing, Pryan's awareness reached outward.
The air in front of him shifted.
He froze.
Something small appeared near the floor, no more than a few steps away.
The mireling was there.
It looked… right. Complete. Its fur lay flat against its body. Its tiny chest moved as it breathed. It blinked once, slow and uncertain.
Pryan did not move.
Neither did the mireling.
They stared at each other in silence.
The moment stretched.
Then the creature made a soft sound, barely audible, and shifted its weight. Its claws clicked faintly against the stone.
Pryan's heart began to pound.
This was not an image. Not a sensation.
This was something else.
The mireling lasted less than a minute.
Its edges blurred first. Then its form thinned, as if the air itself were pulling it apart. The creature did not struggle. It simply faded, dissolving into nothing without sound or resistance.
When it was gone, Pryan felt it.
A sharp pull, deep in his chest. His breath hitched. His vision darkened at the edges, and he collapsed backward onto the bed, gasping.
The pain was worse than before. Not stronger, but deeper. Like something had reached inside him and left a hollow behind.
He lay there until the sensation eased, staring at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.
I created it.
The thought did not bring pride.
Only fear.
He had not commanded it. Had not shaped it deliberately. He had simply understood it, completely and without effort.
That was all Imagine had needed.
Pryan rolled onto his side and curled in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his chest.
This was not power meant to be used carelessly.
Not tonight. Not like this.
He did not try again.
By the time exhaustion finally pulled him toward sleep, one thought remained, quiet and heavy.
If something this simple could exist so easily…
…what would happen if he ever tried to force something greater?
The question followed him into uneasy dreams.