What have I done? His breath came in short, panicked gasps. His hands trembled. The magic still lingered, pulsing in his veins, but it felt wrong. Too natural. Too easy. Vael was staring at him. The scholar, too. Mathias swallowed. This was bad. His power had saved them, but now they knew. They saw it. His mind began to race, would they also despise him? Hang him? He could feel the noose tightening around his neck again. The memories, they rushed through his mind like water breaking through a dam.

  The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. The wind had picked up again, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and salt, but beneath it all was the acrid, metallic tang of something unnatural. Mathias could still feel the magic humming through his bones, even as the creature’s remains lay shattered before him—jagged, bloodstained shards scattered across the sand like the remnants of a broken statue.

  He stared at his hands. They were trembling, though whether from exhaustion or something deeper, he couldn't tell. The glow of the magic had long since faded, but the phantom sensation of its power still lingered beneath his skin. He swallowed hard.

  That shouldn't have been possible...

  He'd never called upon magic like that before, never shaped it into something so raw, so instinctual. When he'd felt that surge of energy that pull of something vast and incomprehensible within him, it had been as if the magic had been waiting—eager—to be unleashed.

  And that terrified him.

  The sound of crunching sand snapped him out of his thoughts.

  Vael was standing a few feet away, still gripping his knife, his stance—tense and wary. His sharp, weathered features were drawn tight, his eyes flicking between Mathias and the remains of the creature. He didn't say anything, not yet, but Mathias could see the questions forming behind his gaze.

  The scholar, however, was less composed.

  "What—" Her voice was hoarse, thick with disbelief. "What in the seven hells was that?"

  Mathias didn't answer immediately. He forced himself to his feet, brushing damp sand from his ragged clothes. His muscles ached, his entire body protesting the sudden movements, but he ignored it. Focus. Keep moving. Don't let them see how shaken you are.

  He turned toward the scholar, meeting her wide, disbelieving stare. "Magic," he said simply, though the word felt insufficient for what had just happened.

  The scholar let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "No shit. But that—" She gestured wildly at the crumbled remains. "That was... Necrotic wasn't it?! Entropy! That's—"

  "Forbidden?" Mathias finished dryly. His voice was calm, but inside, his heart was pounding. He already knew what came next—the fear, the accusations, the inevitable distrust. He had seen it before, lived it before.

  Vael exhaled through his nose, his grip on his knife finally loosening. "I do not care. Forbidden or not," he said, his tone measured. "It kept us alive."

  The scholar's mouth snapped shut.

  Mathias studied Vael carefully. His expression was unreadable, but there was something calculating in the way he watched him, something that made Mathias uneasy.

  "I guess that proves it," Vael continued.

  "Proves what?"

  "You are a magus, thaumaturge, warlock. Whatever names you have for your folk."

  "I... I didn't know I could do that," Mathias admitted.

  The scholar scoffed. "That's reassuring."

  Mathias shot her a glare but didn't argue. He didn't blame her for being unnerved—hells, he was unnerved. He had spent days trying to suppress this part of himself, to bury it beneath layers of denial and resentment. Yet here, in this forsaken land, with no kingdom left to brand him a heretic, it had taken barely a heartbeat for his power to surface.

  And the worst part? It had felt good.

  "W... We need to move," he said, glancing toward the dunes ahead. "I doubt that thing was alone." He tried to calm himself, visibly shaken now. He shoved the earlier thought aside. There were more immediate concerns.

  Vael nodded. "Agreed. And do not worry, there is nothing to hang you here with. And hanging someone who just saved my life? The sun would never shine on me again."

  The scholar hesitated, glancing back at the creature's remains, then at Mathias. "If we start seeing signs of—" She stopped herself, exhaling through gritted teeth. "Just... if anything feels wrong, I want to know immediately."

  Mathias gave her a tight nod. He didn't bother to tell her that he already felt wrong.

  The three of them started forward, leaving the wreckage of the fight behind.

  The landscape was an endless stretch of barren, undulating sand, broken only by the occasional jagged outcrop of blackened rock. They were somewhere on the eastern shore, to the north and south, endless sand and rocks. To the west, cliffs, hundreds of feet tall. To the east, an endless ocean, thousands of miles away from land. The storm had passed, but the air remained thick with moisture, and an eerie stillness clung to the coast, as if the very earth was waiting for something. They headed north.

  Mathias walked slightly ahead of the other two, his body still aching but his senses keen. Every shift in the sand, every distant gust of wind, set his nerves on edge. The memory of the afflicted creature still burned fresh in his mind.

  He could feel Vael's eyes on him occasionally, watching, assessing. The man was still trying to decide whether Mathias was a danger or an asset.

  The scholar—Amara, that was her name—kept her distance, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

  After nearly an hour of walking, not finding anything of interest, Amara finally broke the silence.

  "You said you didn't know you could do that," she said. "But you knew you had magic."

  It wasn't a question.

  Mathias sighed. "Yes."

  "How?"

  Mathias hesitated. He could lie. He could say he was just some unlucky hedge-witch, that he had picked up scraps of magic in back-alley lessons, that he had no idea what he was doing. But the scholar wasn't stupid. And Mathias was too tired for deception.

  "It was given to me," he admitted. "I didn't ask for it."

  Amara's gaze sharpened. "Given? By who?"

  Mathias hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "A god."

  That made them both stop.

  Amara turned to him, her expression unreadable. "You're saying you're god-touched?"

  "Not in the way you think." Mathias let out a humorless laugh.

  "Explain to her." Vael said as he crossed his arms.

  Mathias rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't want to explain. He didn't want to relive it. But these two weren't going anywhere, and if they were going to keep traveling together, they deserved some version of the truth.

  So, he told them.

  Not everything. Not the fear, not the nights spent staring at the ceiling wondering if he was cursed, not the way the church had looked at him with revulsion when they realized what he was. But he told them about the blessing that wasn't a blessing. About the power that had chosen him when he had never wanted it. About the way it had surged to life at the worst possible moment, marking him as something unnatural.

  When he finished, Vael was silent.

  Amara was staring at him with something almost like pity.

  "So you ran," she said finally.

  "Yeah. I ran."

  No one spoke for a long moment. Then Vael started walking again.

  "Well," he said, voice dry, "seems like running has not worked out too well for you so far. But you told this story earlier."

  Mathias let out a tired chuckle. "No. No, it hasn't. And yes, but I don't know anything more than that. I don't know how it works, I don't know what it does either."

  They continued for a while before Vael spoke up again.

  "But you know."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Not you, Rak'han. She knows." Vael pointed at the scholar.

  Amara froze.

  "What—"

  "Earlier, you mentioned entropy. So, you know?" Vael interrupted.

  "I—" she stammered.

  "I... I know of magic..." she muttered.

  "So how do you know it is entropy?"

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "I've read a lot. The colour, the effect it had on that—thing. The sudden outburst. And you didn't use any phrases."

  "So, what's that mean?" Mathias asked.

  "Well, it means you don't know how to use it. And that it is most likely innate. Which means you were either born with it, or it was given. And you have yet to grasp it entirely. Which means it is dangerous until you find a way to control and guide it."

  "Good. She knows things, that means she is useful too." Vael said.

  "Oh, that's just great." Mathias said wryly. "What else do you know?"

  "Not much, I'd have to study you. God-touched are rare. So I guess you could say you're special."

  "Study me? What—who are you supposed to be, again?"

  "My name is Amara, and I am a scholar. Alchemist extraordinaire..." she said with deceptive pride.

  "Riiight... and I am Mathias, greatest thief in the world and magical destroyer of... food stalls..."

  "Vael, exile. May the sun shine on us all." he said, covering his heart with his right hand.

  The other two looked at him confused.

  "No, but seriously. Who told you all of that?" Mathias asked.

  "No one, I told you, I've read a lot. Well, I guess I learned some from my teacher. But that's none of your business."

  "Shari, children. We should keep moving. We found not a single useful piece of wreckage so far."

  "Who are you calling child? You're not much older than us." Mathias teased.

  "That may be, but I am more... what is the word you use?"

  "Mature." Amara offered.

  "Yes, mature. And you would be best to stick with me, sea I do not know. Sands however, sands I can navigate."

  They continued in silence. They were still drenched, though slowly drying in the sun as they walked. An hour. Two hours. They found nothing of interest, scattered debris, pieces of hull. Splintered pieces of wood. Shattered barrels. Vael found a piece of sturdy driftwood along the way which he'd handed to Mathias.

  "Use it as a weapon. Better than bare hands." he said.

  Amara was still unarmed, but she kept her eyes peeled as they walked, observing, looking for something.

  "I'd feel more comfortable with my tools. I'm not a fighter really. But I can concoct a distraction or two." she said.

  "So you're a real alchemist?"

  "Yes, but just an apprentice really..." she muttered.

  "I wanted to visit Equinar. Truly start my studies there. This was the only ship headed that way." she threw a splintered piece of wood to the side."

  "Can't do much without my tools though." she looked calm, but there was an air of nervousness around her.

  "And if we don't find them?" Mathias asked

  "You better hope to whatever god you pray to that we do. For your sake."

  "My sake?"

  "Yes, don't you feel the pain?"

  Pain? What pain? Mathias thought. He didn't feel any pain. Why would he? He stopped in his tracks. Checked his legs, his arms. His mind was racing.

  "Just kidding." Amara interrupted.

  "Hells take you! Are you kidding me?" Mathias shouted. "That's not funny!"

  "Alright, alright, I apologize. No need to bring the hells into this."

  Vael sighed, muttering something in another tongue.

  "Sarik. No more talk, keep walking."

  "We take whatever is useful and we move on. We won't last long out here without food or water. And keep quiet. We do not know what may find us out here."

  They walked for another hour before they stumbled upon a sizeable wreckage.

  "There's no way! That's a mast! Look! The crow's nest!" Amara jumped into a sprint. Running ahead of the other two. Up onto a larger dune. Once up there, she froze. Mathias and Vael slowly scrambled up the hill, joining her. A hush fell over them as they stood atop the dune, staring down at the wreckage below. The ship—what was left of it— was a graveyard of splintered wood, torn sails, and half-buried cargo. Broken. Split and shattered like a match. And amongst the cargo. Bodies.

  Mathias swallowed hard. The sight sent a cold shudder down his spine. Some of the bodies were partially buried in the sand, as if the dunes had tried to swallow them whole. Others lay sprawled across the wreckage, broken and twisted, limbs bent at unnatural angles. The air was thick with the stench of salt, damp wood and something else—something sickly sweet and wrong.

  Amara's excitement had vanished, her face pale. Vael was silent, unreadable.

  Mathias took a slow step forward, his grip tightening around t he driftwood Vael had given him. He had seen death before. He had smelled it before. This felt different. Something was off.

  *"Why are there so many bodies?"* The thought clawed at his mind. The storm should have scattered them, pulled them into the sea. Some maybe. But this? This was too concentrated, too deliberate. Why were they the only ones so far away.

  He glanced at Vael, who was still staring down at the wreckage. The exile's jaw was tight, his fingers flexing as if itching for a blade.

  "You see it too," Mathias said.

  "Yes. Something is wrong."

  Amara turned to them, her voice hushed. "We should check for survivors."

  Mathias hesitated. "That's assuming anyone survived."

  "And if they did?" She gave him a sharp look.

  "Fine. But stay close," he sighed.

  "Oh hush. I don't need your protection."

  They descended the dune, sand slipping beneath their boots as they moved toward the shattered remains of the ship. The closer they got, the stronger the wrongness became.

  The bodies weren't just dead. Some were... infected. Parts of their bodies, their wounds, half-crystallized, their flesh slowly overtaken by jagged veins of red, like the creature they encountered earlier. Others were withered, as if drained of something vital, their faces sunken, their skin stretched tight over bone.

  Vael knelt beside one of the corpses and muttered something in Mezanakar, a short, clipped phrase. "Sunrise find you, starlight guide you."

  Mathias wasn't sure he wanted to ask what it meant.

  "Not all of them have marks," Amara said, stepping carefully over a broken mast. "Some of these people just—" She stopped, staring down at a body that was perfectly intact, no wounds, no crystallization.

  "What?" Mathias frowned.

  She crouched down and pressed two fingers to the man's throat. A long moment passed.

  Then her breath caught.

  "Mathias. He's still warm."

  The words sent a jolt through him. He moved beside her, looking down at the body—a man, maybe mid-thirties, lightly armored, with an expression frozen in shock.

  "He should be cold," Vael murmured. "We have been walking for hours. If he died in the wreck, he should be cold."

  Mathias felt something uneasy coil in his gut. Amara turned the man's face slightly. "No wounds, no signs of struggle."

  Vael stood abruptly. "We need to move. Now."

  Mathias followed his gaze toward the far side of the wreckage—where the shadows stretched too deep for the sunlight above. Something shifted in the darkness.

  Then, a sound. Not the wind. A chittering. Not the creaking wood. Something alive.

  Mathias stood so fast he nearly tripped over the body. His heart slammed against his ribs as the wrongness settled into his bones like frost. Amara backed away slowly. "I don't think we're alone."

  Vael drew his knife. His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

  "Shadows grow longest before the night."

  Mathias tightened his grip on the driftwood. He didn't know what that meant. But he was sure he was about to find out.