Chapter 19 — Ashes of Breath

The ravine was narrow, its stone walls leaning inward, the stream at its floor whispering faintly. I carried Merlin until my legs gave out, then eased him down on a patch of grass by the water's edge. He lay still, chest rising in shallow pulls, the faintest flicker of light glowing beneath his fur before dimming again.

I knelt beside him, pressing my forehead to his. "You're alive," I whispered. "That's enough."

It had to be.

I pulled water from the stream in cupped hands, dribbling it onto his tongue. He swallowed weakly. I drank too, the cold shocking me back from the edge of collapse. My wrists burned from rope, shoulders raw from his weight, lungs scraped raw from running.

For the first time since the circle, no one pressed us forward. No chants, no horns, no laughter. Just stone, water, and breath.

Somehow, despite the fear and the fights before this, everything had carried a strange sense of play, as though we were all acting parts in a story I half-recognized. But hearing Merlin's cry when the Caller struck him tore that veil away. Now I understood this was not a game. This was life and death, as deep as marrow in my bones.

I leaned back against the wall, staring at the alien sky between the crack of stone above. Violet and green lights drifted like rivers across the heavens, a beauty I could not touch.

My thoughts circled the same truths. The Caller had known me. Had wanted me. Had summoned me. Merlin had stood against him—and been crushed. And me? I had pulled walls from stone, broken rope, split a fortress apart.

And then it was gone.

The Sight, the threads, the lattice—it had vanished the moment we were safe. No trace remained but rope burns and memory.

Which left me worse than powerless. Powerless and uncertain.

I sat in the dark until my breath steadied, then gathered stones to build a ring, dry grass for bedding. I had no tools, no food beyond what I could scrape from the ravine's edge, but I could make a place to rest.

Merlin stirred, pressing his muzzle against my leg. His eyes met mine, tired but unbroken. He trusted me still.

I stroked his fur. "Rest, buddy. I'll keep watch."

The words felt thin, but they were all I had.

The Caller would come again. His reach was long. But for tonight, in this crack in the world, Merlin and I were not prey, nor prize, nor stock. We were just alive.

And that had to be enough.

— Eighth day, morning, making camp in the wilderness —