It began sooner than expected.
I'd hoped for at least another hour before the ash thickened, before the birds went silent, before the trees started bleeding.
But fate, as usual, kept its own clock.
We were halfway to the observation clearing when I felt it—that tug. Not on my body, but something deeper. Like the forest itself exhaled and I inhaled it. Old magic. Corrupted. Hungry.
Roderick turned back to us, his brow furrowed beneath that thick mane of hair. "Hold position," he barked. "Something's wrong."
No one argued.
I dismounted, hand resting on the hilt of my sword. The Severance Form itched to be drawn, but I kept it sheathed. Not yet. If I pulled it too early, I'd only scare the students. Or worse—Roderick.
Still, my fingers drifted to my runes. I'd prepared five sequences, each with a distinct pattern woven into the wax-paper talismans: one for silence, one for shield, one for signal, and two for warding.
The fifth was untested. A gamble.
