After some time, Cain approached me, his expression tight with urgency.

  “How’s Illara?” he asked. “Is she alright?”

  I nodded. “She seems stable. Likely just unconscious. Her armour’s ruined, though.”

  Cain grimaced at that, then looked past me toward where Norman lay.

  “We need to get moving,” he said. “Now. Norman isn’t doing well. If we don’t get him back to Holver soon, I don’t think he’ll make it.”

  The words landed like ice in my chest.

  This was my fault.

  My choice.

  Letting Drisnil take control had put Norman’s life on the line.

  “I can’t carry him like this,” I said, glancing down at my leg. “What’s your plan?”

  Cain pressed a book into my hands.

  “Norman’s spellbook,” he said. “There should be a spell in there called Floating Board. It conjures a flat platform that can carry one or two people, depending on weight. You should be able to cast it directly from the book, like a scroll. The page will burn away when you do.”

  He then handed me a small vial.

  “This potion will numb the pain,” Cain continued. “But only temporarily. Once it wears off, you’re going to feel everything. Running on that leg will make the injury worse.” His gaze hardened. “Jenna can heal you once we’re back. But getting there is the priority.”

  I turned the vial slowly between my fingers.

  “How long will it last?”

  Cain shifted his weight. “Six hours, at most. After that, you either keep moving through the pain… or I leave you behind.”

  He crouched briefly near Illara, assessing her gear.

  “If she doesn’t wake soon, we’ll have to leave her equipment,” he said quietly. “The floating board has a strict weight limit. With Norman and Illara on it, we’ll already be pushing it.”

  I looked between them.

  Illara, unconscious but breathing.

  Norman, pale and bleeding, each breath more laboured than the last.

  The choice wasn’t really a choice at all.

  Stay here and let Norman die.

  Or run, no matter what it cost me.

  This was the price of my mistake. And pain was the least of what I owed.

  I met Cain’s eyes and drank the potion in one swallow.

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  While the pain dulled to a distant, unreal throb, I forced myself to move.

  I went through Illara’s belongings first, hands clumsy but determined. I found the gate pass easily, then a single coin tucked away in a fold of cloth. The sight of it made my breath hitch. I recognised it immediately. I slipped it carefully into my bag, treating it with more care than gold.

  Then I turned to Norman’s things.

  His notebook was there, mercifully intact. I held it for a moment before tucking it away. This, at least, meant the journey hadn’t been for nothing. Whatever happened next, the truth would not die with him.

  Last came his spellbook.

  My fingers trembled as I flipped through the pages until I found what Cain had mentioned. The words felt familiar in a way that wasn’t mine. Drisnil’s memories stirred, old instincts rising to the surface as I began to read aloud.

  “Let weight be known and fall denied.

  Let form be fixed where none was before.

  By measured will, I bind the air—

  Support, endure, and do not break.”

  The page blackened as I finished the final word, curling in on itself before crumbling to ash.

  The air shimmered.

  A translucent, rectangular shape coalesced in front of me, hovering silently. I lowered myself onto it cautiously. The surface held firm beneath my weight, unmoving, obedient.

  Cain approached, his pack already slung over one shoulder.

  “Good,” he said. “Help me load them. We’ll use Illara’s cloak and body heat to keep Norman warm.”

  With the potion still numbing my leg, lifting them was easier than it should have been. The board was narrow, forcing us to arrange them close together. Illara lay spooned against Norman, her blanket draped over both of them. The sight twisted something ugly and sharp in my chest.

  “The board should follow your will,” Cain said. “Let’s move.”

  He broke into a run.

  I followed, focusing on the spell, willing the board to glide after me. The campsite fell away behind us, the fire still faintly glowing, all of Norman’s and Illara’s remaining possessions abandoned to the cold.

  My leg felt wet.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Not painful. Just wet.

  We ran faster than should have been possible, the board sliding through the forest with eerie ease, never more than a metre from me, weaving between trees as if guided by thought alone. The forest was silent, bare branches clawing at a pale sky as the sun crept upward.

  Somehow, neither Cain nor I tired.

  I suspected the potion had something to do with that. Even uninjured, my muscles should have been screaming by now.

  By instinct alone, I knew where we were. That strange, unerring sense of direction guided me onward. After hours of running, I could feel it clearly.

  One hour from the village.

  That was when the pain returned.

  At first it was distant, like pressure building behind a wall. Then it sharpened. Every step sent a spike through my leg. My muscles burned, my wound felt as if it were tearing open anew.

  I screamed as my legs gave out and I crashed into the snow.

  Cain skidded to a stop and turned back, his face tight with concern.

  “We’re close,” he said. “Can you move?”

  I dragged myself upright, every motion a fresh wave of agony. My vision swam as I forced one foot in front of the other. Tears streamed freely down my face, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached.

  I moved.

  Thirty minutes passed. Or maybe ten hours. Time had stopped making sense.

  The village came into view through a haze of pain and white. My strength vanished all at once. I collapsed, body refusing to obey me any longer.

  I focused what little will I had left on the board.

  Follow him.

  Cain hesitated only a moment before continuing on, voice carrying back to me as he ran.

  “I’ll send help!”

  Then he was gone.

  I lay alone in the snow, staring up at a colourless sky as warmth bled out of me. A dark red stain spread beneath my leg, growing larger with every heartbeat.

  The pain became unbearable.

  It felt like my leg was being torn apart from the inside, every nerve screaming at once. I sobbed openly now, helpless, broken.

  And part of me welcomed it.

  This was the price of my failure. Of trusting Drisnil’s instincts over my own judgment. Of letting Norman fall.

  If nothing else, I deserved this pain.

  Voices reached me through the ringing in my ears.

  At first I thought I was imagining them, but then shapes resolved through the blur of tears. Theo and Ash were running toward me, their faces tight with fear. Relief flickered weakly in my chest before pain drowned it again.

  “Sorry, Drisnil,” Theo said as he reached me, voice strained. “This is going to hurt a lot. But we have to get you back.”

  He lifted me without hesitation, cradling me in his arms. The sudden movement sent a white-hot surge through my leg. I bit down hard, forcing the scream back into my throat until my vision went dark at the edges.

  Ash grabbed my pack and followed close behind.

  Theo moved quickly through the village, his arms locked tight around me. I could feel the tension in his body, the way his grip adjusted constantly to keep pressure off my wound. His face was pale with worry.

  People stared as we passed.

  Doors opened. Someone gasped. Someone else turned away. I barely noticed any of it. All of my focus was bent inward, clinging to consciousness, counting breaths so I wouldn’t lose myself to the pain.

  Then the light changed.

  The air grew warmer.

  Theo carried me through doors I hadn’t expected.

  The temple.

  Blood dripped from my leg onto the white stone floor, staining it dark and ugly in our wake. I felt distantly ashamed of that, even as my mind struggled to stay present.

  Then I saw her.

  Jenna knelt on the floor, her shoulders shaking, hands braced against the stone. Her face was wet with tears.

  Norman lay beside her.

  Still.

  The world narrowed to that single image.

  In that moment, before anyone spoke, before Jenna looked up, I understood.

  We were too late.

  Theo lowered me carefully onto the stone floor.

  The moment my weight left his arms, Jenna turned.

  She looked at me as if she’d found the source of a sickness.

  “What is she doing here?” Jenna shouted, her voice breaking. “Get her out!” Tears streaked down her face, anger and grief tangled together and sharp.

  Cain stepped between us without hesitation and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “She needs treatment,” he said firmly. “She helped get Illara back. We owe her that much.”

  Jenna shook his hand off and stared at me again.

  “She caused this,” she said hoarsely. “She is the reason Norman is dead.”

  The words landed cleanly.

  I didn’t argue.

  Cain inhaled slowly, choosing his next words with care.

  “No,” he said. “It was bad luck. Nothing more. Please, Jenna—she’ll lose her leg without you.” His voice softened. “Do it for Illara.”

  That name slowed Jenna at last.

  She dragged a shaking hand across her face, smearing tears and anger together, then looked down at me with something cold and exhausted.

  “Fine,” she said. “But you will feel every moment of this, Drisnil. I won’t dull it. I won’t soften it.”

  I met her gaze.

  “That’s fine,” I said quietly. I couldn’t imagine anything hurting more than what I already carried.

  Jenna knelt and tore the bandages away.

  The smell hit first.

  Rotten. Sweet and wrong.

  She didn’t flinch.

  She reached in and ripped the packing from the wound.

  I screamed as my vision went white.

  Jenna began the miracle immediately.

  A pale glow gathered over my leg—cure all. I recognised it even through the pain.

  Then I felt it.

  The rot was stripped from me, not healed, but removed. Flesh burned away piece by piece from the inside out. I writhed uncontrollably, pain tearing through me in waves so sharp I couldn’t breathe around them.

  Cain pinned my legs. Theo held my shoulders.

  I screamed until my throat burned raw.

  When it was done, Jenna did not pause.

  She began the second miracle—heal injuries.

  This was worse.

  I felt every fibre of muscle and tendon draw itself together. Bone knit. Nerves reformed. But there was no mercy in it. It was not gentle. It felt like fire poured into my leg and forced to shape itself from the inside.

  I begged. I don’t know who I begged.

  I screamed until my voice broke.

  At last, the light faded.

  I lay there shaking, drenched in sweat, my leg throbbing so violently it felt alive on its own.

  Jenna stood.

  “Get her out of my temple,” she said flatly. “I don’t want to see her again.”

  No one argued.

  As Theo’s arms slipped beneath me once more, the room dimmed.

  The last thing I saw was Norman’s still form beside the altar.

  Then everything went black.