Novek had gotten down to the serious business of filing some of his knife blanks into usable shape by the light of the campfire, as the sky darkened, very close to dusk. Ellie had retreated to the relative comfort of the coach cabin to rest her shoulder — the privileges of being the coach master, he supposed.

  Ceress had walked back from the other camp a few minutes earlier, and was sitting next to Soot and Hekkan, when she startled both of them awake with a sudden exclamation, “Ah, fewmets!”

  Novek raised his head and watched her dig around in the larger satchel she'd removed from Soot's harness earlier. She pulled out a flare gun and some flares.

  “Forgot to give the all clear again, eh?”

  “I don't want to hear it, Novek!”

  “How late are you?”

  “Argh. The schedule was three hours from departure.”

  “Ah, so someone will already be on the road this way then. Unless they assumed you forgot, you know, again.”

  “Tactics and command are my strong suits. Keeping track of time is not on the list. I have people for that.”

  “Shame you didn't bring any of them with you. Oh wait, I'm sure one or two will be along shortly.”

  Ceress merely grumbled as she selected the appropriate materials, and loaded them into the flare.

  “It's fine. I'd prefer a ride back to camp anyway. Soot's a smooth ride in a glide, but getting up to altitude would not be fun with broken ribs.”

  “Going to take off then? Tonight or tomorrow?”

  “It depends on when they get here, and who they sent, I suppose. I'm planning on healing up and coming back, though. Ellie's friends over there are going to head into the wilds. Nat is both at loose ends, and has a helmsman's Skill — think of it like a personal time stop — and that would dramatically increase our strategic options.”

  “Always recruiting, eh?”

  “Always and forever.” Ceress intoned the words with audible respect.

  Novek, recognizing the moment, responded in kind. “Always and forever.”

  “The Brin fight is just barely beginning. I cannot imagine what it must be like for the Ber'Duun. Millions of years. How do you do it?”

  Ceress didn't answer, but looked up, and fired the flare into the sky. She watched it drift down, thoughtfully.

  It was barely visible to Novek in the dim light. Even with his night vision so superior to Humans, he knew it couldn't compare to most Ber — for them, that dim light shone like a beacon. Admittedly, having the sunlight piercing his eyes from the west didn't help.

  “Almost dusk. You mentioned you could calm the Ber. Can you do that for the kit?”

  “Absolutely. If I were you I'd put him down in case the pulse does happen again tonight though — he may still startle, and that acid will eat through your paws in seconds.”

  “Right then.” Novek placed the kit gently on the ground next to the other two Ber, who had gone back to dozing. The kit looked up, but then went back to sleep when he placed his paw gently above, to keep the kit warm.

  They sat, the only sounds being Novek's steady filing, and the pop and hiss of the campfire — and waited for dusk.

  Dusk came and went without incident, again.

  Novek wondered if the prior events had been isolated. “Another no-show. Think it's over and done with?”

  “I don't know. I don't think so. If it had just been the one, sure. That happens. But two flux events, so close to each other? I have never heard of that happening, not even during a cascade.”

  “You think someone's figured out how to weaponize the rifts, then?”

  “It wasn't just a pulse. Those are just static, pressing on your senses like an incessant leak you can't ignore. This was fear, terror, as if death was chasing at your heels, and then despair.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse. But the words would harm the message; make it sound trite or poetic, instead of horrifying.” She paused, then continued, “I would flee this, if I could.”

  Novek felt the weight of that answer — given without humor or snark. Ceress might not have his years of experience, but the events of the day? Dropping out of the sky, outnumbered twenty to one, cracking a joke? That was just how she was. “So, why don't you?”

  Ceress stood, looked over at him, and shrugged. “Same answer as your earlier question, really. Someone has to try to fix it. Until they show up, why not me?”

  Novek watched her as she walked out into the darkness, alone. Looked down at the kit, still sleeping soundly after the non-event.

  If Ceress was right, then after what it had done to Siya's pack mates — what might it do to the kit?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  He stroked the kit's dark fur reassuringly in the firelight.

  “Why not me, indeed.”

  Okay, the first thing you need to understand about this, is it's not a science. I am an aethereal waveform; it's not a thing I know how to do. I know this can be done, but have never done it this way. We're going to be learning together, so please be patient.

  The second thing is that just knowing how to do this will set you on a collision course that will put you in danger. Maybe not soon, but it will. You must understand that, before I will proceed.

  And finally, know that this is only a tentative beginning. If we talk, you can still decide not to proceed, and nothing need change. As long as you hide this ability well, it can be as if it never happened.

  If you want to continue, to hear what I have to say. To perhaps eventually know things you might one day wish you had not known, then you must never speak of this ability via the interface, nor while Lyn has her Arc lit.

  I'll explain more later, once you can respond. For now, if you wish to, put out your hand, and then try to see the aetheric wave in Lyn's hand. And then duplicate it. Else, simply do nothing, let your Talent expire, and we'll never speak of it again.

  Nat wasn't sure why he put out his hand without long consideration; perhaps it was that Moira seemed — like him — alone, but reaching out the only way she knew how.

  But he did. He looked at the Arc in Lyn's hand, and then beyond it, ignoring the thin wire of electricity, instead trying to isolate the cold blue flame.

  He closed his eyes and tried to visualize it, somehow. But that was reaching for two capabilities that he did not possess.

  Instead, he imagined it a complex tempo. A multifaceted sound. It jumped around too quickly to see, conceive of, and replicate. But he could — feel it -— like a drumbeat. It had a tone — no, a harmony — overlaid upon it. There was a sense of anticipation of the next note building as if it was a song he'd heard long ago.

  And now how to light the cold flame. He didn't have electricity to spark it to life. But therons reacted to cognition — to intent.

  So he tried to impress his want, his desire, to light the same cold fire above his hand.

  Nothing. No spark. No flame.

  He tried again. Failed again. He pondered what he might be doing wrong, and grew concerned that his Talent might time out; That Moira might think he wasn't trying — and he'd miss his chance to help.

  And in that concern, he forgot to try to want to light it — and he simply wanted to light it.

  The choice to act, instead of the consideration of acting, made the difference.

  The spark lit. Small, barely visible, fragile — it hovered there, barely moving; not dancing as Moira's arc did.

  He willed it to grow. It did not — but nor did it wane or extinguish.

  What did he want? How did he do this?

  Trying to move it with his mind did nothing. Coaxing it, as if it were a thing, also no effect.

  How had he lit it? He'd somehow decided? Made a choice? How was that different from willing, or wanting?

  Well, it worked earlier. Might as well try it again — no, wait. Choosing to try wasn't what worked.

  Ah. I get it now.

  He decided that it would be the twin. The spark burst into a small, but vibrant flame.

  He didn't try to make it match the other waveform.

  Nat CHOSE.

  And the flame resolved itself, and mimicked the other flame. And he felt her, then, in the palm of his hand. In the void space around him.

  She was… so vast. The ‘concept’ of her was immense — beyond his ability to know. And somehow, small — or perhaps thin? As if she was somehow less real — or, perhaps differently real — than him.

  And rather than try to speak to her, instead, he spoke to her. The difference was in choosing to be active, not passive.

  Hello, Moira.

  Why, howdy, stranger.

  Lyn felt the world shift in the palm of their hand before they noticed that Nat had turned to stone.

  Their eyes opened wide, in surprise. And they saw the thin filament of light, burning above Nat's hand, glowing in the aetheric spectrum.

  Oh, Moira. Him? The uncharitable thought escaped from her mind before she could catch it.

  But they understood. Lyn had known this was a possibility from the moment they'd learned of Nat's capabilities.

  Lyn knew that they could never be what Moira needed, to be fully present in the world. The very thing that Lyn both fought against and conspired with made it impossible.

  And what was worse, the very reason Lyn could not be that thing, was the reason they could not now talk about it. Could not even hint at it.

  Moira's voice came from Lyn's tinny arc, but a quieter echo came simultaneously from Nat's hand — a more rich, vibrant version. “Hi, Lyn. Nat will be frozen a bit longer — extended his talent a bit longer than expected, unfortunately.” Lyn would have to help him learn to hide the flame as soon as they could.

  “I'd expected it might.”

  “I know — you're perceptive like that. It's one of the reasons you're my best friend.”

  “It's good of you to say that. But I'm honestly glad that you're making new friends, too.”

  “Well, there's enough of me to go around, you know.”

  “Sure, we'll talk more after dusk. I'd like to focus, in case anything happens.”

  “Sure thing.”

  A few moments later, Nat's statue form came to life.

  He froze there, obviously not sure what to say.

  Lyn had no idea what he knew at this point. They couldn't, even. Nor could they ever ask — for them to know would be to risk everything, for all parties.

  Lyn saved him from himself. “Dusk is coming any moment, Nat. Quiet while I focus, if you please.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  They sat in awkward silence as nothing continued to happen.

  After waiting long enough to be sure, Lyn stood, picked up the blanket, and without a word started hobbling back towards the other camp.

  About halfway back to camp, Lyn relented, “You and Moira should spend a little more time practicing your Talent after I go to bed.”

  “Sure, will do. So, how does Moira—”

  Lyn whipped around to face him, finger at their lips, then a rapid pulling motion, twice — an emphatic stop.

  Nat looked confused and did not signal assent.

  Lyn grew exasperated and — closing their fingers — extinguished the arc. “Say nothing. Show no-one. Tell me nothing. There are things I _cannot_ know, but I have no way to tell you what they are. Do you understand?”

  He signed approval, followed by an unnecessary, “Yes.” Lyn barely cut off a glower before it formed on their face. My entire race is now at risk by the whims of a child. Wonderful.

  This much might be too much. It was not known just how much could be overheard. Thoughts were inviolate, but senses were not. Hearing was not. AMA's will, but they hoped they hadn't just ruined everything. Even the momentary echo was potentially catastrophic. Moira had her own secrets, but didn't understand the full scope of what Lyn was dealing with, either.

  Reigniting the arc, Lyn said, “So, another non-event. What do we think?”

  Moira's tinny voice came through, “Let's save that for at the camp, or we'll just be repeating it. Ceress may know a great deal, given her Skills.”

  Lyn considered, “Agreed.” A triple knock, for emphasis.

  Nat was clearly disoriented by the whole ordeal, and simply nodded.

  As they reached the prior camp, Lyn retook their spot by the campfire and sat down. Novek was there, but there was no sign of Ceress. The Ber were still sleeping, so she'd probably just wandered off — Lyn had noticed the flare earlier. Ceress had probably forgotten to signal in time again.

  “Is there any meat left? Let's find Ceress, talk about dawn quickly, and then I'm going to sleep — my leg hurts from all the walking.”