Hark tied the last knot, pressing the cloth firmly against the clerk’s wound. The boy winced, breath hissing through his teeth, but the bleeding slowed. Morena said nothing more to him, only gave Hark a nod before turning away.
"Keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t die, or leave."
Hark nodded in understanding. He stayed by the door, the clerk slumped against the grain sacks, eyes glassy with pain, breathing shallow but alive.
Morena beckoned Corin with a tilt of her chin and stepped into the side room of the granary, closing the door behind them. The wood groaned faintly in its aged hinges, threatening to fall off.
The air was thicker with dust and the scent of damp grain and mildew clinging to the walls. A single lantern swayed faintly from a hook, its fla dim but enough to keep the space lit.
Corin lingered by the threshold for a mont before following, his satchel clutched tight, the leather tube tucked under his arm as though it might be torn away at any instant.
His shoulders were drawn tense, his eyes quick and restless, shifting with worry about what she wanted.
"You saved once already, I thank you, but..."
He muttered, voice rough from strain.
"Why not let the knife-man finish and be done with it? By getting involved with , with this, you’re just getting yourself into trouble."
Morena folded her arms, leaning her weight slightly against the table in the center of the room.
"Don’t be mistaken, I understand the dangers that co with helping you, like I said before, you have information I need. And you still need if you want to live."
Corin’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He didn’t deny it.
"You can’t keep running alone, you got this far because you were lucky, but how long will that luck keep up?"
She paused for a second, observing the man closely.
Calling him lucky wasn’t right; the man wasn’t foolish. He was aged, he had experience, and using that experience, he was able to avoid the church for quite so ti, but there was a limit to that.
The church would only press down harder and harder the more he avoided them. Today was a sign of that; sending a warrior after him, even if it’s just an apprentice, showed that they were getting serious.
"Not with the church’s eyes on you. If I hadn’t intervened, you’d already be dragged to so basent and tied up, or worse. You know this."
His jaw tightened, but the truth in her words pressed down on him. He finally exhaled, low and bitter, shaking his head.
"They’ll never stop."
He said with defeat in his voice, tiredness from years of running.
"Not until I’m dead. Do you want to know why? It isn’t just that I ran from them or sold a book."
Morena’s eyes narrowed; that was actually what she wanted to know.
She brought the man aside to ask him so questions after hearing the clerk’s replies. But it seed like the man knew that; he knew she was going to press him, and made the choice to speak on his own.
It made things easier for Morena.
"Then tell , if you want my help, I need to know it all."
He hesitated, thumb rubbing raw against the strap of his satchel. His lips parted once, then closed again, as if the words themselves might betray him the mont they left his mouth.
When he finally t her gaze, his eyes were haunted but resigned.
"It’s because I took that step forward, onto the path of a Wizard."
The word landed in Morena’s ear, but there was a hint of confusion. He had ntioned it before, Wizards, sothing she was interested in; he even ntioned taking a step forward and being able to feel the energy they use.
He ntioned being able to use tricks to mimic their spells, but he never proved it; he never went into details about what that ant.
"Why would the church be after you because of that?"
"To them, it’s heresy. Wizards are what the church calls the forsaken. Blasphers. They believe all who walk that path spit in the face of their god. It doesn’t matter if I can barely scratch the surface of what those letters an—to them, I’m already damned."
Morena said nothing at first, but her eyes lowered to the ground.
Wizards was a path she wanted to take herself, at least, it was an option she was considering to grow stronger. The path of the warrior had co to a wall for her; she couldn’t progress without more knowledge, more experints.
But if the path of a wizard ant being hunted by the church, would it be worth it?
Corin looked at her, contemplating gaze; he couldn’t tell exactly what emotions were behind those eyes, but he could see hints of himself in the past.
That’s why he kept speaking.
"Do you know why the church is always at war with the empire across the border? Why this kingdom bleeds year after year? It isn’t only land or coin. It’s because the empire embraces what the church despises. Wizards. It’s said that their scholars and their rulers walk side by side with them."
He held out his hand, as if making a grand gesture.
"That’s why both sides will never stop because one seeks truth, and the other only craves believers."
Morena’s brow furrowed.
His word had rit to it. It aligned with the information, the stories, the books she had read before. The empire’s na had lingered through her reading, fragnts of half-truths scattered in the archives.
Now, hearing this... it painted the war in darker colors.
"And you, how did you learn this?"
His eyes dropped, his voice rougher now.
"Travel. Curiosity. I dug too deep, asked too many questions, and read too much where I shouldn’t. And while I searched, I must have exposed myself. I don’t know how, but they sensed it, the energy. That’s how they knew what I was, that’s why they hunt ."
Morena stayed silent.
The thought lingered: sensed it. She rembered the strange hum that threaded through her veins when she traced the letters, the whisper of sothing else that she couldn’t quite feel, couldn’t figure out.
Could they truly feel such a thing?
Corin’s hand tightened around his satchel, knuckles white.
"If they capture , they’ll drag into their dungeons. They’ll think I’m a spy, or worse, the apprentice of so hidden wizard inside the kingdom. They’ll break apart to learn what I know, and when I have nothing more to give, they’ll burn . That’s the truth."
He looked up, his eyes catching the lantern light, and shadows pooled beneath them.
"So I want your help. Get to the border. Past the checkpoints, past their eyes. If I can reach the empire, I can live. Maybe even study freely, without a knife waiting for every ti I turn my head."
Morena didn’t reply at once; instead, she studied him, his posture tight, his hands twitching as he waited with wrecked nerves for her reply. He was desperate, but desperation could lie as easily as it could plead.
"You want my help. But I want proof."
Corin blinked, caught off guard.
"Proof?"
"You said you had tricks. That you touched the letters, felt their energy. I want to see it."
His face stiffened.
"Now? Here?"
"Yes, now."
Morena said, her voice was stern, her eyes were sharp as glass, giving no room for denial.
"No one else is here. Show what you can do. Otherwise, I won’t believe you."
Corin’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked down at his hand, lost in thought, and Morena didn’t rush him. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint groan of the lantern swaying in its hook.
"You don’t understand."
He broke the silence at last.
"This isn’t sothing you toy with. I’ve spent years chasing fragnts, scraps of aning, and still what I can do is barely more than a shadow of what true wizards are said to manage. But even that shadow has dangers. If soone saw—"
"No one will see."
Morena cut in, her tone flat.
"Only . If you want to risk my house, my n, and my na by taking you to the border, I need to see the truth with my own eyes."
His teeth moved, grinding against words he didn’t want to say. He searched her expression, but found no rcy, no softness. It was clear she wouldn’t take no as an answer; he couldn’t deny her.
Finally, with a low curse under his breath, he dropped his satchel to the floor and crouched, pulling free a small, battered scrap of parchnt from within.
Lines scratched faintly across it, marks inked in a hand both hurried and careful.
"If you want to see, then look carefully, and don’t bla if sothing goes wrong."
He set the parchnt on the floor, pressed his hand against one of the symbols, and closed his eyes.
The air shifted.
It was faint at first—like the mont before a storm, when the wind dies and the sky grows heavy. The fla in the lantern started to flicker. Morena’s skin prickled, a faint vibration crawling up her arms, sinking beneath her flesh as if the letters she carried humd in response.
Corin whispered under his breath, words too low for her to catch. Then the symbol beneath his hand flared faintly, not with fire, not with light, but with motion.
A current of air stirred from the floor, lifting the dust, swirling it in a slow spiral around his fingers.
It wasn’t powerful, it wasn’t very useful, but it was sothing. It was unnatural, sothing even a warrior of the lower ranks couldn’t accomplish.
It was elental control on par with a Rank 2 warrior at best, yet a man with no warrior training did it.
Morena’s eyes narrowed, her pulse quickening despite herself.
Corin opened his eyes, sweat already at his brow. He lifted his hand, and the motion stilled, the dust falling lifelessly back to the floor.
"That is what the church would burn for. A trick, nothing more. Barely enough to stir a candle, much less fight a man. But it is the mark of the forsaken all the sa."
He sagged back against the wall, dragging the parchnt into his lap as though to shield it.
Morena exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing against the letters carved into her own flesh, hidden beneath her sleeve. They were humming still, faint, as though echoing what she had just witnessed.
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