The land at the base of the Aria mountain range had long ago decided it didn't need people anymore.
Grass grew too thick here, lush and unchecked, swallowing the old footpaths until only faint depressions remained to suggest they'd ever been walked. Thorny shrubs crowded close to half-buried stones, ivy crept with lazy confidence over anything that dared stay still, and small, stubborn trees had taken root where watch posts once stood. The air smelled green and damp, heavy with soil and leaf rot, and the mountains loomed overhead—close enough to feel present, far enough to feel indifferent.
It was a long walk from the city. Long enough for the noise to fall away completely. Long enough for conversation to dry up and thoughts to wander where they weren't invited.
Lina was bored out of her mind.
Her boots pushed through tall grass as she followed the faint outline of what passed for a route, satchel thumping lightly against her hip with each step. The ruin ahead barely registered as noteworthy—just another slumped stone structure half-lost to vegetation, more plant than architecture at this point. If she squinted, she could almost convince herself it had grown there naturally.
"This is inspection site four," Gabriella announced, far too chipper for someone who'd just walked this far for absolutely nothing. "Which officially means the rest of the day is punishment for crimes we committed in a past life."
Lina gave a tired hum in response.
Her attention wasn't on the ruin, or the ground, or the surrounding brush. It kept drifting backward—to earlier that morning, to a quiet room and a voice that hadn't accused her of anything and somehow made that worse. She could still hear it, calm and measured, asking questions that hadn't demanded answers so much as honesty.
She hated how they lingered.
Gabriella knelt near a stone marker almost entirely choked by vines, flipping open her ledger. "You know," she said casually, "most people fake enthusiasm at least a little."
"I used it up on the walk," Lina replied, stopping beside the wall and resting her palm against the cool, damp stone.
The inspection sigil flared weakly, then died without ceremony. Stable. Flat. Unremarkable.
Perfect.
Inside, the structure was empty in the most uninspiring way possible—no wrongness, no tension, no sense of anything having passed through recently. Just damp stone, filtered light, and plants slowly reclaiming what had never really belonged to anyone.
"This is going to be a clean report," Gabriella said, already writing. "We might even finish early."
Lina leaned her shoulder against the wall and stared up through a crack in the ceiling where moss framed a slice of pale sky.
Routine was supposed to be comforting.
Mindless.
Forgettable.
And right now, she needed it to be exactly that.
Lina drifted away from the entrance while Gabriella's quill began its steady, irritatingly focused scratch.
She didn't tell her. Didn't need to. This place wasn't dangerous, and Gabriella knew her well enough by now to recognize the difference between wandering and scouting. Lina was doing neither, really—just moving for the sake of movement, chasing anything that might spark even a flicker of interest.
Her boots nudged aside fallen leaves as she traced the ruin's perimeter, fingers brushing over stone softened by years of rain and creeping roots. Someone had carved shallow grooves here once—decorative, maybe ceremonial—but time had rounded them down until they barely caught the light. She followed one with her thumb, then lost it where moss had claimed the rest.
"Outer wall integrity compromised," Gabriella murmured to herself, writing as she spoke. "Vegetation encroachment moderate to severe. No active warding detected—expected, given age—"
Lina tuned her out.
She crouched near a collapsed section where the ground dipped inward, peering at a half-buried slab that had once been part of the floor. Something pale caught her eye—not magic, not movement, just contrast. She tugged it free and found an old ceramic shard, glazed a faded blue-green. Cracked, chipped, useless.
Still.
She turned it over once, then twice, before setting it back where she'd found it. Someone had eaten here. Or rested. Or been bored in much the same way she was now.
The thought made her huff quietly.
A few steps farther on, a cluster of wildflowers had forced their way through a seam in the stone. Small, white petals. Tough stems. She nudged one with the toe of her boot and watched it sway, stubbornly upright.
"Huh," she muttered.
Not interesting. Just… persistent.
"Interior space shows no signs of habitation," Gabriella continued, tone brisk and professional. "No recent disturbance. No structural instability beyond surface decay. Honestly, Lina, this might be the most cooperative ruin we've had all week."
"Thrilling," Lina said, without looking back.
She wandered inside again, letting her hand trail along the inner wall as she walked. The stone was cool and faintly damp, grounding in a way she hadn't realized she needed. Her eyes caught on small things—the way roots had cracked a corner clean in two, the faint scorch mark near the ceiling that suggested a very old fire, the outline of a bootprint preserved in hardened mud near the far wall.
That one made her pause.
It wasn't recent. She knew that immediately. The edges were too soft, the imprint too shallow to mean anything now. Still, she stared at it longer than necessary, imagining a person standing there once, weight shifted just so, waiting for… something.
She straightened, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.
"This is going to take longer than I thought," Gabriella said cheerfully. "I forgot how much I love writing phrases like 'no anomalous readings detected'."
Lina leaned against a pillar that was doing a generous amount of work for something so broken and let out a slow breath.
She'd hoped the walk, the quiet, the sheer dullness of the assignment would shake her loose from her thoughts.
Instead, she found herself cataloguing scraps of nothing, circling remnants that refused to matter, trying—failing—to be interested in the present.
At least Gabriella was enjoying herself.
Lina tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling again, watching dust drift through the light, and wondered how long boredom had to last before it started asking questions of its own.
She gave up.
A sigh escaped from her lips. Lina stopped wandering and accepted that nothing here was going to spark her interest on its own. If the ruin insisted on being boring, then she'd bring something to do with her.
Her gaze dropped to the ground.
A fallen branch lay half-hidden in the grass near the broken wall, thin and dry, snapped cleanly at one end. She nudged it with her boot, testing the weight, then bent to pick it up. Light. Deadwood. Perfect.
Ignite.
She rolled the word around in her mind as she set her satchel down and flexed her fingers. This one wasn't about force. It never was. The Song didn't want to be shoved—it wanted to be guided. Adept Rangers understood that. They didn't summon fire. They persuaded the air to do the rest.
Lina raised her hand and fixed her attention on the stick.
She breathed in.
The Song answered faintly, like a note half-remembered. She shaped it carefully, threading the enchantment into the space around the wood rather than the wood itself. The air shimmered, heat pooling unevenly, licking at the stick's surface—
Too wide.
The warmth bled outward instead of tightening. The stick smoked faintly, then went still.
Lina clicked her tongue. "No."
Behind her, Gabriella's quill scratched on without pause. "If you're about to set something on fire, please tell me before I have to explain scorch marks."
"I'm practicing," Lina said, cutting the Song before it could wander. "It's fine."
"Everyone says that."
Lina ignored her and tried again.
This time she narrowed her focus, picturing the air folding inward, pressing close, sealing heat where she wanted it. The Song wavered but followed. The stick darkened at one end, a thin curl of smoke rising—
Then nothing.
She lowered her hand, frustration prickling at the edges of her focus. Rangers made this look effortless. A breath, a thought, and arrows caught flame mid-flight. Lina couldn't even convince a dead branch to cooperate.
She reset. Slower. Gentler.
The third attempt felt different.
The Song settled more cleanly, its shape tighter, more deliberate. The air snapped into alignment, heat surging just once—
The stick flared.
A brief, clean ignition ran along the dry wood, a narrow tongue of flame blooming before Lina released the enchantment. The fire died immediately, leaving the tip blackened and faintly glowing.
She blinked, then let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
From the side, Gabriella finally looked up. "Oh. You actually did it."
"Barely," Lina said, though her mouth twitched despite herself.
"Barely still counts," Gabriella replied, already writing again. "And for the record, I'd rather be stuck in a boring ruin with someone practicing Ignite than someone trying to entertain themselves by poking around the ancient sites."
Lina looked down at the scorched stick in her hand. The warmth lingered, real and earned, and some of the restless haze in her head finally eased.
She turned the branch once, considering the unburned end.
"…Again," she murmured, lifting her hand.
Lina tried again.
And again.
The stick smoked. Once. Twice. A thin wisp curled up and vanished into the open air, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of scorched bark. She adjusted her stance, her breathing, the angle of her hand. The Song answered each time—present, cooperative—but never quite enough. Heat gathered, hesitated, then bled away like water through loose fingers.
She clicked her tongue and cut it off before it could wander.
Again.
Nothing.
The stick remained stubbornly, offensively unlit.
Lina stared at it as if intimidation might help.
Behind her, Gabriella's quill paused. Just for a moment.
"You know," she said carefully, "you could just Sing—"
Lina didn't look back. "No."
Gabriella blinked. "I didn't even finish the sentence."
"I know what you were going to say."
She flicked the stick against the stone, dislodging a bit of char. "Singing it takes too long."
"That's…literally how enchantments are done"
Lina waved a hand vaguely, already resetting her focus. "Yeah, but it's not practical for Rangers. I want to be able to do it fast."
"Fast is good," Gabriella agreed. "But being able to actually do it is better."
"I want to look suave."
That earned her full attention.
Gabriella turned slowly, staring at her as if Lina had just confessed to a crime. "You are trying to set a stick on fire in a ruined outpost three hours from the city."
"There is nothing suave about this."
Lina ignored her and tried again.
The Song wavered. Heat flickered. The stick darkened at the tip, then cooled. She exhaled sharply through her nose, frustration building in tight, familiar knots.
Adept Rangers didn't Sing Ignite in combat. They snapped it into place between breaths, arrows already loosed by the time the flame took hold. Lina knew it was possible. She'd seen it done. She just hadn't earned that part yet.
"Just Sing it, Lina," Gabriella said again, gentler this time. "Once. To get the shape right."
Lina hesitated.
Her fingers tightened around the stick. She could feel the Song hovering, waiting for structure she refused to give it. Singing meant committing to the incantation, to the time it took, to doing things the proper way.
It also meant admitting Gabriella was right.
"…It takes too long," Lina said stubbornly. "By the time I finish, whatever I needed it for is already gone."
"And by the time you're done not singing it," Gabriella replied dryly, "we'll both be old."
Lina shot her a look. "I'm serious."
"So am I. Sing it. Then go back to looking cool."
She stared at the unburned end of the stick, jaw set.
For a long moment, she said nothing at all.
Lina sighed again.
It was quiet, resigned, the sound of someone conceding a battle they fully intended to complain about later. She straightened, rolled the tension out of her shoulders, and planted her feet properly this time.
"Fine," she muttered. "Once."
She held the stick out in front of her and closed her eyes.
Singing wasn't loud. It never was. It was alignment—voice, breath, and intent threading together so the Song had something solid to rest on. Lina drew in a breath and let the first note slip free.
It wavered.
Just slightly off. The pitch wasn't wrong enough to fail outright, but it tugged the Song sideways, stretching the enchantment thin before it could settle. Heat gathered unevenly, fluttering around the stick without committing.
From behind her, Gabriella tilted her head.
"…You're drifting," she said.
"I am not," Lina replied, without opening her eyes.
"You absolutely are."
Before Lina could snap back, Gabriella inhaled and joined in.
Her voice slid in beneath Lina's—steady, confident, catching the wandering note and anchoring it without overpowering it. She didn't take control; she guided, adjusting the rhythm, smoothing the pitch until the Song aligned cleanly between them.
Lina felt it immediately.
The enchantment snapped into place, the air tightening with sudden clarity. Heat surged inward instead of spilling out—
The stick ignited.
A clean, bright flame bloomed along the dry wood, steady and contained. Lina cut the Song at once, the fire dying down to a glowing ember before fading completely.
She opened her eyes and stared.
"…Oh."
Gabriella let the last note taper off and smiled, just a little smug. "See? Shape first. Speed later."
Lina exhaled, the tension finally easing from her shoulders. She glanced back at Gabriella, equal parts annoyed and grateful.
"Geez," she said, shaking her head, "thanks, Ms. Blade Singer."
Gabriella grinned. "Anytime. Just don't tell anyone I was teaching you how to look cool."
Lina looked down at the charred stick in her hand, warmth still lingering, and felt—perhaps for the first time that day—that the boredom had finally lifted.
The ember died.
Silence rushed in to fill the space it left—soft, unremarkable, exactly what Lina expected after cutting the Song.
Then something answered.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't even close. Just a note—thin, distant, and unmistakably intentional—slipping back through the air where their voices had been a breath ago. Not an echo. Not residue. The pitch was wrong for that. Too clean. Too deliberate.
Lina froze.
Gabriella's smile vanished mid-breath.
The sound came again, longer this time. A low, wandering strain that bent slightly as it traveled, like someone feeling their way through the Song rather than following it. It didn't harmonize with Ignite. It didn't clash either.
It listened.
Lina felt the hairs on her arms lift.
Slowly, she lowered the stick and turned her head, tracking the sound toward the overgrown slope beyond the broken wall. The vegetation there stirred—not from wind, but from something moving through it. Carefully. Patiently.
Gabriella closed her ledger with a soft, final snap.
"…That wasn't you," she said quietly.
"No," Lina replied.
The answering Song came a third time, closer now. Curious. Almost polite. As if acknowledging they'd been heard.
Lina swallowed, pulse finally catching up with her.
She and Gabriella exchanged a look—no jokes this time, no commentary—just shared understanding settling in like weight.
Whatever had replied hadn't interrupted them.
It had waited.
And that, Lina realized as the final note faded into the foothills of the Aria, was somehow worse.