After hearing Lyra's story, I felt restless. Heartstone Cavern was safe, maybe too safe. Chroma, which used to overwhelm me, now felt predictable. Outside, the world was in chaos, and I was now part of it. The Blight's awful noise was a reminder of that.
We can't stay here forever, Lyra said on the fourth morning, reading my mind as she packed. You're better at controlling your powers, but you need the real world, not a practice space. Time to go.
I felt anxious, a twist in my gut – fear, I realized, a part of Crimson Chroma. But I also felt Umber, steady and sure. I was as ready as I'd ever be.
Where are we headed? I asked.
Stillwater, she replied, finishing her packing. It's a trading post on the edge of the fighting. News travels fast there. We need to learn how far the Prime Chroma has spread and if there are any other... free Scribes.
Free gave me a jolt. I wasn't alone.
Leaving the Nexus hit me like ice water. The world wasn't grey, not anymore. But the colors were dull compared to the cavern's brightness. Chroma was like a messy band compared to the perfect music we'd left. I could feel the land's pain, a tension in the Viridian and Zephyr. The Greying wasn't just a future problem; it was happening now.
We traveled for two days, quiet and quick. I could now sense Chroma, which was amazing and overwhelming. I felt the life of a field mouse as a quick beat of Viridian. I felt the old patience of a rock as a deep Umber chord. The wind wasn't just blowing; it carried stories, its Zephyr song changing all the time.
On the second day, we reached the top of a hill, and Lyra pointed to a spot in the valley. Stillwater.
It was a bunch of buildings around a small, dirty lake. To my Chroma-sight, it looked washed-out. The Chroma of the people there felt tired. Not the Blight's violent stuff, but a general fading, like a dying fire.
Remember, Lyra said quietly as we got closer, keep your senses down. Don't mess with the Chroma here. You're just a traveler. Your eyes will give you away if you aren't careful. People here don't see what we do.
I nodded, pulling my hood over my head. It was hard. Now that I could see, not seeing took effort. I had to rebuild the walls, not to block Chroma, but to watch it from a distance, like watching a river.
The air in Stillwater smelled like woodsmoke, meat, and unwashed people. But I could also feel the town. The anxious Crimson of a merchant arguing. The sad Cerulean of a woman staring at the lake. The tired Umber of farmers who'd worked the land for a long time. It was human emotion, worn out.
Lyra led us to a beat-up bar near the water, The Leaky Bucket. The sign creaked in the wind, its Zephyr song sad.
Inside, smoke and voices filled the air. The Chroma was a thick fog of tiredness, suspicion, and quick bursts of Crimson laughter from a dice game. We found a table in a dark corner, and Lyra ordered ales from a slow, tired server.
Listen, Lyra said, looking around. Not just with your ears.
I tried. I let the place wash over me, ignoring the details. Most of it was boring. But I caught a sharper note. Not as bright as the Nexus, but focused. A bit of Violet Chroma, meaning will and clarity.
I saw where it came from. A man in trapper clothes sat alone at the bar. He was drinking, his shoulders slumped, but the Violet around him was a shield, a quiet fight against the sadness of the room.
Lyra noticed him too. She was staring.
Soon, the trapper stood, paid, and left. Lyra stood up. Stay here. Finish your drink. Don't get noticed.
She followed him, leaving me alone with strangers. I held the ale, which looked brown to me, its Chroma dead. The weight of unseen lives pressed in. I felt Crimson frustration from the dice game, Cerulean loneliness from an old man. It was too much. I breathed, feeling the wooden bench, focusing on its Umber strength.
Laughter came from a table of four men. They were big, their clothes dirty, their auras a mix of Crimson and Ochre – which I knew meant greed. One of them, with a broken nose, slammed his drink down, spilling ale. He looked around and saw me.
What's this? he said loudly. A mouse hiding in the corner? Don't see many new faces here.
I looked down, my heart pounding.
He's quiet, another man said, sounding mean. The Chroma around them got stronger, pushing in on me. It was ugly.
Maybe he's dumb, Broken-Nose said, standing and walking to my table. He smelled like ale and sweat. Maybe we should help him speak.
He stood over me, a wall of Chroma. My instincts screamed. I wanted to hide. But a new feeling came. The feeling of the Nexus. The feeling of the Scribe.
I didn't look up. I looked at the man's Crimson-Ochre aura. It was a mess. I listened to its song. Then, I pushed back with Umber.
It wasn't an attack. It was like putting a rock in a stream.
The man looked unsure. He blinked, surprised by the feeling of calm. He expected fear. He found a mountain.
He stepped back, shaking his head. Bah, he's not worth it, he muttered, his anger gone. He went back to his table, the Chroma around him quieting down.
I breathed out, my hands shaking. I hadn't fought. I had just used Chroma against Chroma.
Soon, Lyra came back. She looked at my face and then at the table of drunks.
You handled that, she said quietly.
I... I didn't do anything, I whispered.
You did everything, she said. You used knowledge as a shield, not a sword. The trapper had news. The Greying is spreading fast. Villages to the east are gone. Their Chroma... gone.
My happiness disappeared, replaced by fear. What do we do?
We keep going, she said, looking grim. North. There's a rumor of a place the Greying can't touch. A valley where Chroma is free. If there are other Scribes, they'll be there.
We stood to leave. As I walked out of the bar, back into the dim light of Stillwater, I felt different. I had faced a threat with control. The world was still tired. But I wasn't just running. I was learning to walk through it. And the path ahead felt like a choice.