Alliyana Etheria's Perspective
It had been several days since we entered the trail of corruption.
The deeper we marched, the more the world distorted. Trees warped in their angles. Rocks pulsed faintly with warmth that should not have been. The snow, once soft and quiet, now crackled underfoot with the brittle texture of burned bone. The scent in the air was wrong—iron mixed with rot, like blood dried into rust.
The soldiers grew more relaxed with each passing day.
Some laughed. Some told jokes by the fire. Some even spoke of the trail as "calmer than expected."
They didn't question why nothing attacked the camp at night. Why the trail ahead remained eerily clear.
Why the beasts they feared had seemingly gone still.
They never asked. And I didn't need to explain.
The power I'd gained from Isabelle's insights had quietly shaped my nights. I no longer needed to test theories. I understood them. Not with study—but with sense.
Magic wasn't formulaic. It was relational.
A fireball could now hover at the tip of my knife, flickering gently with heat that didn't burn me. But I couldn't throw it—at least, not more than two meters.
My zone of control ended there.
And beyond it, intent unraveled.
The fire collapsed into smoke the instant it passed that threshold.
Not a failure. Just truth.
But within my zone?
I had become untouchable.
Acid from demonic serpents? Caught before it could land.
Claws? Intercepted mid-swipe by hexagonal prism barriers that shimmered like pale glass.
I didn't think. I didn't react.
I felt. And then I moved.
Even the environment became an asset.
Moonlight, faint though it was, provided enough ambient energy to sustain barriers. I discovered that one night while stepping onto a frozen ledge. Instead of slipping, I caught myself—by instinct—on a platform of my own making.
It changed everything.
Where snow once slowed me, I now glided across fields of death like a shadow across air. I ran faster. Jumped farther. Platforms formed beneath each step—dissolving after a heartbeat. With every breath, I refined the rhythm.
But I had become efficient within it.
Now and then, I'd pause. Let the cold brush against my cheek. Let my body cool from the heat the magic generated. Let the silence stretch just long enough to notice the peace.
From a ridge, during my nightly exercise, I could see them.
The soldiers.
They were huddled around campfires, metal pots steaming, boots drying by the flames. Some laughed as they ate. Others sparred lightly in the snow, dull blades clanging in half-hearted contests.
They didn't know they were safe.
For them to feel, even briefly, that this place wasn't alive with hunger and rot.
I leaned left, shifting my weight as the wheels of the carriage rolled through the frost-crusted soil. A familiar figure stood a few paces ahead, half-shadowed by the morning mist. Isabelle. Her coat fluttered gently in the breeze, catching the early gold of dawn like silk brushed in flame.
I hopped down.
The crunch of snow beneath my boots was soft, dampened by melt and decay. My breath curled in front of me in thin, fleeting wisps.
"Good morning," I said.
She turned. Her hair shimmered, dark against the soft haze of light. "Good morning to you," she replied, voice low and mellow. Like someone who never needed to raise it to be heard.
We walked a few steps side by side. The sky above was pale and cloud-streaked, the sun not yet fully confident in its ascent.
"It's peaceful," she said. "The start of our treks, I mean."
I nodded. "Mornings tend to be."
Isabelle didn't elaborate. She rarely did when things were still.
I glanced at her, curious. "Why didn't you teach me more about the zone?" I asked. "Not that I'm ungrateful. But you held back."
She smiled faintly, watching the horizon as our boots pressed soft trails into the snow.
"Because you're the type who'd be held back by certainty," she said. "The kind who finds strength not in doctrine, but in discovery."
I blinked. "You think I'd be caged by your knowledge?"
"I think you'd outgrow it the moment I finished explaining," she said gently. "Some people need structure. You need space."
I let out a quiet, amused breath. "Fine. Have it your way."
The breeze lifted again, bringing with it the faint tang of old bark and cold ash—scent trails woven into the frozen wilderness.
I found myself smiling.
She was charming in her own way—calm, precise, quietly reverent of potential. Not of power. Of what could be.
In another life, another body, I might have fallen for someone like her. I remembered being a young man. Hungry for challenge.
For her kind of intellect and wit.
Isabelle's eyes flicked toward me again.
"Was I wrong?" she asked, tone soft but pointed. "About holding back?"
I shook my head. "No. You're right."
Then she glanced ahead, toward the soldiers—laughing, chewing, slouching in the sun like it was any other morning.
Her voice dipped lower.
"They don't notice it," she said, "but every day begins with peace because of you."
I didn't answer at first.
Just smiled. Calmly. Without teeth.
So she knew. The whole time.
I looked at her—not with surprise, but with respect.
She didn't praise me. She didn't expose me.
I wasn't a child in her eyes.
She just named what already was.