Morning in Edrin Hollow arrived without ceremony. The settlement woke the way it always had, lamps dimming as daylight strengthened, doors opening to release the smell of boiled grain and woodsmoke into the air. If a stranger passed through, they might have mistaken the place for calm.
Kael could not.
Even without calling on Law Observation, he felt the region's unease like a thin pressure against his skin. It wasn't fear, exactly, but a persistent sense that the air carried more weight than it should, as if the world here was holding its breath.
Teams gathered near the temporary command point in the center of the settlement. Instructors sorted assignments, villagers lingered at a careful distance, and the ward ring stood around them all like a tired fence with too many weak boards.
Marrow addressed the teams with the same practical tone he used in the academy's halls, though his eyes seemed sharper in the open air.
"Today we confirm what is failing and why," he said. "We are not here to decorate the wards. We are here to stop them from collapsing, and that requires understanding the cause. You will work in pairs or under direct supervision. If you find a degraded stone, you mark it. You do not attempt repairs unless instructed."
Lyra looked like she had been born for this kind of task. She held her notebooks tighter than usual, but her eyes were already moving over the ward stones as though she could see their problems through sheer will.
Their team was assigned to assist with diagnostics, which meant walking the perimeter with a supervising instructor and recording the state of each ward stone. Darian carried a small kit of stabilizer stakes; Seraphine carried nothing visible but moved with quiet certainty; Lyra had ink, paper, and a measuring charm borrowed from the instructors. Kael carried only his pack and the feeling that if he looked too closely, he would see too much.
They began at the eastern edge, where the ward stones were newer. The runes were crisp, the enchantments stable, and the air around them held a steady flow that felt almost normal. The supervising instructor took notes, occasionally tapping a rune line with a gloved finger to confirm strength.
"Functional," she said more than once.
Lyra watched those stones with mild disappointment, as if she had hoped for a more dramatic mystery.
It didn't last. As they moved west, the stones grew older and the repairs more frequent. Metal braces, patch runes, and temporary binding marks showed where villagers and local ward-tenders had been fighting a slow deterioration with the tools they had.
Darian paused near a stone with a long crack running through its side. "This one's been hit before," he said, pointing at the fracture. "Not just worn. Something struck it."
The supervising instructor crouched, studying the crack. "Possibly. Or it took strain in a storm. Mark it."
Lyra leaned close enough that the instructor's gaze snapped toward her.
Lyra straightened immediately. "Not touching," she said, then added more quietly, "Just looking."
Kael stayed back, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm. He could feel the pull in certain places, subtle threads tugging at the ward ring like a current pulling at fabric. The difference between the east and west was not random wear. It was a pattern, one that grew stronger the closer they came to the ridge.
When they reached the darkened stone from the previous evening, the air around it felt thinner, like the space had been stretched. The runes were visible, but their meaning seemed faint, drained. Kael did not step closer than necessary.
The supervising instructor marked it again, speaking to another staff member who approached to confirm the degradation. "We'll reinforce this point," she said. "Temporary stabilizers. No deep repair until we know what's drawing on it."
Drawing on it.
Kael let that phrase settle in his mind. It matched what his instincts had already warned him of.
While the staff discussed repairs, Lyra stood slightly apart with her notebook open, sketching the rune pattern from memory. Her pencil moved quickly, and her brow furrowed as she compared the stone's design to the standard barrier frameworks she'd studied.
"This should distribute load across the ring," she murmured. "Even if it weakens, it shouldn't weaken like this. It's uneven. It's as if—"
"As if someone is taking from it," Seraphine said quietly, finishing the thought without looking up.
Lyra blinked, then nodded once, as though relieved someone else had said it aloud. "Yes. It feels like depletion, not erosion."
Darian shifted his weight, gaze fixed on the ridge above them. "Can something do that without breaking the ward outright?"
Lyra hesitated, then said carefully, "Not something simple."
Kael kept his expression neutral, but the dull pressure behind his eyes suggested Law Observation was ready to bloom if he allowed it. He resisted for several breaths, then let it rise only a fraction, just enough to confirm what his instincts had been shaping into certainty.
The ward stone's lattice appeared in his perception, frayed in multiple places like a net pulled too many times against sharp rock. It wasn't simply leaking mana. Thin threads ran away from it, faint but consistent, leading upward toward the ridge. He saw the same threads on nearby stones as well, weaker but aligned in the same direction, as though the entire western perimeter was feeding something above.
Kael released the skill before the ache sharpened.
The impression remained.
Seraphine glanced at him, and for a moment he wondered if she could see the shift in his eyes the way she had in the academy. Her expression did not change, but her attention sharpened slightly.
"You noticed something," she said, not pushing, but not letting it pass either.
Kael could have denied it. He could have let the staff lead this and remained quiet. That would be safer.
But safer did not always mean right.
"The pull is strongest here," he said, choosing his words carefully. "It's not just failing. It's being drawn toward the ridge."
Lyra's gaze snapped to him. "You're certain?"
Kael didn't answer directly, which was answer enough.
Darian's jaw tightened. "So whatever it is, it's uphill."
Seraphine's eyes lifted toward the treeline above the settlement. "Then the problem isn't the ward ring," she said. "It's what the ring is trying to hold back."
By midday, the teams regrouped at the command point with their reports. Marrow listened as instructors summarized findings, his posture still and controlled. Kael stood with his team slightly behind the main cluster, watching the way Marrow's focus sharpened whenever the western perimeter was mentioned.
When the last report ended, Marrow spoke. "The pattern is consistent," he said. "Weakness concentrated toward the ridge. Mana density rising in pulses. This suggests a localized source drawing in ambient flow."
"Could it be a nest?" one instructor asked.
Marrow's gaze remained steady. "Possibly. Or something older."
Headmaster Vale was not present, but another senior staff member had arrived by midday, a tall man with a scar running across his cheek and the posture of someone who had spent more time in real conflict than in lecture halls. He listened without expression, then spoke in a voice that carried experience rather than authority.
"We inspect the ridge," he said. "We do it carefully. No student teams without direct supervision."
Marrow nodded once. "Agreed."
Assignments shifted accordingly. Some teams remained to reinforce the weakest ward stones with temporary stabilizers while the staff prepared a small inspection group for the ridge. Kael's team was told to assist with stabilizer placement along the western perimeter under supervision.
It was careful work, not difficult but demanding attention. Darian hammered stakes into the soil near marked stones, feeding reinforcement into the ground to help redistribute strain. Seraphine assisted by balancing flow with precise adjustments, keeping the stabilizers from overcompensating and causing new imbalances. Lyra recorded each placement, noting the change in mana density around the stones.
Kael watched the flow.
Even with stabilizers in place, the pull remained. It didn't weaken, not truly. It simply shifted, as though whatever was drawing mana was patient enough to accept slower feeding rather than stop entirely.
As dusk approached, the village lamps were lit again. The settlement looked almost warm in the fading light, a ring of quiet life surrounded by hills that now felt less like shelter and more like a boundary.
Their team returned to the assigned quarters, tired in the way that came from careful focus rather than physical exhaustion. Darian dropped his pack beside his bedroll and rubbed his hands, shaking off the lingering vibration of reinforcement work.
Lyra sat immediately, scribbling notes with quick intensity. "If the pull is directional and consistent," she murmured, "then the source has to be stable. Not a wandering beast. Not a random storm pocket. Something anchored."
Seraphine leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely, gaze thoughtful. "Anchored things can still be moved," she said. "Sometimes by someone."
Darian glanced between them. "You mean a person did this."
Seraphine didn't answer, which left the possibility hanging without becoming a declaration.
Kael listened, feeling the letter from his family in his pack like a small, quiet weight. He thought again about House Valeris and the western lands it once held, about old responsibilities and how they could fade without disappearing.
Outside, the settlement settled into night. The air remained uneasy, but nothing broke, and that quiet felt almost like permission to breathe.
Kael lay back on his bedroll, listening to Darian's slow breathing and Lyra's pen scratching paper, and for a while he let himself rest in the simple fact that they had done something useful today, even if they had not solved anything yet.
Tomorrow, they would move closer to the ridge, and Kael suspected the pattern he'd seen would become harder to ignore. For now, the village remained intact, the stabilizers held, and the ward ring endured—tired, imperfect, but standing.