I was a child again.

Hiding from the flames, sheltering from the screams. The roar of the fire couldn't drown the crack of timber—they were inside.

I couldn't wait for them to find me this time. They always found me. I'd fight this time. Bursting from underneath the table, I reached into the currents for my Naem-shul, always submerged just below the surface, ready to leap into my hands at a moment's notice. No help came to me, no rush of magic. Instead, I rushed out into—

Th-the bar...?

A gambler's fist hit my cheek and suddenly I was on the ground. My whole arm was gone, the pain in my shoulder blinding. Sneering chalk masks stared down at me, savoring their victory.

They found me.

Someone was screaming. A girl. Lylisia.

Somehow I knew I could control the flames. They bowed to my will, flowing through my soul like white hot rage, pouring from my fingertips. They leapt to devour the masks, those taunting, blank masks. They reveled in the kill. The Ska'al didn't scream, just turned to ash, dropping masks that thudded dully on the stone floor.

The fire followed me as I fought through the smoke. I must save her. I can save her, I'm stronger now, you won't die Lyl.

It was a man now.

"You left him to die Sedris!"

What?

"You were too late!" It was Koren. Andrin lay lifeless in his arms, his gray skin drained and pale.

I tried to get to him, to save him, but I couldn't. The smoke held me back. I was sliding back with every step I took, sucked back into the flames even as they flowed from my hands, suddenly hot to the touch—no, searing. My hands were burning, like a thousand burning needles pressed into my skin, my soul was gasping for air for all the fire flowing through me, my shoulder—my shoulder was gushing blood, spilling onto—

I took a huge gulp of air and burst awake.

No fire, just the stars twinkling overhead. No screaming, just the whisper of the breeze. No pain...

Yes, pain. I grit my teeth and gripped my shoulder. The pain from the dream didn't fade—it was real. The Ska'al, he cut me. Adrenaline, magic, maybe exhaustion too, they had all numbed it before. But now...

I sat up and winced. My wrist ached as well, sharp pains racing up my forearm if I turned it a certain way.

"You are troubled." Maeldok sat awake, staring at me with dark eyes.

"It's nothing. The Ska'al hit my shoulder."

"Your wounds will heal. Your dreams though..."

So I talk in my sleep. Great. "I figure they'll fade eventually too. I haven't been broken for too long, I'll get used to this."

Like you believe that, my own voice scoffed.

"Dawn approaches." Maeldok stood. "Every moment we tarry is a moment less to save your friend. Come. My promise to you stands."

I gathered my things as quickly as possible, double checking the bag at my waist. The Azendrine was safely tucked away, as well as the Y'ririn Counter. Without another moment's hesitation I followed after my towering new companion, glad that for once he wasn't disappearing into the night.

Finally, I'll learn something real. I was ready to use the currents again and ready to have my power back. But my torn soul...

I brushed the thought from my mind. Focus on right now, what's right in front of you. There's time to worry later. I practically skipped with excitement at the thought of seeing with the currents again.

Hours later, however, the skip in my step had gone, and all I wanted to do was pound my head on a tree.

"Once more."

I rolled my eyes. "This doesn't make sense!" Leaves crunched loudly beneath my feet and a woodpecker drummed somewhere nearby. "How can I change the currents?"

"You must feel them at your fingertips. No longer are you a simple observer, one who calls them to your aid." Maeldok strode alongside me casually, hands deep in the folds of his dark cloak. The cloak billowed behind him and I almost thought he floated rather than walked—the snap of twigs and rustle of forest brush assured me that it was the latter.

I studied him for a moment. Patchy sunlight filtered through the trees, lighting up his graying beard and thick eyebrows. A long nose drooped down below deep, searching eyes, eyes that held mysteries and secrets I itched to hear. It was strange to see him in the sunlight and with no hood. He held an air of mystery, yes, but no longer foreboding or unease. Whatever else he was, for now he seemed like... well, a man.

"You must relearn the ways of the currents to regain some of the power you once had."

It just didn't make sense. "So... how do I feel them?" I felt silly reaching out with my hands as if I'd grasp the currents I could only sense through my soul.

"Close your eyes Solace, once more." Maeldok didn't seem bothered by my failure to grasp his first real lesson.

I closed my eyes. I could see the currents just as I always had. They moved in and through my soul, and through my soul I could see their flow. "They're still confused and murky. They don't so much flow as tangle and knot and tumble over each other, more like river rapids than a glassy stream." I didn't open my eyes yet. "You know I can't call them anymore. They don't answer."

"A broken soul cannot see the currents as an Animaré can." His voice was casual, almost ponderous. "The currents flow through your soul as they do all living things. Those who wield magic, such as the Animaré, have eyes to see the currents and voices to summon their power. But with a broken soul, these abilities are lost. Such is the fate of the Solace."

My eyes snapped open and I glared at him. "So this is all useless? I just can't use them anymore?"

Maeldok cast me a glance, one bushy eyebrow raised. "Do you still wish to learn how one can?"

"Yes." I tripped on a root as I spoke.

"Good. You will." Turning his gaze to the treetops above, Maeldok continued after a moment. "The currents no longer flow through you as calm, crystal waters, but, as you yourself have said, like wild rapids instead, your shattered soul turning their rhythm to chaos. A Solace must reach into the raging flow and subdue it, directing its channels so they can see clearly." He spoke to the air more than to me, taking care with his words and saying each one thoughtfully. "Each time you read the currents you must bend them to your will, and only then will you see as you once did; only then will they answer as they once did."

That sounded... wrong. Bend the currents to my will? Was this my fate? This broken, twisted magic the only remnant of my once powerful self? "It doesn't seem right to redirect them for my own use. Even if I could."

"The currents are not beings, Solace. They are the flow of magic and no more." He thought me weak. I could feel it.

I wasn't sure I disagreed with him.

"Cast aside your doubt. It is honorable but needless." He went on, a little softer, "Nothing about your state is natural—it must simply be done this way."

I nodded and tried again. Maybe he was right. Once more I closed my eyes, and the currents were before me. I urged my soul to reach out and get close to them, to somehow mold them or grasp them in a way I never had before.

How do you shape something you can't touch?

"Let the magic rise up into your soul, but do not let it escape outward. Hold it within you."

My broken soul groaned in protest as I forced myself to concentrate. The Solace magic was always eager to rise up, and rise it did. It almost burst from my fingertips before I caught it again, reeling the power slowly, agonizingly back into my own soul.

"Good. The magic will answer to you if you keep it in check." Maeldok's calm voice sounded far away. "Use it to change the flow of the currents through your soul."

The task seemed monumental. Magic swirled in my soul almost faster than the currents flowed through it, but I summoned my strength to direct it anyway. It slowly settled and formed as I strained my will to keep it in check.

Just keep going, keep it under control.

The magic suddenly pulsed stronger and my grip on it slipped for just a moment. I felt it leave my fingertips in a burst of energy and panicked, fearing the rest of the power blasting out of me as well. One thought and I shoved the magic back, forcing it downward and out of my soul.

I opened my eyes.

Maeldok stood beside me, a strange compass held loosely in his hand, both eyebrows raised. I looked down.

The ground around my feet was scorched, my shaking, sweaty hands clenched into fists. My fingertips tingled.

"Too much that time." He whisked the singed edge of his robe away from me and continued walking. "Let too much power through, and it is too difficult to control. Things could have gotten out of control," he added over his shoulder.

I bent over double to catch my breath, then hurried along to catch up. The smell of burnt cloth floated along behind me, and also a few wispy specks of ash. Shoving my hands into my cloak to hide their shaking, I tried to change to the subject.

"What is that compass thing exactly?"

Maeldok gave me a sideways glance under his bushy brows. "Simply put, it is a device that measures magic nearby. You, Solace, allowed far more than was wise to flood your soul." He eyed my hunched shoulders and unsteady stride. "Solace magic is powerful. Do not underestimate it. It would do you well to continue to practice this skill."

He's crazy. "Not today," I said, shaking my head. I held the amulet tight in my fist, simply for something to hold onto. "Did you see the crater I left? I'm not ready to mess with the currents. I'm barely ready to use any magic," I added to myself.

"If you are not ready now, you will never be." My companion kept his voice low. "The burden of power is never given when it is wanted, nor lifted when it is not. Now try once more. It will not be long before this skill means life or death."

I'm not ready, but...

Was I ready when I lost Lylisia? Would I ever have been ready to be whatever I had become?

No. He was right. I nodded.

The rest of the day was spent trying again, and again, and one last time, to no avail. The magic welled up too fast and refused to be controlled. Although Maeldok insisted that the magic was too strong, and that I needed to summon less, I wondered if I was simply too weak. I couldn't just give it an inch, like he wanted me to, because it would take a foot. I was worn out down to my very soul—especially in my soul.

My feet dragged by the time we made camp, and after a short meal I was finally able to rest.

The bright white of midday had faded to gray as clouds lazily rolled across the sky. Gray gave way to brilliant gold and orange when the sun drooped low on the horizon, but it too dwindled with the coming of night. I stretched my tired limbs and looked up at the silvery clouds turning slowly to black—no stars tonight to stare back.

It was difficult to feel so tired. It wasn't new, of course, but part of me still felt like I should be able to reach out and be re-energized by the currents—it still didn't feel real to reach for my other half and find her missing. Fatigue with no easy relief was one of a host of seemingly ordinary things that were bitter instead.

My mind drifted for a while, taking in the quiet of the evening, before I turned it to Maeldok. I still didn't know what to make of him. His every word seemed needlessly cryptic, but also strangely wise. He couldn't be Solace himself, but he could describe how the power felt in a way that resonated with me. Everything from his black robe to the gray Baldük face to the odd device he held in his hand even then, it was all a mystery.

The compass-like device especially piqued my curiosity.

He had watched it all day, the small needle whirring and spinning as colors changed on its face. It also seemed to have something to do my training, although I wasn't quite sure what. The big man looked up suddenly and caught my eye. He glanced at the compass in his hand.

I cleared my throat. "Um. What exactly is that?"

"I call it a Grezeor."

"What is it?"

"It is a measuring device."

I sighed. "It would be easier if you just told me what I'm really asking, rather than being vague."

He nodded sagely for a moment. "My apologies, Solace. It seems I have grown accustomed to secrecy over the years. The Council of D'ulk-kyra has not always cast a kind eye toward my work."

"You said were a Channeler? I've only heard of those before." The term sounded familiar. Something about a Channeler in Aelridia?

"You may have heard tales of Horatius, the famed Channeler of the House of Aelridia. Executed for the craft. Though his invention cured a deadly sickness, King Delling X feared his practice."

My face fell. "Yes... that sounds about right."

"Death was his reward for saving innocent lives," Maeldok mused. "The Corvel have a great fear of magic outside the reaches of the Animaré." He turned a keen eye to me. "Nevertheless, my craft lives on in D'ulk-kyra, though my work is not shared with the citizens of Baldük-kre."

I sat up, anxious to hear more about D'ulk-kyra and the origins of my new companion. The fire was still bright and the night still young.

"Forgive me, as the mind wanders where it will. To address your question, the Grezeor can measure magic near it, be it the magic ready at your fingertips," he nodded to me, "or magic being used, such as a Naem-shul."

"You say that it can measure magic?"

"It can, but not so much like a scale measures weight. The Grezeor is not precise tool, but it has much information to offer its user."

A thought suddenly occurred to me. I unwrapped myself from my cloak and reached into my pocket. "Could it tell me if this is magical?" I pulled out the amulet, which hung heavy on its thin gold chain.

Maeldok eyed the amulet but hesitated for a moment. "Alas, the answer is not so simple. Yes, it can detect magic imbued in certain artifacts. But it also detects the power in you, power much more potent and volatile than anything likely to reside in this amulet." He held the Grezeor up for me to see. "You see the needle, how it shakes and jumps? You see the colors shifting? The Grezeor detects your magic, but not as precisely as one would like. Your artifact may be magical, it may not be. We do not know."

I swung the chain close to the device and away again, looking for any spike in the trembling needle, but Maeldok was right. There was really no way to tell.

"However," he continued, "it may very well be that this jewel has some magical properties, even undetectable ones. Why else—"

"—would this prince come looking for it," I whispered. The green jewel gleamed in the light of the fire. I still didn't like the thought of keeping it. It had still only brought me trouble. "So why this jewel? Why can't I bury it right here and be rid of it forever?" The chain slowly slipped through my fingers—it was an appealing idea.

"Because the prince Bërrha may have other ways to find a magical artifact." Maeldok reached out to catch the amulet as I dropped it. He held it up carefully and examined it, eyes wide and glazed over.

Must be the craftsman in him, can't help but admire it.

Maeldok tore his gaze from the artifact. "However, there may be something else he desires—something of much more interest."

My ears perked up. What else could a Baldük Prince want?

"Baldük legend calls them m'olon fintre—soul forges."

My eyes grew wide. "Soul forges?" I could only imagine what they were for.

Maeldok hesitated. "Solace, you must understand first. Bërrha's mind is... broken."

"Sure, got it. What's a soul forge?"

"It is nothing to be taken lightly." My companion's features were like glistening marble. "He believes the legends and pursues them relentlessly."

"I understand," I answered, trying to sit still. "What's wrong with knowing what he's after?"

"Because," Maeldok replied, fixing me with a piercing stare, "you share his weakness. Bërrha believes a soul forge can mend his broken soul—for he is Solace like yourself."

My heart almost stopped. Mend a broken soul?

"...fixated on the idea, unable to rest from his obsession. He..."

Could I bring her back? Can my soul really be whole again? Maybe they're just legends, but what if they're true?

"Sedris."

My racing mind stopped. It was the first time he had said my name. I looked up.

"Bërrha has allowed his hunger for power and life to cloud his mind. His wish is not to truly to be healed of his brokenness, but be rid of his weaknesses. Do not mirror his mistakes."

I took a deep breath. He was right. Lylisia wouldn't have wanted me to become obsessed with this. "What does he plan to do with the soul forge then?"

Maeldok's gaze lingered on me for a moment before he answered. "Bërrha, as all Solace do, above all else fears just what the Solace magic within him fears—non existence. Death."

"I don't fear death."

He laughed. "Then you are a rare one indeed. But perhaps you will in time, for in time it will come for you, as it comes for Bërrha."

"What do you mean?"

"You are dying, Solace. Bërrha is dying. Slowly, but dying nonetheless."

I shrugged. "Aren't we all? I don't have too much left to lose anyway."

"Bërrha does. He has much power to lose, and will not part with it willingly." Maeldok's voice was distant. "I have watched the prince pass slowly from a bearer of Solace magic to its servant, then its slave. He is being consumed, as you are."

I shifted uncomfortably. My stomach was starting to get queasy. Hearing how far a Solace could fall, and just what the magic could do—the very magic coiled in my chest—chilled my bones. "So he thinks a soul forge will free him from the magic?"

Shaking his head, Maeldok let out a sigh. "If only that was his wish. Bërrha is not satisfied to be a slave. His wish is to be one with his power, to be a being of pure Solace magic, destructive, supreme, and immortal." He smiled grimly. "At least, he believes this legend will grant his wish."

I sat back, realizing how far I had leaned forward. The horrors of Solace magic were suddenly fully realized upon me, and it had me shaken. Whatever drove Bërrha to such desperate measures, to such reliance on and hunger for more power, was at work within me. I angrily pushed the magic down further, willing it to disappear into the depths of my soul and never resurface.

Finally, I swallowed my fear and opened my mouth. "Maeldok. I need to know."

He nodded, motioning me to go on.

"Will this magic make me like him? Am I doomed to be consumed by it and die?" I knew I didn't even want an answer.

He didn't say anything for a long time, but simply closed his eyes. The crackle of the dying fire was the only sound. He opened his eyes again. "Your magic wants to control you, as it does him. For with control comes freedom to do as it pleases. And slowly, it will chip away at your life. Perhaps your end will come early, perhaps it will be no sooner than your friends'."

I nodded slowly.

"As for being consumed, only time will tell."

At that, I perked up.

Maeldok continued, "Solace are few and far between. There may be hope for you yet."