Left. Like the others. On my shoulder, down my back.

The droplet fell.

The overflowing bead coursed just as Erith charted, but the repetitive chip of iron striking dirt finally snapped his concentration.

“It’s hard to focus when you’re doing that right next to me, Thatch,” Erith called out, clearly annoyed. The striking ceased, and he heard footsteps grow closer to him.

“It’s not supposed to be easy,” came the older voice—measured, but warm. “You won’t be given the gift of simple moments. Not when it matters.”

Erith cracked one eye open, where he sat cross-legged in the garden, a thin-limbed boy with an oversized shirt beside him.

The old man knelt in a row of freshly overturned earth, carefully pressing a few seeds into a small hole in the soil. He brushed the dirt, covering the hole, then inching himself down the row.

His hair and beard were almost entirely grey, but there was nothing frail about him.

Erith flopped back onto the dirt with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll do the hard stuff tomorrow. It’s almost noon anyways. Aren’t we going to eat soon? I’m starving.”

“Once I finish this row. It could go twice as fast if I had some help.” He tilted his head to Erith, who was drying his head with the hem of his shirt.

The boy threw his shirt over himself while he walked over, putting his arms through the sleeves as he knelt beside Thatch.

“Why do I even need to keep doing this?” Erith muttered. “I’m good with Kaida and Mura. I can cut through steel—and you said you’ve never even heard of anyone who could do that.”

Thatch passed him a few seeds. Erith dug a small hole in the soil and placed the seeds in the dirt.

“And I have you practice cuts most days too,” Thatch said with a quiet grin.

His hand reached inside the small bag by his side, pulling out a handful of seeds. He reached out his hand, but stopped short of Erith’s reach.

“These days, even in the palm of my hand, the seeds blur for these old eyes.” He plucked one from his other hand, surveying it closely. “But when I was your age… I could see all the tiny ridges and grooves etched into something smaller than your fingertip.”

Erith watched him in silence, taking in the lines around his eyes—and the faded scar near just beneath one of them.

Thatch turned the seed through his fingers. “It’s no wonder to me—seeds bear life itself. Of course they’d be detailed.”

He held it up, inspecting it against the morning light. “But if I’d never seen it in the first place? Well, hard to imagine, don’t you think?”

Erith didn’t answer, but continued to watch the old man beside him. Thatch placed the seed in the hand Erith forgot he had extended.

“You can see both Kaida and Mura the way I once saw these seeds—in all their detail,” he said with a soft admiration. “You live in a world where everyone else simply sees blurry shapes. But you… you see the world beneath.”

Thatch turned back to the soil in front of him. “You’ll need to be able to use what you are to the fullest,” he added, his tone sharpened. “Because if you don’t—someone else will.”

Maeric’s eyes opened, but words failed to escape him—only a choked groan.

“No… Maeric, no…”

His eyes widened. His body seized with a sharp breath, as if he was struck by something too deep to cry out.

Then, slowly, Maeric began to slide against the stone wall.

Erith lunged forward, catching him before he collapsed, guiding him gently down onto the folded sheets.

His heart was pounding. He pressed a hand on Maeric’s chest—and was startled to feel it hammering away.

I hope to see what comes next for us.

Tears fell onto Erith’s hand. Maeric’s eyes fluttered, struggling to hold focus. Behind them was a depth of anguish Erith had never seen in Maeric before.

Fear.

The same kind that filled Elian’s eyes in the Narrows as he clutched his throat, unable to breathe, unable to speak.

That same look. That same knowing.

The look of someone who had realized that it was too late.

Erith lowered his head to his hand and closed his eyes.

I want to be there with you after the Balance, Maeric.

He drew in a deep breath and lifted his gaze.

Maeric’s eyes had drifted, unanchored.

I’ll drag you through this. We’ll see what comes next for us.

He exhaled slowly, reaching inward—feeling for the raw Kaida as it coursed through Maeric’s body, ravaging everything in its path, unbalanced and spreading.

Like the ridges of a seed.

Erith steadied his breath. Listening.

Until, one by one, he heard the hum of Kaida beginning its song—a somber, lethal harmony, threading through Maeric's body.

“What were you thinking, Maeric?” Erith whispered.

It was far too much. He pulled far too much.

There was no choice.

Erith scrambled to the crate, swiping the Murath, and rushed back to Maeric’s side.

He focused on the Mura within it, gauging how much was contained within, then pulled the mechanism back to its limit.

“This won’t be it,” he breathed. “I won’t let this be.”

He held the Murath above Maeric, the fine needle hovering against his chest.

Erith took a deep breath—then shook his head.

“Tal!! Come quick!”

Footsteps pounded toward the room. The door burst open—Tal, Rin, and Amun filled the doorway.

They froze in the candlelight. Erith knelt over Maeric, his hands steady, his face lit with the firelight and fear.

“What the hell–”

“He started the Balance. I need to do this now. You need to slow his heart down. Don’t break my concentration. If I can talk, I will.”

“Erith–”

“There’s no time. I hope you heard me.”

He looked down at Maeric, then pressed the needle into his chest.

✦☽✧❖⨁☼✺☼⨁❖✧☽✦