The cold came first.
It seeped through Aldric's soaked clothes, into his skin, settling into his bones like a second skeleton. He lay on the muddy riverbank, staring at the stars, and tried to remember how to move.
His body didn't want to cooperate. Every breath sent pain lancing through his ribs. His left shoulder throbbed where he'd struck something in the river—a rock, a log, he couldn't remember. His legs were numb, his arms heavy, and his mana reserves flickered like a candle in a windstorm.
But he was alive.
---
He made himself sit up.
The world tilted. His vision swam. For a long moment, he thought he might be sick. Then the dizziness passed, leaving behind a dull ache that seemed to fill his entire skull.
The cliffs rose in the distance, dark shapes against the star-scattered sky. Far away. He'd traveled further than he'd realized. The river had carried him miles downstream, away from the clearing, away from the cave, away from the three operatives who wanted Felix's letter.
Away from the Order.
---
Aldric's hand went to his chest.
The letter fragment was still there, tucked inside his tunic, protected by the cloth wrapping. He pulled it out carefully, unfolding it with fingers that trembled from cold and exhaustion.
But it was enough. It had to be enough.
---
He folded the paper carefully and tucked it back into his tunic, pressing it flat against his chest. Then he looked around, trying to get his bearings.
The riverbank was narrow here, bordered by thick undergrowth and towering trees. The forest stretched in every direction—dark, silent, unfamiliar. He had no idea where he was. No idea how far he'd come. No idea which direction led back to the Order.
Not that the Order could help him.
---
Twenty-eight days until expulsion.
The number surfaced from somewhere in his mind, irrelevant now but impossible to ignore. He'd been stripped of his stipend, his quarters, his standing. The Order's doors would close behind him in less than a month, and he'd be on his own.
But that was before. Before the cave. Before the chase. Before he'd learned that Crimson Pyre was operating in the hills behind the Order, that they'd been watching him, that they wanted Felix's letter badly enough to kill for it.
Now the Order's expulsion felt like a distant concern. He had more immediate problems.
---
A sound.
Aldric's head snapped up, his body tensing despite the pain.
Voices. Distant, but growing closer. Coming from upstream.
---
He pressed himself flat against the riverbank, his heart pounding. The voices were indistinct, carried by the wind, but he could hear the tone. Urgent. Searching.
They're looking for the body.
The thought crystallized in his mind with cold certainty. The three operatives had seen him jump. They'd assumed the fall would kill him, or at least leave him broken and easy to capture. Now they were searching the riverbank, looking for a corpse that wasn't where it should be.
Which meant they knew he might have survived.
---
Aldric locked his fingers tight, rode out the panic spike, and forced himself to think.
He couldn't fight. His mana was nearly depleted, his body was battered, and he had no weapons. Three Adept-tier mages against one exhausted spellblade novice was suicide.
He couldn't run. He barely had the strength to stand, let alone outrun opponents who could use magic to close the distance.
He couldn't hide. Not for long. They were searching the riverbank systematically, and the forest wasn't dense enough to conceal him indefinitely.
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So what did that leave?
---
The river.
Aldric looked at the dark water, still flowing past him, cold and relentless. It had carried him this far. Could it carry him further?
The thought was terrifying. He'd barely survived the first journey—more rocks and debris than water, more impact than flow. Another stretch of rapids might finish what the cliff had started.
But staying here meant capture. Or death.
---
The voices grew louder.
"...check downstream. The current would have carried him..."
"...Master wants him alive if possible..."
"...if he survived that fall, he's not going anywhere..."
Aldric made his decision.
---
He crawled toward the water's edge, his movements clumsy, his body screaming in protest. The mud sucked at his hands and knees, cold and slick. Every inch felt like a mile.
Behind him, the voices continued. Closer now. He could see torchlight flickering through the trees, orange flames against the darkness.
He reached the water and slipped in.
---
The cold was a shock.
It hit him like a physical blow, driving the air from his lungs, sending his heart racing. For a moment, he couldn't move—couldn't think—couldn't do anything but float in the darkness, his body going numb.
Then the current caught him.
---
The river was gentler here than it had been above the cliffs. The water moved steadily rather than violently, carrying him downstream in a slow, relentless flow. He let himself go limp, letting the current do the work, conserving what little strength he had left.
Above him, the stars wheeled slowly overhead. The torchlight grew distant, then disappeared entirely. The voices faded into the night.
He was alone.
---
You're still walking.
Felix's voice again, softer now, almost gentle.
That's what matters. Not how fast. Not how far. Just that you keep going.
Aldric let the words settle into him, a counterweight to the cold and the pain and the fear. He was still walking. Still breathing. Still holding onto Felix's letter.
Still fighting.
---
The river carried him through the night.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, his awareness fragmenting, his sense of time dissolving into the rhythm of the water. Sometimes he heard sounds—animals in the forest, the rush of water over rocks, the distant call of a night bird. Sometimes he heard nothing but his own heartbeat, slow and steady in his ears.
Once, he thought he saw lights on the riverbank. Torches. Voices. But when he tried to focus, they were gone. A dream, maybe. Or a warning.
He couldn't tell anymore.
---
You were right, Fel.
The thought surfaced from somewhere deep, rising through the layers of exhaustion.
Not everything is about money.
---
Aldric's mind drifted back to the East Cliff, to the night Felix had said those words. The stars had been bright overhead, the wind cool on their faces. Felix had been chewing a grass stalk, his eyes distant, his expression thoughtful.
What do you mean? Aldric had asked.
Some costs, Felix had said slowly, are paid in other ways. In choices. In sacrifice. In the things you give up because keeping them would cost too much.
That doesn't make sense.
It will. Felix had smiled, but it hadn't reached his eyes. One day, you'll face a choice. And you'll understand that some costs can only be paid by refusing to take the easy path. By standing for something, even when it costs you everything.
What choice?
Felix had shaken his head. I don't know. But I know it's coming. For both of us.
---
The memory faded, leaving Aldric alone in the darkness.
He'd made that choice. Standing in front of the entire Order, refusing Caelen's offer, refusing to betray his fellow spellblades. He'd paid a price—not to any person, but to something deeper. To the principle that some things mattered more than survival.
And now he was paying the price.
---
The river began to slow.
Aldric noticed it gradually—the current gentling, the water spreading out, the sound of rushing fading to a murmur. He was approaching a wider section of the river, maybe a pool or a lake.
Or a settlement.
---
He tried to lift his head, to see where he was going, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His limbs were numb, his vision blurred, his consciousness flickering like a dying flame.
He was running out of time.
---
The river deposited him on a muddy shore.
Aldric didn't remember landing. One moment he was floating, the next he was lying on solid ground, his face pressed into the mud, his body too weak to move.
He lay there for a long time, breathing slowly, feeling the cold seep deeper into his bones.
Somewhere nearby, he heard a sound. Footsteps. Voices.
"...found something..."
"...downstream from the cliffs..."
"...get him to the fire..."
---
Hands lifted him.
He tried to resist, tried to fight, but his body wouldn't respond. He was being carried, lifted off the ground, moved through darkness toward light.
The letter.
His hand went to his chest, pressing against the hidden fragment.
They can't have it.
But the hands were gentle. The voices were concerned, not threatening. And the light was warm, not the orange of torches but the yellow of a campfire.
---
"He's half-drowned."
"Looks like he took a hard fall. Cliffs, maybe."
"Is he... is he one of them? The ones they're searching for?"
A pause.
"I don't know. But he's alive. That's what matters."
---
Aldric's eyes opened.
He was lying beside a fire, wrapped in rough blankets, his wet clothes stripped away and hung nearby. The flames crackled and danced, casting warm light across the faces of the people gathered around him.
Three of them. Weathered, worn, dressed in practical clothes that had seen better days. Wanderers, by the look of them—people who lived on the roads, taking work where they could find it.
One of them, a gray-bearded man with kind eyes, crouched beside him.
"Easy, boy. You're safe. For now."
---
Aldric tried to speak. His throat was raw, his voice a croak.
"The... letter..."
"What letter?"
He pressed his hand against his chest. The paper was still there, tucked inside the blanket, protected.
"Need to... keep it... safe."
The gray-bearded man exchanged a glance with his companions.
"We don't know anything about a letter. We found you in the river, half-drowned. That's all."
---
Aldric's eyes began to close. Exhaustion was pulling him under, dragging him down into darkness.
But before he went, he heard the gray-bearded man speak again:
"Rest now. We'll figure out what to do with you in the morning."
Then: "The name's Harren. And you're lucky we found you before they did."
---
Is the night almost over?
