The air was heavier as they approached the gorge, a jagged expanse of rock and glittering energy that pulsed faintly in the air like a heartbeat. Waves of light danced across the rocks' surface, bending the landscape into rippling distortions. It was beautiful and wrong, all at once.
Rowen tightened her grip on the Lunara's reins, her knuckles white against the leather. The crescent mark on her wrist began to burn faintly, a steady thrum that seemed to synchronize with the pulse of the gorge's magic. The sensation wasn't painful, but it unsettled her, like a subtle reminder that something was watching.
"What is this place?" Rowen asked, her voice hushed as she slid off the Lunara's back. Her stomach churned as she looked out over the glinting expanse, the distortions making it hard to focus.
Dryanden's gaze was locked on the gorge, his crimson eyes scanning the rippling waves of light with sharp intent. His usual calm was gone, replaced by a wary tension that made Rowen's chest tighten further. "The Shimmering Gorge," he said, his voice low. "A place where magic pools unchecked."
"Unchecked?" Rowen repeated, trying to suppress the tremor in her voice. Her eyes flicked to the waves of energy that seemed to ripple out from nowhere. The vibrations were faint, but she swore she could feel them in her bones, as if the ground beneath her feet was humming a melody only it could hear.
"It's not just unchecked magic," Thalor said, stepping forward with an almost casual stride. His grin was sharp, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's alive." His dark curls caught the faint glow of the shimmering light, casting a surreal halo around his head. He looked oddly at ease here, as though the chaotic magic was an old friend.
"Alive?" Rowen frowned, instinctively taking a step closer to Dryanden. The edge in her voice didn't mask the unease curling in her gut. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Dryanden cut in, his jaw tightening as he shot Thalor a glare, "we shouldn't be here. The magic in this place doesn't just exist—it reacts."
"It's temperamental," Thalor corrected, his tone light and teasing. "It only reacts when provoked." He glanced at Rowen, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "You're not planning on provoking it, are you, darling?"
Rowen's scowl deepened, the tension in her body winding tighter. "That depends. Do you plan on making it worse?"
Thalor chuckled, the sound low and infuriating, and her fingers twitched against the reins she was still holding. "Only if I feel like it."
Rowen opened her mouth to respond, but a sudden flare of heat shot up her arm, cutting her off. She hissed, dropping the reins to clutch her wrist as the crescent mark glowed brighter beneath her glove. It wasn't just burning anymore—it was pulling, tugging her towards the edge of the gorge.
"Rowen?" Dryanden's voice was sharp, and he was at her side in an instant. His crimson eyes dropped to her wrist, his expression darkening. "Your magic is responding to the gorge."
"Responding?" Rowen echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. The pull was stronger now, like an invisible thread was winding around her chest and dragging her forward. "Why would it be—"
"It's resonating with your magic," Thalor interrupted, his tone thoughtful as he studied her intently. His smirk softened, turning into something far more dangerous. "Interesting."
Rowen snapped her head toward him, her frustration rising above her unease. "Interesting how?"
Thalor didn't answer. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode toward the edge of the gorge, his movements almost lazy. "Come now," he called over his shoulder, his voice light and mocking. "Let's not keep it waiting."
Rowen hesitated, her boots rooted to the ground. Every instinct screamed at her to stay back, to turn around and leave this cursed place behind. But the pull of the mark was relentless, demanding. Her breath quickened, and she glanced at Dryanden, hoping for reassurance.
Dryanden placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. His touch was firm and grounding, but his eyes betrayed his concern. "We don't have to do this," he said quietly, his voice unusually gentle. "If this place is reacting to you, it's dangerous magic. It's not worth the risk. You can learn another way."
Rowen swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back to the gorge. The waves of light seemed to ripple faster, as if mocking her hesitation. "I'll be fine," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "I need to understand what this is."
Dryanden's jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly, his hand dropping away. His fingers lingered near the hilt of his blade, ready for whatever came next.
Thalor was already at the edge of the gorge, his posture loose and unbothered. He turned back to them, his expression unreadable. "She's right," he said, his tone quieter now. "This isn't something you can ignore, Dry. Ignoring magic like this doesn't make it go away. It makes it worse."
Dryanden glared at him, but he didn't argue. Instead, he motioned for Rowen to move. "Stay close," he said, his voice clipped.
Rowen took a tentative step forward, her heart hammering in her chest. The pull grew stronger with every step, and by the time she reached the edge, the burn in her wrist was nearly unbearable. The moment her foot crossed the shimmering threshold, the air changed.
The pulse of the gorge grew louder, the rhythm speeding up until it was pounding in her ears. Waves of light rippled outward, distorting the landscape further until it felt like the ground was shifting beneath her feet. Rowen stumbled, clutching her wrist as the heat radiated up her arm.
"What's happening?" she gasped, her voice barely audible over the deafening hum.
"It's drawing us in." Thalor said, his grin gone now. His tone was sharp, serious.
"Drawing us in for what?" Dryanden demanded, his crimson eyes darting across the shifting landscape. His hand was on his blade now, his body tense and ready.
Thalor tilted his head, his expression turned almost amused. "A test, perhaps."
Before Rowen could process his words, the ground beneath her feet trembled violently. The shimmering mist surged upward, swirling around them in a dizzying spiral. The world blurred, and Rowen felt herself falling, her body weightless as the light swallowed her whole.
She blinked against the swirling mist. The glowing gorge disappeared, replaced by her bedroom back on Earth. The familiar scent of her favorite lavender candle lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting hum of rain against her window.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She spun around, taking in the familiar chaos of her desk, her unmade bed, and the clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor. For a fleeting moment, relief coursed through her.
I'm home.
Then, a voice she hadn't heard in days cut through the quiet. "Rowen?"
Her roommate, Natalie, stood in the doorway, her face pale and streaked with tears. "Where did you go?" Natalie's voice cracked, her trembling hand clutching the doorframe. "You just disappeared. I thought you were dead."
"I—" Rowen's throat tightened, her words sticking as guilt clawed at her chest. "I didn't mean to—"
"You left us," Natalie interrupted, stepping closer. "You left me. How could you?"
Rowen stumbled back, her mark flaring with heat beneath her glove. "No, I didn't leave—I didn't have a choice!"
"You always have a choice," Natalie spat, her face twisting into something unfamiliar. The room darkened, the edges warping as the familiar surroundings melted into a swirling void. Natalie's voice grew colder, echoing from every direction. "You'll fail here too. You don't belong in that world, Rowen. You don't belong anywhere."
The weight of Natalie's accusation pressed down on her, the mark on her wrist burning hotter with every word. The whispers of the gorge swirled in her mind, amplifying her self-doubt.
"No," Rowen said, her voice trembling but firm. She clenched her fists, focusing on the hum of her magic deep within her chest. It felt raw and unrefined, but it was hers. She wasn't going to let the illusion—or her fear—control her.
"I didn't leave you," she said aloud, her voice growing stronger. "I'm still here. And I'm not going to fail." Her surroundings rippled and shifted, forming another hazy reflection of the world she had left behind. A familiar street appeared before her, lined with towering steel and glass buildings.
The sound of a car horn blaring in the distance sent a pang of longing through her chest, but something felt off. The street was empty, lifeless. Shadows moved at the edge of her vision, flickering in and out like a broken film reel.
Then she heard it: laughter, light and carefree. Her laughter.
Rowen turned, and her stomach dropped. A version of herself stood in the distance, surrounded by friends she hadn't seen since she'd been transported to this strange world. They were smiling, talking, as if nothing had changed.
"Rowen!" one of them called, waving. "Come on! You're going to miss everything!"
She took a step forward, but her crescent mark flared suddenly, a searing pain pulling her back.
"It's all your fault," a voice hissed from the shadows.
Rowen spun, but no one was there. The whispers grew louder, clawing at her thoughts. The visions shifted rapidly, showing her failure after failure—her magic running wild, hurting those she cared about. The more she tried to push them away, the more vivid they became.
Through the cacophony, the crescent mark on her wrist burned brighter, almost like it was calling to her. Rowen clenched her fists, focusing on the sensation. The bond hummed faintly in her chest, a lifeline anchoring her.
"This isn't real," she said again, louder this time.
The mist swirled violently, forming into a towering figure—an amorphous creature made of shadow and light. It loomed over her, its voice echoing like a thousand whispers. "You cannot escape. You do not belong here."
"I do belong here," Rowen said, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her. "Maybe I don't have all the answers yet, but I'm not giving up."
The whispers of the gorge intensified, clawing at her mind like icy fingers. The accusation echoed endlessly, intertwining with shadows that slithered out from the corners of the room. They crept closer, growing darker and more defined with each passing moment.
"No," Rowen whispered, shaking her head as she pressed her back against the wall. Her mark burned hotter, pulsing in time with the whispers that twisted around her. She clenched her fists, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. "This isn't real."
The shadows surged forward, their tendrils lashing out like whips. One wrapped around her wrist, searing cold sinking into her skin as it yanked her forward. Rowen screamed, stumbling, but the shadows only tightened their grip, dragging her into the void beyond.
The scent of lavender and rain vanished, replaced by the acrid tang of smoke and ash. She landed hard, the ground beneath her cracked and burned. Vireth stretched before her, a charred wasteland of scorched earth and crumbling ruins. Dryanden lay motionless amidst the destruction, his body eerily still. Thalor stood above, among the ruins, looking down smugly at the chaos.
"It's all your fault," a voice hissed from the shadows, disembodied and venomous.
Rowen spun, her pulse pounding in her ears. "No," she whispered, backing away from the lifeless forms. "This isn't real. This can't be real."
The ground trembled beneath her, and the shadows rose, forming a towering creature of flickering light and darkness. Its voice reverberated like a thousand whispers overlapping. "You cannot escape. You do not belong here."
Rowen stumbled again, falling backwards as the creature loomed over her. The oppressive air was suffocating, pressing down on her chest like a weight she couldn't lift. The crescent mark on her wrist burned so brightly it felt like it might sear through her skin.
Terror surged in her veins, raw and uncontrollable. The shadows twisted closer, forming claws that reached for her. She scrambled back, her hands slipping on the cracked earth.
Do something. Fight. Move. Her mind screamed for action, but her body refused to obey. The shadows closed in. The crescent mark flared again, the heat now coursing up her arm and into her chest, where her magic hummed chaotically, wild and unrestrained. The energy was unbidden, dangerous, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she grabbed hold of it, letting it swell until her chest felt like it might burst.
Her breath caught as the creature lunged. Its massive claw struck the ground beside her, the force sending a shockwave of debris into the air. Rowen threw up her arms instinctively, bracing for the next attack. Magic erupted from her like a tidal wave, a shockwave of light and force that tore through the air and slammed into the creature.
The shadows screamed, dissolving into tendrils of mist that were swept away by the blast. The force rippled outward, breaking through the cracks in her illusion and shattering the dreamlike state. Rowen fell to her knees, her breath ragged as the glowing mark on her wrist dimmed, leaving behind an aching throb.
The oppressive weight lifted, and the burned landscape faded, replaced by the dim light of the gorge. The swirling mist thinned, revealing Dryanden and Thalor nearby. Both staggered, blinking as though waking from their own nightmares.
Dryanden was the first to recover, his crimson eyes locking on hers. "Rowen…" His voice was low and hoarse, and for a moment, he simply stared, his expression unreadable. Then he was at her side, catching her before she could collapse further.
"Rowen, are you hurt?" he asked, his tone sharp with concern. His hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her as she struggled to breathe.
Thalor groaned behind them, brushing off his coat as he straightened. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a grim look that made Rowen's stomach twist. "That was… unexpected," he muttered, his dark eyes narrowing as he looked her over.
Rowen pushed herself upright, leaning heavily on Dryanden's support. "What… what just happened?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"You used your magic," Dryanden said, his gaze fixed on her. "That shockwave—it wasn't just you. It broke through all of it. For all of us."
Thalor crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "Impressive, darling," he said after a moment. "Not many can channel raw chaos into something so… effective. But you've still got a long way to go."
Rowen glared at him, though her exhaustion dulled the edge of her frustration. "You're welcome," she muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Dryanden's grip tightened, his concern unrelenting. "You nearly tore yourself apart," he said, his voice low. "That kind of magic… it's dangerous."
Rowen met his gaze, her chest still heaving. "I didn't have a choice," she said quietly. "I had to do something. We couldn't stay there."
Thalor's sharp laughter cut through the tension, and Rowen shot him a glare. "You find this funny?"
"Not at all," Thalor said, though his smirk was back in full force. "But I do find it fascinating. You're stronger than you think, Rowen. And clearly, the gorge recognizes that."
Dryanden bristled, stepping closer to Thalor. "If you're trying to twist this into something for your own agenda—"
"Oh, relax, Dry," Thalor drawled, holding up his hands. "I'm simply making an observation. You should be thanking her, really. Without that little outburst, you might still be stuck in your own nightmare."
Rowen stiffened. "You… both saw something?"
Dryanden's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the ground. "The gorge doesn't just create illusions. It dredges up your fears, your doubts. It… knows where to strike."
Thalor's smirk faltered, his expression darkening. "And it's merciless."
Thalor's expression was unreadable as he turned toward the still-glowing edges of the gorge. "He's right, though," he murmured, his voice quieter now. "That magic of yours—it didn't just save you. It saved us too. That kind of power is rare."
Rowen's breath hitched, her mark burning faintly as his words sank in. "I don't even know how I did it," she admitted. "I just… felt it. Instinct, the magic—it all came together."
Dryanden's eyes softened as he stepped closer to her, his hand hovering near her shoulder but not quite touching. "That's what makes it dangerous," he said, his voice low. "Instinct is powerful, but it's also unpredictable. If you lose control…"
Rowen squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze with determination. "I didn't lose control. And I won't."
Thalor chuckled softly, his smirk returning as he glanced at Dryanden. "She's got more faith in herself than you do, Dry. Maybe you should try believing in her."
Dryanden's glare was sharp enough to cut, but he didn't respond. Instead, he turned back toward the gorge, his expression unreadable.
Rowen exhaled slowly, the weight of the encounter settling over her like a heavy cloak. The shimmering energy of the gorge had dimmed, but its presence still lingered, a reminder of what they'd just faced—and what they might face again.
As they turned to leave, Rowen couldn't shake the feeling that the gorge wasn't finished with them. The crescent mark on her wrist pulsed faintly, like a warning.