I woke up to the familiar smell of ash. I lifted my head from the bedroll propped under it.

  "Morning," Castille said.

  She sat on a large, moss-covered rock, running a damp rag across her longsword. She bared her teeth at me, wiping the blade down with broad, aggressive strokes.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “You tell me?”

  I furrowed my brows, trying to think back to the previous night. I remember Isla trying to shake me to my senses. I remember a shirtless Dugan dragging me out of the watchtower.

  I remember crying as another building burned. I ran my left hand down my face.

  "I'm sorry. I messed up.”

  "No. I messed up," Isla said.

  She sat on my other side, her staff balanced across her lap.

  "You both messed up,” Castille said.

  Isla stood up and knelt over me, pressing the back of her fingers against my forehead.

  "I should have stopped you before it went this far. How do you feel?"

  My mind flooded with images of the man in black. The thought of his curved dagger sent stabs of phantom pain up and down my body.

  He tortured her. That monster. Who was he?

  I memorized his voice, the way he walked—his scent. He had to be connected to Sin.

  Was he another one of her lackeys?

  Whoever he was, I would find him, and l kill him.

  "Jacob?" Isla asked.

  I grit my teeth.

  "Better. I’m better."

  I tried to sit up and was hit with a sudden burst of dizziness and fatigue that made me slump back to the ground.

  "Wait! Don't get up. You used too much will. The fire burned for hours after we escaped the watchtower."

  "The fire? I did that?"

  "Yes…"

  Isla frowned as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  "I've never seen someone with fire abilities before. What happened to your land?"

  "My home burned down, and everyone I knew died in the fire."

  She gasped.

  "That's awful,” Isla whispered.

  "Isla… have ever heard of people that can control the wind?”

  She furrowed her brows.

  “I don’t think that’s possible for a Landbound mage.”

  “Oh… Isla?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is being a mage supposed to hurt?"

  "No, but it can be tiring."

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  I turned away from her to Dugan and Thor, who were sifting through the watchtower's burnt debris.

  "It hurt for me. I lived through the final moments of…”

  I paused.

  “Someone that lived at the mansion."

  "That- those are just echoes," Isla said, an edge of anxiety in her voice.

  I turned to her, staring into her big blue eyes.

  "It was real. I felt it."

  My body shook as a wave of exhaustion washed through me.

  "What's happening to me?"

  "Your losing will."

  "What?"

  "Everything we do requires will: getting out of bed, walking to the market, even reading a book. When we use our abilities, we draw upon the pool of will within us. And when that pool runs dry…"

  She flashed a quick, awkward smile.

  "We end up like this."

  "I see…"

  I laid back, staring up at the morning sky.

  "Our pool of will is replenished with rest, but it also fluctuates based on other factors," Isla said.

  She had begun a full-blown lecture, and I was too tired to stop her.

  "One of those factors is conviction."

  "Conviction.”

  I repeated the word before I could stop myself. I should have just rolled over and pretended to fall asleep. On my other side, Castille raised her sword, examining the fresh coat of oil with a dark expression on her face.

  I was trapped. There was no escape.

  "Conviction.”

  Isla continued.

  “Many scholars call it the X factor. It represents how strongly we believe what we are doing is right. The stronger the belief, the more will. The opposite is also true. Now that you're scared of your abilities, your fear is lowering your will."

  My lips twisted in a snarl.

  "I'm not scared!"

  A weapon is not afraid.

  I sat up in one smooth motion.

  Isla gave me a warm smile.

  "See. Conviction."

  I blinked in surprise. It was like I was jolted awake. Awake enough to sit up, at least.

  Isla touched my shoulder.

  “Our abilities should never be painful. Quintessence resonates with the character of the land, and right now, your land is traumatized and scarred by violence. The only way to heal the land is to build something new. What do you want to build?"

  What did I want to build? She was talking about a legacy—something that would outlive me and be passed down to my kids or grandkids. I hadn’t thought that far. To be honest, I didn’t expect to survive the year.

  "I don’t know," I said.

  Isla smiled.

  "You don't have to know right now. We're on a long journey."

  The soft crunch of boots on grass announced Castille. She looked down at me, her hard eyes showing uncharacteristic softness.

  "Can you stand? We need to get moving. Your little stunt just alerted every bandit and beastkin in the area."

  I tried to get to my feet but collapsed like a newborn deer under watery legs.

  "He needs to rest, Castille. It's the best way to recover his will."

  "Can Dugan heal the symptoms?"

  Isla shook her head.

  "This type of fatigue can not be magically healed."

  Castille let out an exasperated sigh.

  How many years had it been since I felt this vulnerable?

  "I'm sorry, Castille."

  She raised her palms.

  "What can be done? I won't lie. I would tie you to my horse's back to leave this place faster."

  Dugan and Thor walked up to her side. Castille and Dugan’s eyes met, and something imperceptible passed between them.

  She rubbed her chin, looking to the woods far off to my right.

  "One of the tents was damaged in the fire. We'll turn it into a stretcher using some tree branches for poles. Dugan and I will carry you until mid-day. You'd better be able to sit a horse by then."

  She turned away. Dugan pulled out his bearded axe and walked to the woods.

  I grimaced.

  "What's wrong?" Isla asked.

  Castille looked back and smirked.

  "He catches on faster than you do. With only two tents left, you two will have to share one. Jacob, try not to burn it down."

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