After a couple of hours of walking, daylight was already failing. The sun had hardly shown itself above the southwestern hills. Now, it was dropping back down. The wind blew cold, carrying with it small bits of sleet, even though there was no snow on the ground. Strangely, the rocks were warm through his thick-soled boots. At first, he thought it was from all the walking, but when he knelt to touch the ground, it confirmed his suspicions. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it was warmer than it should have been. It had to be ten degrees below freezing out here, if not colder.

  It was only after cresting the next hill that Lucian saw where all the sleet was coming from. A solid wall of white mountains expanded from east to west beyond the horizon. It was hard to judge the distance, but Lucian thought that the wall must be at least twenty kilometers away.

  After walking for several hours, Lucian paused by a still pool to fill his canteen. He wanted to drink it straight, but he knew that wasn’t a good idea. The water was lukewarm—how was that possible? Given the temperature, it should have been completely iced over. If it was due to geothermal energy, that might mean there were harmful chemicals in the water. But he hadn’t had anything to drink all day, and his thirst won over good sense.

  He retrieved the pot from his pack and filled it. He reached for his Focus, extending his hand to release a steady stream of Thermal Magic. For the first time in his life, he was streaming in the real world, not as part of some training or test. Despite the situation, he liked the feeling.

  His hands emitted a subtle red glow, and within a matter of seconds, steam curled from the top of the water, and a few seconds later, it was boiling. He let the water go for a couple of minutes before drawing the heat back with a reverse stream. He went too far—it began to ice over, forcing him to reverse the stream again. It felt nice not to have a Talent watching over his shoulder, criticizing his every move.

  When he was confident that the water was room temperature, he filled his canteen with it. It had a gritty, metallic taste. Hopefully, there was nothing in it that could poison him. He supposed he would find out soon enough. He had to get his water from somewhere.

  He continued walking, the land darkening. It wasn’t dim enough yet to need a light sphere, but it was getting there. The trail grew rougher the deeper inland he walked. Even if Gaius had told him he was alone on the island, he got the sense he was being watched. Lucian remembered that the Transcends had exiled one of the Tested just a few months back for not meeting benchmarks—a Novice by the name of Katya. Could she still be here? There were too many stray boulders, clefts, and cliffs that someone could easily hide behind. If there was someone—or something—out there, he’d have no way of knowing until it was too late.

  He remembered the shockspear then, retrieving it from his bag and extending it with a metallic whir. Upon close examination, he could see the point was not blunted—this was no practice spear. He used the weapon as a walking stick, continuing at a faster pace than before. He wanted to make the cabins before nightfall, but at this pace, he didn’t know if he would make it.

  But it was at the top of the next hill that he found what he was looking for. Below was a valley with a ring of five stone cabins at the bottom. They were shabbily made, with flat, earthen roofs and no windows. The trail led to the center of them and died away. There was nothing but those cabins, sitting low in the gathering gloom. Lucian almost didn’t want to go down there, but where else would he sleep tonight? Certainly not out here, among the rocks where anything might be lying in wait.

  He hurried on, trying to will away his nervousness. Within minutes, he was in the middle of the cabins, looking at one after the other. All the doorways were wide maws of darkness that could be hiding anything.

  “Hello?” he called out. "Is anyone here?”

  Lucian streamed a light sphere. It was too bright, so he slowed the stream until it was the right luminosity. As he approached the first cabin, he set a focal point for the orb inside the cabin. No way he was going in there without a light first. The orb floated over his shoulder, illuminating the interior.

  There wasn’t much. A cot with some furs, a bare earthen floor, a stone table. A smooth rock next to it served as a stool. Dust and gravel lined the floor. The wind and elements had made a real mess of the cabin, over weeks or even months. The door hung open, weather-beaten and wide. Ice encased the hinges, freezing the door in place.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He withdrew from the cabin and made a survey of the rest, finding much the same thing. In one, he found the chitin shell of some many-legged animal that had molted there. In another, the cot had been overturned and the stone table split clean in two. The others were intact, but the last one was pungent with the smell of spoiled meat, even though there was no clear source of the rot.

  Lucian chose the fourth cabin. He didn’t see any water source, so he used his canteen to make a stew out of the food in his pack. He used magic to warm up the pot every few minutes before realizing that it wasn’t a wise use of magic. It would be much better to find some fuel for a fire and keep it maintained. That was if he could find anything here that burned.

  He ate quickly, finding there was nothing to keep him busy afterward. Outside, the wind blustered against the stones. Some of the gusts seeped in through the cracks, adding to the chill.

  He went to the cabin’s hearth, finding nothing but ashes. That told him that something on this island could be used for fuel. There were no trees, at least not that he had seen. Could the fuel be that lichen that seemed to cover everything?

  He went outside, and after a few minutes, gathered an armful of it, the browned bits that were dead. It was surprisingly heavy, so he hoped it would burn a long time—if it burned at all. He threw it in the fireplace, forming his Focus once again. He reached for the Thermal Aspect, hoping the stuff would catch.

  After just a few seconds of concentrated heat, the lichen caught quite well, to his surprise. Unfortunately, it had a nose-scrunching sulfurous smell. He would have to choose between staying warm or the constant smell of flatulence. With the frigid weather, the answer was obvious.

  The door was still stuck open from the icy hinges, so he had to stream again to warm them. Only then could he shut the door against the cold night. He hacked at the smell and could only hope it wasn’t poisonous. He fed the flame, judging that what he had should see him through the night. He was already getting used to the smell, and the warmth of the fire felt good.

  He peeled off his gloves and warmed his hands as the wind howled outside. It looked like that storm was blowing through. He wondered who had built these little hovels—the mages of the Academy or the castaways they had sent here. Something told him it was the second option.

  He busied himself with tidying the cabin, as best he could. Anything to keep his thoughts at a distance. He straightened the cot and the woven blankets on top. Unfortunately, there wasn’t so much as a broom to sweep away the dust and pebbles strewn about. He ended up using his hands and collected quite a pile of debris over the next hour near the door. Once done, he opened it and pushed it out.

  He washed his hands off with some water from the canteen, which left him only a few mouthfuls. He should have probably used his water more sparingly. It was a half-hour hike back to the nearest pond he’d passed, so there had to be something closer. It wouldn’t make sense to build cabins here if there were no water source. Wherever it was, it would have to wait until morning. However long away that was.

  The blankets on the cot had a rank smell, but if his nose wasn’t too close, it was manageable. He lay on top of them while remaining fully clothed. He wanted to be ready for anything. These blankets didn’t seem synthetic, so they had to have come from some sort of reedy plant on this island. In his short time on the island, though, he hadn’t seen anything like that. Then again, previous exiles might have brought them here, too.

  Lucian got up to make sure the door was well and truly shut. Only then did he return to his cot, placing his shockspear, still extended, by his bed. When he closed his eyes, unwelcome thoughts returned. Loneliness was a knife tearing at him from the inside out.

  When he fell asleep, he was tormented by nightmares. The wind kept waking him, and the isolation was unbearable. It permeated his entire being. He reached for his Focus to better not feel that sorrow, but it did little good.

  No one was here. No one could hear him cry. His mother was dead, Emma was back at the Academy, and the new life he had been coming to accept had been snatched away. Within weeks, or even days, he would be on a prison barge to Psyche.

  Assuming he didn’t die here first.

  The sobs were small at first, but they soon became gut-wrenching. They tore through him so hard that he was in physical pain. He had never known such darkness, such horror. It was like standing at the event horizon of a black hole, one foot in, one foot out, the gravity ripping him to shreds.

  When he couldn’t mourn anymore, only numbness remained.

  A cold thought struck him. Was the shockspear really for his protection, or to make a certain decision . . . easier? The shockspear was Gaius’s solution. Placed to the head or neck and streaming at himself would ensure he’d never have to endure Psyche.

  Lucian took the spear by the handle. Its carbon alloy point was incredibly sharp, engineered with Atomic Magic. He didn’t even need to stream electricity. It would cut him sure and true, and within minutes, he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.

  He then remembered something that his mother had told him:

  You must always hope, Lucian. No matter how dark it gets, the human spirit can push through as long as it finds a silver lining and clings to it with everything. Never forget that.

  He didn’t know if he would find a silver lining, but one thing he did know was that he needed to try, if only for his mother’s memory.

  He placed the spear next to the cot, rolled over, and went to sleep.