The wheel creaked back into place with a satisfying thud. Rowan wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and leaned back against the cart. His palms were raw from gripping the tools, his tunic smudged with grease and dirt, but the wood frame stood whole again, the cracked rim replaced and the axle straightened.
For once, he felt… useful. Not as the boy who stumbled into power, not as the soldier clinging to Brenner's shadow, but as someone who could build as well as break.
"Not bad," Brenner said, looming over him with his arms crossed. His beard was tangled from a morning of drills with Toren and the recruits, but his grin was wide. "Doesn't look like it'll collapse on the road. Might even hold if I sit on it."
Rowan rolled his eyes. "Don't test it."
Brenner laughed, then clapped him on the shoulder so hard Rowan almost toppled over. "You've got stronger hands now. You'd have never managed this three years ago."
Rowan didn't argue. He knew it was true. Three years ago, he wouldn't even have known where to begin.
He cleaned the tools, hung them on their hooks, and for a moment allowed himself to enjoy the normality of it all. A cart fixed, a job done. But as he straightened, his eyes caught the faint shimmer of the river in the distance, and his chest tightened. The water still called to him every day. It obeyed him, bent for him, yet he knew he had only scratched its surface.
And that thought, more than anything, left him restless.
---
Ashwyn sat beneath the shade of an ancient oak when Rowan found him. The elder's hair, once streaked with silver, had turned almost fully white. His shoulders stooped, his hands gnarled, but his eyes — pale green, sharp as ever — fixed on Rowan the moment he approached.
"You finished your work," Ashwyn said, nodding to Rowan's dirt-stained tunic.
Rowan sat opposite him, lowering himself onto the grass. "The cart will hold. At least for another season."
Ashwyn gave a faint smile, then leaned on his staff. "Do you know why I asked you to come?"
Rowan frowned. "Because you're about to tell me I tightened the spokes wrong?"
The old man chuckled, a dry rasp of sound. "No, boy. Because it is time."
Rowan stiffened. He had heard that tone before — the one Ashwyn used when he spoke of things larger than the town, larger than Rowan could see.
"Time for what?"
Ashwyn's gaze wandered to the river that cut through Wraithborn. "For you to leave."
Rowan blinked. "Leave?"
The elder nodded slowly. "This town grows stronger each day, but so too does the corruption. The Basin has fallen, and though its horrors have not yet marched on us, they will. The world tightens. And you, Rowan… you are not ready."
Rowan felt his jaw clench. "I've trained every day. I fought at Stoneford. I've learned—"
"You've learned streams and rivers," Ashwyn interrupted gently. "You've learned to harden water into ice and let it flow as a blade. But water is more than what you see. More than what you can hold in your palm."
Rowan's voice dropped. "Then what am I missing?"
Ashwyn leaned closer, his voice no louder than the rustle of leaves. "Water is life. It runs through every tree, every beast, every man. It lives in the air we breathe. That is why you have not merged. You have yet to see water everywhere. To hear it, to feel it. And for that lesson, you must go to the islanders."
Rowan's breath caught. He had heard the stories — tanned people with webbed hands, able to breathe beneath the waves, said to call storms with their voices. "The islanders? You want me to cross the sea?"
Ashwyn nodded. "They are the true masters of your element. They alone can show you what you have yet to grasp."
For a long moment Rowan said nothing. He felt both awe and dread. He had grown into his power, yes — but he knew in his heart he still fumbled in the dark compared to what it could be.
"Why me?" Rowan whispered.
Ashwyn's reply was simple. "Because it must be you."
---
When Rowan told the others that evening, they gathered in the longhouse. The hearth burned bright, but the mood was far from warm.
"You're not going alone," Brenner said the instant Rowan finished speaking. His tone left no room for debate.
"I wasn't planning to," Rowan replied carefully. "Ashwyn said I should take others. Three water users from Wraithborn will come with me."
"That's not what I mean." Brenner leaned forward, crimson aura flickering faintly at his edges as his temper rose. "You think I'll let you sail into the unknown without someone watching your back? Not a chance."
Rowan held his ground. "Ashwyn asked for me. Not for you."
That silence weighed heavier than any argument. Even Brenner couldn't push against Ashwyn's words.
It was Ari who broke the quiet, arms crossed, bow resting against her shoulder. "If he's going, he won't go unguarded. The islanders may be allies, or they may not. It's a risk."
Nyx sat in the corner, half in shadow, Pan's golden eyes gleaming faintly beside her. "And risks get people killed. Better to keep him here."
Rowan felt the knot in his chest tighten. "I can't stay here. Not when I still don't understand what I am. Not when I haven't merged. If the corruption comes again, I'll be half-prepared, and people will die because of me."
That silenced even Nyx.
Then, softly but firmly, Lyra spoke. "I'll go with him."
Every head turned.
Lyra stood straight, her expression calm but her voice steady as steel. "If Rowan is to cross the sea, he'll need someone he can trust. Someone who knows him, who can keep him focused. He won't be alone."
Brenner frowned. "Lyra, you don't need to—"
"It's settled," she said, cutting him off. "I'm going."
The finality in her tone left no space for protest.
Rowan met her eyes. For all her quiet nature, there was a spark in them that told him she had already decided long before he spoke the words. He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders.
"Then it's settled," he repeated.
---
Later, in the training yard, Rowan stood before three other water users.
Callen, a tall, broad-shouldered man who had awakened during the battle at the caravan, inclined his head. He was steady, practical — but uninterested in anything beyond the streams he could bend.
Mira, a girl barely older than Rowan had been when he first fought at Verdant Hollow, still flickered with power, her eyes bright with determination.
And Darin, quieter than both, kept his head down but his focus sharp.
"You'll come with me," Rowan said. "Across the sea. To learn what we cannot here."
Mira nodded instantly. Darin gave a curt bow. Callen simply folded his arms. "If Ashwyn commands it, then I'll go. But don't expect me to chase fairy tales about merging. Water bends well enough as it is."
Rowan's lips tightened, but he didn't argue. That fight would come later.
Lyra stepped up beside him. "Then it's decided. Five of us. Enough to learn. Enough to return."
Rowan looked at them all — the three chosen water users, Lyra with her quiet strength, Brenner scowling in the shadows, Ari's hawk perched on the beam above, Nyx unreadable with Pan lurking like smoke behind her.
He felt the pull of the river again, stronger than ever, as though it already knew the path he would take.
For the first time in months, Rowan felt the restless knot in his chest loosen.
The journey had not yet begun, but already, the tide was shifting.