Salemadon could not feel the ground beneath him.
He knew he was moving—being carried, dragged—but his body refused to respond. Every breath felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.
Brughan's voice came through the haze. "Stay with me. Don't fade."
Althara answered from somewhere ahead. "The land is unstable. We can't stop here."
Salemadon tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
The ache in his arm had spread, crawling through his chest, his spine, his thoughts. Pahtem lay against him, heavy—not in weight, but in responsibility.
I held too long, he realized faintly.
I touched what should not be held.
THE WORLD SETTLES
They reached a shallow ravine where the ground finally stopped cracking. The air there felt calmer, as if the land itself was recovering from what had just happened.
Brughan lowered Salemadon carefully onto the stone.
"Easy," he muttered. "You're not allowed to disappear on me."
Salemadon's eyes fluttered open.
The sky above was pale, washed clean, as if nothing had happened.
That scared him more than the fight.
"They're gone," Brughan said. "For now."
Althara knelt beside Salemadon, studying him closely.
"You interrupted a correction," she said quietly. "The world won't forget that."
Salemadon swallowed with effort. "I didn't… destroy it."
"No," she replied. "You redirected it. That's worse."
THE COST MADE REAL
Salemadon tried to sit up.
Pain flared instantly.
He cried out before he could stop himself, his fingers digging into the stone.
Brughan swore. "Don't move."
Pahtem pulsed weakly in Salemadon's grasp.
The glow was dimmer now—controlled, contained, but strained.
"I can feel it," Salemadon said hoarsely. "Every Thread I touched… it's pulling back."
Althara nodded. "Balance doesn't like interference."
Brughan frowned. "You saved us."
"Yes," Althara said. "And paid for it."
Salemadon forced a slow breath.
"What did I lose?"
Althara hesitated.
Then spoke honestly.
"Ease," she said. "From now on, every use of Pahtem will resist you. Not to stop you—but to remind you."
Salemadon closed his eyes.
A reminder sounded small.
It wasn't.
A QUIET VISIT
The air shifted.
Not violently.
Not suddenly.
Just enough to be noticed.
Brughan tensed. "We're not alone."
Salemadon opened his eyes.
A familiar presence stood a short distance away—calm, composed, untouched by the chaos of before.
Mahira.
She had not approached. Had not announced herself.
She simply was.
"You collapsed a correction event," she said evenly.
Brughan groaned. "Everyone keeps saying that like it's casual."
Mahira ignored him, her eyes fixed on Salemadon.
"I warned you," she continued. "Visibility invites response."
Salemadon pushed himself up onto one elbow, wincing.
"You didn't say it would come this fast."
Mahira's gaze softened—just a little.
"The world has been waiting longer than you think."
TRUTH WITHOUT COMFORT
Althara stood. "What happens now?"
Mahira looked toward the horizon.
"The response will change," she said. "They will stop correcting and start adapting."
Brughan frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Mahira replied, "that forces will arise that are not neutral. They will decide what balance should look like—without you."
Silence followed.
Salemadon felt the weight of those words settle deep.
"So I'm not just a disturbance," he said. "I'm competition."
Mahira nodded once. "Yes."
Salemadon laughed quietly, without humor. "I never asked for this."
"No one who carries balance does," Mahira said. "That is why most refuse it."
She stepped closer.
"You didn't."
THE MOMENT OF CHOICE
Mahira crouched beside Salemadon.
"You have reached a point where hesitation will cost more than action," she said. "The world will not slow down for you to heal."
Brughan crossed his arms. "Then what are you suggesting?"
Mahira looked at Salemadon.
"That he moves forward—not to hide, not to provoke—but to anchor."
Salemadon frowned. "Anchor what?"
"Balance," she replied. "In places where the world has none."
Althara's eyes widened slightly. "That would make him a target everywhere."
"Yes," Mahira said. "And a necessity."
Salemadon stared at Pahtem.
The glow steadied—not brighter, not weaker—but firm.
"I'm tired," he said quietly.
Mahira met his gaze without pity.
"So is the world."
STANDING AGAIN
Salemadon took a breath.
Then another.
Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his feet.
His legs shook—but held.
Brughan stepped in close, ready to catch him.
Salemadon waved him off.
"I need to stand on my own," he said.
The pain did not vanish.
It stayed.
He accepted it.
Mahira watched closely.
"You understand now," she said.
Salemadon nodded. "Balance isn't peace."
"No," she agreed. "It's responsibility."
THE PATH AHEAD
Mahira stepped back.
"This is where I leave you again," she said. "My role is to observe—not interfere."
Brughan raised an eyebrow. "You have a funny way of helping."
Mahira allowed a faint smile.
"When we meet again," she said to Salemadon, "it will not be by chance."
Then she was gone.
Not vanished.
Simply… no longer there.
ENDING BEAT
The land ahead stretched wide and uncertain.
No gates.
No Trials.
Only the world.
Salemadon tightened his grip on Pahtem.
"Let's move," he said quietly.
Brughan nodded. "Where to?"
Salemadon looked forward, feeling the weight settle fully into place.
"Where balance is missing," he replied.
And somewhere far beyond sight—
Something adjusted its plans.
Some victories do not feel like winning. They feel like surviving.