Rhaen did not realize how much he relied on guidance until it was gone.
The land still existed beneath his feet. It still carried heat, memory, weight. But it no longer whispered where to step or when to stop. Every decision now belonged to him alone.
The first mistake came quickly.
Rhaen crossed a narrow stretch of fractured stone without testing it. The ground gave way with a sharp crack, dropping him several feet before he caught himself against the edge. Heat flared instinctively, stabilizing the fall just enough to keep bones intact.
He hung there for a moment, breath tight.
"That would not have happened before," he said quietly.
The ember pulsed once. No correction followed.
Rhaen climbed back up and stood still, forcing himself to slow down.
No guidance did not mean no support.
It meant no forgiveness.
He moved more carefully after that.
Each step was deliberate. Each pause intentional. He began reading the land the way a traveler read weather rather than instinct, watching surface patterns, heat distortion, the way ash settled unevenly.
It was slower.
But it worked.
By the time the terrain leveled out again, Rhaen felt the ache in his legs and the steady burn in his chest. The ember remained compressed, present but distant, like a fire banked too tightly.
Ahead, the wastes opened into a shallow valley. Scattered heat vents dotted the ground, their glow faint and irregular.
Rhaen stopped.
Something was wrong.
Not a threat.
A contradiction.
The vents should have been active. The land here had enough depth for it. But the heat lay dormant, suppressed into a dull haze.
Rhaen crouched and pressed his palm to the ground.
The response came slowly.
Interrupted.
"They've been here," he murmured.
Not Enforcers. Not Watchers.
Binders.
The land recoiled at the memory, heat folding inward where suppression anchors had once been placed. The effect lingered, like bruises that had not yet faded.
Rhaen withdrew his hand.
"They're testing zones now," he said. "Not chasing. Measuring."
The realization settled cold in his chest.
This was worse.
He skirted the valley rather than crossing it, taking higher ground where suppression would be harder to maintain. The climb was taxing without the land easing his movements, but the elevation gave him visibility.
That was when he saw it.
A marker.
Not a structure. Not a device. Just a narrow pillar of fused ash and stone, barely waist-high, etched with faint sigils that no longer glowed.
Abandoned.
Rhaen approached cautiously.
This was Binder work, but old. The suppression had collapsed long ago, leaving only residue.
He studied the markings.
"They failed here too," he said.
The ember warmed slightly, not in approval, but recognition.
Rhaen placed his hand against the pillar.
The land responded faintly, echoing a pressure that had once been forced into place. He felt the shape of the suppression, the intent behind it.
Collapse resonance.
Flatten variance.
Restore predictability.
Rhaen pulled his hand away.
"They don't just stop what they fear," he said. "They try to make it irrelevant."
The sky darkened further as ash clouds thickened overhead. Rhaen adjusted his course again, moving toward a line of broken ridges that would give cover.
Halfway there, the ground shifted.
Not violently.
Deliberately.
Rhaen froze.
This was not guidance returning. This was the land reacting to something else.
He turned slowly.
Two figures stood at the base of the ridge behind him.
Not Binders.
They wore layered gray travel gear, unmarked, faces partially obscured by ash-stained cloth. Their presence carried weight, but not suppression.
Observers.
Rhaen straightened.
"You're far from stable ground," one of them said. The voice was calm, measured.
"So are you," Rhaen replied.
The second figure studied the terrain rather than him. "This area was flagged. We were sent to confirm collapse."
"And?" Rhaen asked.
The first tilted their head slightly. "It hasn't collapsed."
Silence followed.
Rhaen felt the ember tighten, ready but restrained.
"Then report that," he said.
The observer's gaze sharpened. "We will. Eventually."
That word carried intent.
"You're not here to stop me," Rhaen said.
"No," the second observer replied. "We're here to understand what happens next."
Rhaen's jaw tightened. "And if you don't like the answer?"
"Then someone else will be sent," the first said simply.
Rhaen considered them.
"You know what they'll do," he said. "Flatten this place until nothing answers again."
"Yes," the observer agreed. "That is the likely outcome."
"And you're fine with that?"
The observer hesitated.
"That depends," they said slowly, "on whether what remains becomes predictable."
Rhaen felt something harden inside him.
"Predictable is just another word for controllable," he said.
The second observer met his gaze. "And uncontrollable is another word for dangerous."
The land stirred faintly beneath them, heat shifting without rising.
Rhaen took a step back toward the ridge.
"I'm not your experiment," he said.
"No," the first observer replied. "You're a variable."
Rhaen did not argue.
He turned and moved, not running, not retreating, but choosing his path with deliberate calm. The observers did not follow.
They watched.
From higher ground, Rhaen looked back once.
The observers stood where they were, already recording, already categorizing.
"They're not hunting me," he said quietly.
The ember pulsed once.
"They're deciding if I should exist."
Rhaen faced forward again and continued into the deeper wastes.
Without guidance.
But no longer without intent.
Rhaen did not slow until the ridge swallowed him from view.
Only then did he stop and let his breathing settle. The land beneath his feet remained silent, offering neither reassurance nor warning.
He had expected fear.
What he felt instead was clarity.
"They're not guessing anymore," he said. "They're collecting."
The ember pulsed faintly. Not agreement. Confirmation.
Rhaen moved along the ridge line until the terrain narrowed into a fractured pass. The path was treacherous without guidance, forcing him to test every step, every shift in stone.
He welcomed it.
Each careful movement sharpened his awareness. Each decision carved a small measure of intent into the silence left behind by the land.
This was what remained when guidance was gone.
Responsibility.
The pass opened suddenly into a narrow shelf overlooking a deep sinkhole. Heat shimmered faintly below, rising in uneven waves that never reached the surface.
Rhaen stopped.
The ember tightened, but not in alarm.
Recognition.
He crouched near the edge and studied the pit. The land here was folded inward, layered with old resonance scars and suppression marks long since collapsed.
"This was a test site," he said quietly.
The land did not answer.
But it did not deny it either.
Rhaen descended carefully, using natural fractures to lower himself into the sinkhole. The air grew heavier with each step down, thick with residue left behind by repeated interference.
This place had been broken.
And put back together.
Poorly.
At the bottom, Rhaen knelt and pressed his palm to the ground.
The ember stirred reluctantly.
What returned was not guidance, but memory.
Pressure.
Compression.
Failure.
Rhaen withdrew his hand slowly.
"They tried to force predictability," he said. "And the land resisted just enough to survive."
The ember warmed, faint and uneven.
A sound echoed through the pit.
Not footsteps.
A shift.
Rhaen rose instantly, scanning the shadows along the walls.
Someone else was here.
Not an observer.
Not a Binder.
Something quieter.
Rhaen steadied his breathing and waited.
The silence stretched, taut and deliberate.
Then a voice emerged from the dark.
"You're standing where many things stopped answering."
Rhaen turned toward the sound.
A figure stepped into view, cloaked in layered fabric scorched by old heat. Their presence carried weight, but not suppression.
Familiar.
"You again," Rhaen said.
The stranger from the basin inclined their head slightly. "You moved faster than expected."
Rhaen's eyes narrowed. "You followed me."
"No," the stranger replied. "I anticipated you."
They stood across from each other in the dim heat, the ground between them fractured but stable.
"You shouldn't be here," Rhaen said.
"And yet," the stranger replied calmly, "neither should you."
Rhaen felt the ember tighten, restrained but alert.
"This place is dangerous," he said.
"That's why it still exists," the stranger answered. "Danger is harder to erase than disorder."
Rhaen studied them for a long moment.
"You know what the observers will decide," he said.
"Yes," the stranger replied. "They will allow this region to remain unstable for now."
"For how long?"
"Until you make a mistake," they said simply.
Rhaen exhaled slowly.
"So I'm a test."
The stranger's gaze held steady. "You're leverage."
The word settled heavy.
Rhaen looked around the pit once more, at the scars, the residue, the silence.
"Then I won't give them what they want," he said.
The stranger's lips curved faintly. "Good. Predictable outcomes are boring."
Rhaen met their gaze. "And unpredictable ones?"
"They change maps," the stranger replied.
Silence returned, but it felt different now.
Not empty.
Expectant.
Rhaen straightened.
"Then tell me," he said. "What happens next?"
The stranger stepped back into the shadow.
"That," they said, "depends on how long you can walk without guidance before the land asks for more."
End of Chapter 9