The landscape before them shifted gradually, the bleak and twisted terrain of the Wastes giving way to rolling hills and patches of green. The air was different here—less heavy, less charged with the oppressive magic of the Spire. It felt like a world reborn, as if they had stepped from one realm into another, leaving behind the madness of the Wastes and stepping into something quieter, calmer.

  Zarin walked in silence, his body still adjusting to the lingering effects of the transformation. The Old Magic thrummed beneath his skin, a constant reminder of what had changed within him, of the power he now carried. Every step felt like a reminder of his newfound strength—and the responsibility that came with it. He had been forged by the trials of the Spire, reshaped by the ancient magic that flowed through him, and yet there was still so much he didn’t understand.

  Reya walked beside him, her steps sure but measured. She, too, had been changed. The sharpness in her movements, the quiet intensity in her gaze, it all spoke to the power that now resided within her. The two of them had been reshaped, not just in body but in spirit. They had survived the Spire, endured the pain of transformation, and now they faced the world with a strength they hadn’t known before.

  But the world wasn’t done testing them.

  Maros moved ahead, leading them with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent years navigating paths like these. He had been distant since they left the Spire, his thoughts turned inward, but Zarin could sense the shift in him. Something had changed. Maros had opened up, sharing a part of his past that had long been hidden, and now, it seemed as if he carried the weight of that past more openly.

  Zarin’s thoughts drifted to the encounter with the Ascendant—the offer that had been made, the temptation that still lingered in the back of his mind. The Ascendant had spoken of understanding the Old Magic, of becoming one with it rather than fighting it. It was a dangerous path, but there was something about the way he had spoken that made Zarin question everything he thought he knew.

  “Do you think we made the right choice?” Zarin asked quietly, glancing at Reya.

  She frowned, her brow furrowing as she considered his question. “About the Ascendant?”

  Zarin nodded. “About everything. The Spire, the Old Magic… it feels like we’re stepping into something bigger than we can handle.”

  Reya was silent for a moment, her gaze distant as she looked out over the horizon. “We didn’t have a choice, did we? The Spire was falling apart, the magic was out of control. We had to act.”

  Zarin exhaled slowly. “I know. But the Ascendant… he made it sound like we’re still missing something. Like there’s more to the Old Magic than we understand.”

  Reya turned to face him, her eyes sharp. “Of course there’s more. But that doesn’t mean we should trust them. The Ascendants have their own agenda, and it’s not one we can afford to align with. You heard Maros—they’ve been manipulating the magic for their own ends. That’s what caused the Spire to collapse in the first place.”

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  Zarin nodded, though the doubt still lingered in his chest. Reya was right—the Ascendants couldn’t be trusted. But there was something in the way the Ascendant had spoken, something that made Zarin question the path they were on.

  Before he could say more, Maros spoke from ahead, his voice calm but firm. “We’ll reach the edge of the Wastes by nightfall.”

  Zarin and Reya quickened their pace, closing the distance between them and Maros. The mage’s expression was as unreadable as ever, but Zarin could sense the tension in him, the quiet focus that marked him as someone who was always aware of what lay ahead.

  As they walked, Maros glanced back at them, his gaze lingering on Zarin. “I can feel the doubt in you.”

  Zarin’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m not… it’s just—”

  “You’re questioning the Old Magic,” Maros said, cutting him off. “That’s natural. After everything you’ve been through, you’re wondering whether you made the right choices, whether there’s something you’ve missed.”

  Zarin swallowed hard, his mind racing. “I guess I am. The Ascendant… he said there’s more to the magic than we understand. That we’re trying to control something that can’t be controlled.”

  Maros nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “He’s not wrong. The Old Magic is vast, ancient. It doesn’t bend to our will easily. But that doesn’t mean we should follow the path the Ascendants have chosen. They seek to merge with the magic, to become one with it, but that path leads to ruin.”

  “Why?” Reya asked, her voice edged with curiosity.

  Maros sighed softly. “Because the Old Magic is a force of nature. It’s wild, uncontrollable. If you try to become one with it, to merge your will with its power, you risk losing yourself completely. The Ascendants believe they can master it, but the truth is, the magic always has a price.”

  Zarin felt a chill run down his spine. “What kind of price?”

  Maros met his gaze, his eyes dark and serious. “Your soul. Your sense of self. The Old Magic isn’t just power—it’s a force that reshapes everything it touches. If you let it, it will consume you, twist you into something unrecognizable.”

  Reya’s expression hardened. “That’s what happened to Rovan, isn’t it?”

  Maros nodded. “Yes. He thought he could control the magic, thought he could become something greater by merging with it. But in the end, he lost himself. The Rovan you met at the Spire… he’s not the man I once knew. He’s become something else, something the magic created.”

  Zarin shuddered at the thought. He had felt the power of the Old Magic during his transformation, had sensed its hunger, its desire to reshape him. It had been painful, agonizing, but he had held on to his sense of self. For now.

  “But we don’t have to follow that path,” Maros continued. “There’s another way. A way to live with the magic, to wield it without losing yourself. That’s why I’m here—to guide you, to help you find that balance.”

  Zarin nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. Maros had seen the dangers of the Old Magic firsthand, but he had also found a way to live with it. And now, he was offering that same guidance to them.

  They continued walking in silence for a while, the sun dipping lower in the sky as the landscape around them softened further. The edge of the Wastes was close now, the land ahead greener, more welcoming. It felt like a new beginning, a fresh chapter in their journey.

  As they walked, Maros glanced at Zarin again, his expression softer than before. “You’re stronger than you realize, Zarin. Both of you are. The Spire didn’t break you—it forged you. The magic is a part of you now, but it doesn’t define you. Remember that.”

  Zarin felt a surge of warmth at Maros’ words, a sense of gratitude that filled him with resolve. They had been through so much already, and there was still so much they didn’t understand, but they weren’t alone. They had each other. And they had Maros.

  Together, they would face whatever came next.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shades of gold and amber, Zarin allowed himself to breathe, to embrace the quiet moment of peace. The Wastes were behind them, and though the road ahead was uncertain, for the first time in a long time, he felt like they were moving toward something brighter.