And it did slow eventually. The buzz of cicadas, the pink light on thick trees, the humidity building in the air … Each step deeper into the valley cleared away more of Vivia’s storm clouds. Lightened the load on her chest. Released the vise around her heart. And at some point—she could not say when—the tears began. Not sobs nor weeping, but a moisture in her eyes that she didn’t feel until it was sliding down her cheeks.

Life in Nihar. Life in Nubrevna. All because of the Origin Well.

Yoris glanced back only once at Vivia, but if he noticed her tears, he said nothing. And if he cared that her pace had pushed him into a wild clip, he didn’t show it. He just motioned to his hunters and grumbled, “Don’t lower your weapons until we’ve got her contained.” Then his gaze sharpened onto Vivia. “And don’t try to use your magic, or the boy will learn what pain means. Understand?”

Vivia nodded. Because she did understand and because right now, she was no threat. The insects and the dawn birds were too loud. The pull of an approaching river was too strong. The life and health and power of the nearby Well overwhelmed her.

It was as if, after thirteen years, she had finally come home.

Noden’s Gift was not what Vivia had expected, despite Cam having described it to her several weeks before. She’d imagined ramshackle, beaten-down buildings like the Skulks in Lovats. She’d expected hollow eyes and begging hands.

Instead, she’d passed tiny farms and tinier stone huts, all of them bustling with life. Chickens that needed feeding, sheep that needed grazing, and even cows that needed milking. Noden’s Gift was a village—a true village clustered beside a river that traced through the forest toward the Well.

Here, where the river’s path was narrow and the earth hard, there were small rapids and chops. Ferns clustered against the shore, thick and tendriling on a morning breeze.

Vivia had never seen ferns in Nihar. Just as she’d never seen water that anyone dared fish, yet already pole fishers clustered along the banks. Meanwhile net fishers carried small boats to a landing beside a crude bridge. If any of them thought it odd that Yoris marched prisoners past, they gave no indication beyond a few curious glances.

Vivia smiled at them. Even nodded, and a few nodded back. She didn’t think they recognized her, and she certainly didn’t know them, but she felt … something. A kinship that made no sense. A familiarity that had no actual grounding.

Perhaps it was the river. Perhaps it was her magic. A whole night and morning of walking with no access to tides, and now these fresh, wild waters. They were skipping, trilling, calling for her to use them.