The voice was all around and inside, talking directly to my guts. Falar hovered an infinity away, hand reached out and suspended mid-jump.

You have lived so close to me. What would a single step more mean?

There was no skull, no porcelain bone this time. Just a presence that pressed in on me from everywhere all at once, suffocating and dark and familiar. It spoke to me with words and without, about the wish for everything to stop, the desire to forget and never to have remembered.

Of home.

What do you have to lose? Only toil and pain.

I was paralyzed, like I had been in the dreams, but this wasn’t a dream. I had been in the middle of a gasp when everything stopped. The air trickled in infuriatingly slowly. I would burn the world to finish the goddamn breath. The anger and frustration cut through the voice and the words.

You are a vessel for meaningless suffering. Empty yourself.

It was right, and I wanted to, but the breath was still stuck in my throat and it was infuriating. The stiff paper of the envelope pressed into my skin through the breast pocket. Grit was turning her head toward me, hands holding the Conspice, the thing that had started this all. The pressure was suffocating, constricting and hugging me from every side.

Life. Dying. Forgo them.

I reached inside, under my skin, under the pressure and the voice. The spark sitting at the pit of my stomach. The voice thundered through my focus, insistent and all-encompassing.

Why struggle? Give in.

It would be so easy to stop, to let go. Why did I even bother? I could be still and do what it said.

Who the hell did it think I was?

I fanned the spark, reached for the power. It wasn’t slow like everything else, instead burning bright against the blackness flowing over me. I didn’t know how wards worked, but Falar’s collar had been just a spiderweb of power around my neck, so why couldn’t I do the same?

There is NOTHING.

The pressure turned colder, tried to press in through my skin. I whipped the embers of mana into a fire, pulled to bring it out. I remembered how I had reached for the Null and made it run through me.

YOU ARE MINE.

You can go to hell. And my goddamn nose itched again, even with time stopped. How was that even possible? I turned my gaze in, felt for the mana. It barely smoldered, but I gathered the embers together. The itching grew worse and I rushed the mana toward my face, since I couldn’t move my hand to scratch.

WHY—

Color exploded into the world, blue of the circle, the pink flowers of the armchair. Falar shot forward and grabbed my robe. He wrenched on it, throwing me into the circle.

The voice howled. It came from inside me, so loud my bones would break from the sound at any moment. I didn’t even feel landing on the ground.

“Jextor!” Falar shouted.

Grit reached down toward me. The circle flashed white, bright as the sun.

---

“Lina? Are you alive?”

I blinked my eyes open, drawing in a gasp. It felt great to breathe again. I scratched at my nose and sighed with satisfaction.

“Lina?” Grit asked again. She leaned over me, red eyes wide as saucers.

“Whoa,” I said. “Did I faint again? I never fainted before coming to this place.”

“The backlash must have knocked you out,” Falar said. He sat in his armchair, fingers steepled before his face. “The mind can take only so much. It’s surprising you’re that coherent, to be honest. Almost impressive.”

I rose up and beamed at him, smiling with all my teeth. “Hah!” It was embarrassing how good it made me feel to hear him say that. That creep. The near-compliment from him still made my chest swell with pride.

Weird.

“Yes, yes,” he said, flicking his hand dismissively.

“What is going on?” I asked. “I feel great. I probably shouldn’t?” The voice, the pressure, the words it had spoken. Of course it was serious and all that, but my body felt light, my mind airy. Surely everything would work out?

“You’re giddy again,” Falar said. “Jextor blasted this tent with enough life to drive out anything dark for now.” He rubbed his fingertips together and frowned at them. “I’ll have to spend a week cultivating a proper balance again.”

Now that I looked at him, his skin was tan and healthy, and his eyes were deep blue. It made him look odd, like he was wearing a normal human costume.

“What happened?” Grit asked. She had a trail of salt running down her cheek from her left eye. How long had I been out? Where was Jextor?

“Uh, the thing spoke to me. It tried to get me to take its side, I guess.”

“And you didn’t?”

“Of course I didn’t!” I said. “I still have… stuff to do.” My life started crashing down on me again. I hadn’t taken its side and now I would have to pay for it. Being sneered at by Falar, wondering if Fek would blow us up, figuring out what to do about Minnelil. My cheeks flushed and I groaned, holding back a giggle.

“Ignore her,” Falar said. “You, come here. Talking to her is a waste of time before she regains her senses. You can describe to me what you saw while we wait.”

Grit was still facing me, so I had a perfect view of her whole face flushing bright pink. Great, now there were two of us with a dumb crush.

Wait, no! That didn’t apply to me.

“Dammit, go ahead,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll go sit in the corner until my brain settles down.”

Grit nodded at me and skipped toward Falar. He glared at her and she slowed down into a walk, lowering her gaze meekly.

“It is all right,” he said, through clenched teeth. Was he holding back a smile? “We were all affected, so no one is wholly accountable for their behavior right now.”

“Grit!” I shouted. “Don’t even think about it, girl.”

Falar threw me a confused look.

Grit plopped down to sit on Jextor’s pillow. She crossed her arms and scoffed, pouting and turning her face away from me. “I wouldn’t have done anything,” she muttered.

“This is the reason why I focus on research,” Falar said. “I need to know what you saw through the Conspice. Focus and put your mouth to a better use, girl.”

---

“Oh, out and about already?” Jextor shouted. “But… what are you doing with that zombie, girl?”

“Couldn’t take it anymore in there,” I said, pulling on the zombie’s arm. I had thought that if I pushed in one of the zombies, the stench of thawing meat would keep Grit from getting too excited. It turned out the zombie’s legs were frozen stuck, so I let go of its arm.

“It might be best to step away, actually,” Jextor said. “The pulse might have loosened our control over the undead a bit.”

I jumped away from the zombie, even though it was just standing there. “What do you mean? A bit? Aren’t uncontrolled undead supposed to be angry?”

“Angry doesn’t even begin to describe it!” Jextor shouted cheerily. “They loathe life and wish to extinguish it all. Very driven blighters, bless their unbeating hearts.” He pushed a finger through the ribs of a skeleton, wiggling it inside where the heart would have been.

I rubbed at my face with both hands, breathing out in a long hiss. “My point is—“

“You’re all too serious!” Jextor interrupted me. “It should be fine. The protective circle was focused inward and the tent’s enchantments probably ablated most of the energy shot outward.”

I had forgotten my hat inside the tent, so I pulled my cowl deeper over my head. The wind threw slivers of ice and the smell of mold down from the mountains. Whatever had been there was still there. The stench cut right through the hopefulness that I had been floating in since waking up. “What even happened?” I asked.

“We were hoping you would tell us. The experiment attracted the attention of the presence, but it shifted its focus to you. That’s all I’m certain of, but even that has taught us a great deal.”

“How come?”

“I needed to work off some energy, but I’ve had my jog. Want to continue this inside? The wind carries a foul odor,” Jextor said, nodding his head at his tent. His robe was covered in clumped snow almost up to his waist.

“Sure, but I’m not risking going in there. Let’s go to the other tent instead.”

“Falar’s in a mood, is he? Lead the way!”

Jextor followed me in all the five steps it took to cross the cleared area and reach my tent. Inside, he leaned against one of the poles and made the whole tent creak and bend to the right.

I sat down on my bed, glancing up. I hoped the tent was enchanted against being leaned on as well. I started explaining the voice to Jextor and how it had spoken to me, and he kept interrupting me, shouting in glee and asking questions about the exact features of the pressure or the emotional tone of the voice.

“Look, it didn’t have any,” I said. “The tone was evil. That’s it.”

“How does a voice even sound…” Jextor said, but stopped to frown. “I can actually think of some examples. But it’s truly impressive you managed to resist direct contact with something that powerful. Did you know that’s actually in the curriculum?”

“Can I get the credits for it?”

“Of course! It’s only appropriate.”

I rubbed my hands together, grinning to myself. With everything going on, Falar’s thirty credits didn’t really seem to matter so much anymore, but it was the thought that counted. A way to keep track of points, to show Falar I was better than he thought. When did I start caring about things like that? “How long will the effect last? This… positivity?” I asked, wiggling my hand next to my ear.

“Most people can’t even notice it. I certainly can’t!” Jextor shouted, putting his hands on his hips and leaning back to laugh.

I stopped wiggling and pushed a finger into my ear instead to stop some of the racket. “I’m so happy for you. So, how long?”

He stopped laughing and frowned, rubbing his beard. “Well, it depends. With the amount of death rolling over us from the mountains, it could be mere hours. Falar will want to push further, but do it slow, so for him perhaps a day.”

Hours. I sighed. Something nagged at me, some thought. Nothingness, uncontrolled undead, death rolling over us from the mountains. How the Null erodes wards.

“Jextor…”

“What did I do now? I’d recognize that tone anywhere. You’ve spent too much time with Falar.”

“What did you say about the pulse affecting the undead?”