*Sage*
I dreamed of fire.
Not the cozy, hearth kind.
The devouring kind.
In the dream, the valley burned.
Trees snapped and crackled, flames racing up their trunks, licking at their branches. The bone tree was a black skeleton against an orange sky, ribbons and feathers gone, skulls glowing like lanterns as heat peeled their last bits of flesh away.
Wolves ran through it.
Not in front of it.
Through it.
Bodies on fire.
Fur sparking.
Eyes bright and blind.
I ran with them.
Human.
Barefoot.
The ground was hot under my soles, searing, but I didn’t feel pain. Just urgency. Desperation.
Kieran ran ahead of me, smoke swirling around his shoulders, his back a dark anchor in the inferno.
“Wait!” I shouted.
He didn’t slow.
I lunged.
Fire roared.
Something grabbed my ankle.
Pulled.
I fell.
Hit the ground.
Rolled.
Came up choking.
Cassian stood over me.
Human.
Naked.
Unaffected by the flames.
He smiled.
“Choose,” he said.
“Choose what?” I gasped.
“Who burns,” he said.
Behind him, two figures stood at the edge of the fire.
Kim.
Jess.
Both held out their hands.
“Choose,” Cassian repeated. “You don’t get to save everyone, little scientist. Pick your story.”
“I—I won’t—” I started.
He laughed.
The sound crackled.
“Then the valley chooses for you,” he said.
The ground shuddered.
The bone tree toppled.
I woke with a strangled gasp.
The cabin was dark.
The fire had burned low.
My heart pounded.
My skin was slick with sweat.
Beside me, Kieran stirred.
“Sage?” he mumbled.
“Fine,” I croaked.
He pushed up on one elbow.
Moonlight slanted through the tiny window, silvering his face.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“Nightmare,” I muttered.
“Talk,” he said gently.
His hand found my forehead.
Frowned.
“You’re hot,” he added.
“Stop it,” I said weakly.
“Not like that,” he said. “Fever.”
He pressed the back of his hand to my cheek.
Heat pulsed under my skin.
I shivered.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Mara!”
His shout was loud enough to rattle the walls.
“Don’t—” I began.
The door swung open a heartbeat later.
Mara appeared, hair mussed, sweater thrown over nightclothes, eyes sharp even half-asleep.
“What did you break now?” she demanded.
“Sage,” Kieran said. “She’s burning.”
Mara crossed the room in three strides.
Her hand replaced his on my forehead.
Her mouth tightened.
“Out,” she said to him.
“No,” he said immediately.
“Out,” she repeated. “You’ll just get in the way.”
“I’m not leaving her,” he snapped.
“I’m not asking,” she said.
They locked eyes.
I shivered harder.
“Both of you,” I muttered. “Stop posturing and someone get me a bucket.”
Mara’s expression softened a fraction.
“You feel like boiled rabbit,” she said. “When did this start?”
“Now?” I said. “I don’t take my own temperature in my sleep.”
“You’ve been off all day,” she said. “Sweaty. Snapping more than usual. That wasn’t just because of Cassian.”
“Everything is because of Cassian,” I muttered.
She snorted.
“Symptoms,” she said briskly. “Headache? Nausea? Pain?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes. And…yes.”
“Specifics,” she snapped.
I closed my eyes.
Headache: pounding, behind my eyes, like someone hitting a drum in my skull.
Nausea: curling, low, not quite enough to puke, more like the edge of a bad hangover.
Pain: everywhere.
Bones.
Muscles.
Skin.
Like my body was too small for whatever was inside it.
“I feel…” I swallowed. “Wrong. Off. Like my cells are…buzzing.”
Mara’s nostrils flared.
She inhaled deeply, scenting.
Her eyes narrowed.
“It’s not flu,” she murmured. “Not infection. Not human, anyway.”
Kieran stiffened. “What.”
She ignored him, focusing on me.
“When did you last eat?” she asked.
“Lunch?” I said. “Rabbit stew. Also gross.”
“Before the dream?” she clarified.
“I…don’t know,” I said. “Time is fake.”
She clicked her tongue.
“Did you go near the stone today?” she asked. “The tree? The creek?”
“The tree,” I said. “With Jess. Yesterday. And the tower. Today. Kim. Harrowing existential crisis. You know. Tuesday.”
She glanced at Kieran.
“Old magic,” she said. “Biting back.”
His jaw clenched. “Explain.”
She traced something over my sternum with two fingers, not quite touching, following an invisible pattern.
“It’s been humming in her since the first night,” she said. “Since she saw you. Since she stood under the tower with you half-shifted. It’s…grown. With every treaty stone. Every dream. Every brush with Levi. The valley’s…noticing.”
“She’s human,” he snapped. “The valley doesn’t—”
“The valley doesn’t give a damn about species,” she said sharply. “It cares about…threads. Ties. Names spoken on its wind. She’s woven herself into us. We’ve woven ourselves into her. This is…feedback.”
I groaned. “Can you two maybe not argue metaphysics over my dying body?”
“You’re not dying,” Mara said. “Yet.”
“Comforting,” I muttered.
She shot Kieran a look.
“Get water,” she said. “Cool cloths. My kit. It’s in the longhouse. Third shelf. Red bag. Don’t touch the blue one.”
“What’s in the blue one?” he asked.
“Stuff for people I don’t like,” she said. “Move.”
He moved.
Fast.
The moment the door shut, she sank onto the stool by the pallet.
Her hands hovered over me, not quite touching.
Heat rolled off me in waves.
She muttered under her breath.
Not words.
Sounds.
The air around us thickened.
“Is this…magic?” I asked weakly.
“Everything’s magic,” she said. “This is…targeted.”
“I feel like you’re about to install a software update,” I mumbled.
“Yes,” she said. “The kind that might reboot your system. Or fry it.”
“Great,” I said. “Love those odds.”
She smiled faintly.
I shivered.
Her hands lowered.
Light.
Heat.
Cold.
All at once.
It felt like sticking my hand into a stream of glacial melt while standing in front of a furnace.
My skin crawled.
My bones hummed.
My scar burned.
I gasped.
“Easy,” she murmured. “Breathe.”
I tried.
The air tasted…different.
Sharper.
Like snow and iron and something green.
Her eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, irises almost…glowing.
I heard something then.
Faint.
Behind the crackle of the fire.
Behind the thud of my heart.
A hum.
Low.
Constant.
It vibrated in my teeth.
Under my tongue.
In the palm of my hand where it rested on the blanket.
“The valley,” I whispered.
She nodded once.
“You’re hearing what we hear,” she said. “What we feel. The hum of the old things. The way the mountain breathes. The way the river thinks.”
“It…thinks?” I asked, half-delirious.
“In its way,” she said. “Slow. Deep. You touched it. Now it’s…touching back.”
“I didn’t…mean to,” I protested weakly. “Consent, please.”
She huffed a laugh.
“Magic doesn’t care about consent,” she said. “It cares about…connection.”
“That’s messed up,” I said.
“Yes,” she agreed.
My skin prickled.
I felt…stretched.
Like my consciousness had expanded an inch past my body.
I could feel the edges of the cabin.
The rough wood under my back.
The cold draft near the floorboards.
The heat of the dying fire.
Beyond that, faint impressions—the murmur of wolves outside, their emotional signatures like colors at the edge of my vision.
Kieran.
Bright.
Sharp.
Worried.
Determined.
Rafe.
Sardonic.
Concerned.
Edda.
Buzzing.
Curious.
Mara.
Right here.
Old.
Tired.
Solid.
The valley itself.
Wide.
Deep.
Indifferent.
Not unkind.
Just…vast.
It scared me.
I whimpered.
“Too much,” I gasped.
“Pull back,” Mara said. “Like reeling in a net.”
“How?” I asked.
“Anchor,” she said. “Find something that’s *you.* Hold onto it. Let the rest slide off.”
My mind scrambled.
What was me?
Science.
Data.
Wolves.
Coffee.
My name.
Kieran’s voice saying it.
*“Sage.”*
I grabbed at that.
At the exact way his mouth shaped the word, the cadence, the warmth.
The net pulled.
The hum dimmed.
The cabin sharpened back into focus.
My body sagged.
Sweat cooled on my skin.
Mara exhaled.
“Good,” she said. “Better.”
“What was that?” I croaked.
“A…brush,” she said. “A warning. A hello. The valley saying ‘I see you.’”
“I didn’t…want it to,” I whispered.
“It doesn’t ask what you want,” she said gently. “It asks what you *are.* And right now? You’re…a crossroads. Of wolves and humans. Of old and new. Of science and story. It’s…interested.”
“I don’t like being nature’s…influencer,” I muttered.
She snorted.
The door banged open.
Kieran burst in, arms full of blankets, a steaming pot, and Mara’s red kit slung over his shoulder.
He smelled like snow and panic.
“How is she?” he demanded.
“Annoyed,” I said weakly.
He dropped everything on the floor and dropped to his knees beside me.
His hand found my cheek.
Heat again.
“Still hot,” he muttered.
“Flattered,” I said.
“Not that kind,” he snapped, but his lips twitched.
Mara opened the red kit.
Pulled out vials, herbs, a small knife.
Kieran stiffened.
“You’re not cutting her,” he growled.
“Relax,” she said. “I’m not your father.”
His jaw worked.
He leaned down.
Pressed his forehead to mine.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
“I am,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
He huffed.
Mara mixed something in a small bowl—crushed leaves, a few drops of water from the pot, a pinch of something that smelled like lightning.
“Drink,” she ordered, handing me the bowl.
I eyed the murky green liquid skeptically.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Fun,” she said.
Sage,” Kieran warned.
I sighed.
Tipped it back.
It tasted like chewing on a battery wrapped in moss.
I gagged.
“That’s disgusting,” I gasped.
“Good,” she said. “Means it’s working.”
“What does it…do?” I asked.
“Turns down the volume,” she said. “On the hum. On the fever. On the…edges. You’ll still feel it. But it’ll be…quieter.”
“How long does it last?” Kieran asked.
“A season,” she said. “Maybe.”
He stared.
She shrugged. “Our kind adjusts. Learns to live with it. Hers…doesn’t. We’re buying her time to adapt. Or…step away.”
“I’m not stepping away,” I muttered.
“I know,” she said. “Stubborn.”
The world swam.
The hum faded to a faint buzz.
My bones stopped trying to vibrate out of my flesh.
Exhaustion crashed over me like a wave.
“Sleep,” Mara said. “Now. Before it comes back.”
I didn’t argue.
Kieran slid under the blanket beside me, gathering me against him.
Mara watched for a moment.
Her eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them.
“Keep her anchored,” she told him.
He nodded.
“I will,” he said.
“I know,” she said.
She left.
The door closed.
The cabin sighed.
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.
“Tired,” I murmured. “Buzzing. Like I drank too much coffee and then crashed.”
“Do you…hear it?” he asked.
“The hum?” I said. “Faint. Like…background radiation.”
“Welcome to my world,” he said.
I shivered.
He tightened his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t…think. I brought you to the stone. The tree. I let you stand in old places without…shielding. I should have known the valley would…notice.”
“You didn’t…make me,” I said. “I walked. I poked. I asked. This is…on me too.”
“We both did it,” he said.
“Yes,” I mumbled. “Couples who accidentally bond with ancient magic together, stay together.”
He snorted.
“Sleep,” he said again.
“Bossy,” I muttered.
“Love you,” he said.
“Love you too,” I whispered.
The hum sang.
The valley watched.
But for now, in the circle of his arms, it felt…bearable.
Smaller.
Less like a tidal wave and more like a river I might, one day, learn to wade through without drowning.
***