The world returned to Aelric in fragments of pain and cold. Snow pressed against his cheek. His head throbbed where it had struck the rock. The mana inside him churned like a river in flood, no longer the steady hum he had grown used to. It surged and recoiled, sending spikes of heat and ice through his veins. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, snow cascading from his cloak. Blood had frozen in a thin line down the side of his face.
He staggered to his feet. The riverbank where he had fallen was steep and slick with fresh ice. Above him the valley lay quiet under the falling snow, the powerful mana flicker gone as suddenly as it had arrived. Only the echo of its chaos remained inside him.
Aelric climbed slowly, each step a battle against dizziness and the wild mana that refused to settle. By the time he reached the path leading back to the keep, his legs trembled and his vision blurred at the edges. The hum no longer felt like a helpful companion. It felt like something trying to tear free.
He made it inside the keep just as the snow thickened into a proper storm. The fire had burned low. He fed it the last of the dry wood, then collapsed beside the flames, wrapping the cloak tightly around himself. The fish he had caught earlier still sat wrapped in leaves. He forced himself to eat a few bites, hoping the food would calm the storm inside.
It did not.
The mana surged again, brighter and more erratic. Colors flashed behind his closed eyelids. Fragments of unfamiliar images flickered through his mind: towers of glass and steel, machines that moved without horses, lights that burned without fire. They vanished as quickly as they came, leaving only confusion and a splitting headache.
Aelric gritted his teeth and reached for the hum the way he had before, trying to gentle it, to bring it back under control. He pictured warmth spreading evenly through his body. He pictured the fire burning steady. Slowly, painfully, the wild surges eased into something closer to the familiar rhythm. The warmth returned, pushing back the worst of the cold and steadying his thoughts.
But the effort left him exhausted. He slept in fits, waking every time the mana twitched or the wind howled through the roof gaps.
Dawn on the tenth day brought no relief. The snow had stopped, but a thick white blanket covered the valley. The river was quieter, edges frozen solid. Aelric forced himself to move. Hunger and the need for firewood drove him out again.
He walked farther than usual, heading toward a stand of pines on the eastern slope where dead branches might still be dry enough to burn. The mana hum remained unsteady, spiking whenever he pushed too hard. Each spike brought another flash of strange images: spinning wheels of metal, streams of light flowing through wires, voices speaking in a language he almost understood.
He pushed the visions aside and focused on survival.
Near the pines he found a fallen tree, its trunk split by lightning years ago. The wood inside was still sound. He broke off branches until his arms ached, then tied them into a heavy bundle with strips of bark. The load was almost more than he could carry, but he refused to leave any behind. Every piece meant another hour of warmth.
On the way back the mana surged again without warning. His foot slipped on hidden ice. He fell hard, the bundle scattering. Pain lanced through his knee. For a moment the world spun. The strange images returned stronger: a man in strange clothes standing in a bright room filled with glowing panels, speaking words Aelric could not quite hear.
He lay in the snow, breathing hard, until the vision faded. Then he gathered the scattered wood with grim determination and continued toward the keep.
Lio found him halfway there, struggling under the heavy load. The boy's eyes widened at the blood on Aelric's face and the way he limped.
"You look like you fought a bear," Lio said, taking half the bundle without being asked. "What happened?"
"Fell during the flicker yesterday," Aelric answered. "The mana inside me has not settled since."
Lio helped him the rest of the way. Inside the keep they rebuilt the fire together. Lio shared a small sack of dried berries his mother had sent.
"The elders felt that big flicker too," Lio said. "They say it was one of the strongest in years. Some of the old storage pits cracked open. We lost grain. People are worried winter will be worse than usual."
Aelric listened while he warmed his hands. The mana hum calmed slightly in the presence of the fire and the simple company. He told Lio about the strange flashes, leaving out how vivid and foreign they felt.
"Maybe the flicker did something to you," Lio suggested. "Mana can twist people sometimes. My uncle once got caught in one and could not speak for three days."
Aelric nodded, but he suspected it was more than that. The power that had overwhelmed the Altar was changing. It no longer felt like something that belonged only to him.
Over the next three days the struggle deepened. Snow continued to fall in light flurries. The cold settled into the keep like an unwelcome guest. Aelric's food ran out again. He went out every morning, testing his limits with the unsteady mana.
One morning he tried to use the hum to steady his hands while setting snares in the scrub. The mana answered, but the surge brought another wave of visions: bright rooms, moving pictures on flat surfaces, voices discussing equations and circuits. He dropped the snare and pressed his palms to his temples until the images faded.
Another afternoon he helped Doran clear snow from the smithy roof. The blacksmith allowed him to hold tools while he worked, grunting occasional instructions. The physical labor helped quiet the mana for a while, but every spike of effort brought new flashes.
By the thirteenth day Aelric had adapted to the new rhythm. He woke, rebuilt the fire, went out to gather wood or clear snow or help with whatever small task earned him food. He ate whatever he could get. He slept when exhaustion won. And every day the mana hum grew both stronger and more unpredictable, like a wild horse that had begun to tolerate a rider but still bucked without warning.
On the fourteenth night the temperature dropped so low that ice formed on the inside walls of the keep. Aelric sat close to the fire, feeding it constantly. The mana hum worked overtime to keep him from freezing. The strain was constant now. His head ached without relief. The strange visions came more frequently, always fragments: diagrams of machines, voices explaining concepts like "circuits" and "efficiency," images of cities that glowed at night.
He wrote in his journal by firelight:
Day fourteen. The cold bites deeper every night. The mana no longer simply helps. It fights and pulls and shows me things I do not understand. I am surviving, but the cost is rising. The villagers still watch with careful eyes. Lio helps. Mila gives a little more. Doran lets me near the forge. But the real battle is inside me now. Something is changing. I can feel it pressing closer. I must hold on until I understand what it is.
He closed the journal and stared into the flames. The mana hum surged again, bringing one clear image: a man in a workshop surrounded by tools and drawings, his hands moving with calm precision as he built something complex and beautiful.
The image lingered longer than the others. For the first time Aelric did not push it away. He let it stay, studying the way the man worked, the focus in his eyes, the satisfaction on his face when a mechanism clicked into place.
Then the vision faded, leaving Aelric with a strange sense of recognition.
He did not know who the man was.
But he knew the feeling.
It was the same feeling he had when he cleared rocks or patched the roof or caught the fish.
The feeling of making something better.
The fire crackled. Outside, the wind howled.
Aelric lay down, the mana hum still whispering fragments of impossible knowledge at the edge of his mind.
He was still surviving.
But the accident was no longer coming.
It had already begun.