CH289 · Rewrite
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Chapter 289: West of the Western Border

Lightning went through her equipment one more time.

Flint and tinder. Bandages. Two daggers. Maps, folded tight. A bag of rations packed with dried beef—more than a day’s worth.

She looked at Maggie. “Your turn.”

“Goo!”

Maggie plunged her hand into the bag that somehow lived in her hair regardless of what form she wore. Lightning had stopped trying to understand this. Since the moment Maggie transformed, her clothing and pack vanished—but the contents of her bag somehow survived the transition and traveled with her, retrievable even in bird form. The bag was apparently not subject to the normal rules.

What emerged from it now: jerky, shredded dried pork, two drumsticks, a whole fish, three eggs.

“Oh, God.” Lightning stared at the pile. “We’re going on a scouting flight, not a wilderness feast. Bring at least one weapon.”

“Googoo!” Maggie pointed at her beak.

“Your beak is not a weapon against a Judge in full plate armor.” Lightning pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Fine. It’s a one-day trip. We probably won’t encounter anything. Let’s go.”

“Goo goo!” Maggie turned pigeon immediately, ran three steps, and launched herself into the air—then climbed slowly, laboring slightly with the weight of the food she’d packed.

So it does slow her down after all. Lightning filed that away. She pulled her windproof glasses into place, gathered her feet beneath her, and leaped—and flew ahead.

The forest south of here was where she’d first seen Maggie. The air chase, the effort it had taken to finally catch up and land on her. That had felt like a real contest then.

Now she could have closed the gap in two seconds.

Can’t let her get lazy. Lightning reduced her speed slightly so they could fly side by side. In the future, she’d carry more of the equipment herself and make sure Maggie had no excuse not to exercise.

“Goo, goo?”

“Speak—I’m slowing down.”

“Where are we going, goo? Which part?”

“The western end of the Concealing Forest.” Lightning unfolded the map and held it out, the edges snapping in the wind. She pointed to a blank space on the left margin. “I want to see how far the forest actually extends. We’ll fill in this gap. We might also be able to find the Redwater River’s source—see where it comes from.”

Maggie had returned from the Fjords only recently, and Lightning had begun preparing for this the day she arrived. During free practice time, His Highness never monitored where they flew. But there was a reason Lightning had waited for a companion—a reason she had not explained to Maggie, because explaining it meant admitting something she did not want to admit.

She was afraid of going alone.

The stone tower. The dark interior of the forest. The thing they had found there. Since that night she had developed a specific, stubborn fear of deep forest—a fear she could not argue herself out of, because it was not in her head. It lived lower than that. She knew the creatures were real. She knew what they could do.

Lightning was the daughter of the greatest explorer in living memory.

She was also, apparently, afraid of the dark between trees.

Thunder had told her once: approach the fear. Observe it. Understand it. The monster is always smaller once you’ve seen it clearly. All obstacles, he said, were rooted in the heart.

So she had planned a route along the riverbank—never into the forest, only along its edge, with open sky above and the glinting thread of the Redwater always visible. Low risk. Controlled exposure. Maggie beside her made it more bearable, though Lightning had not said this.

Next time she would go alone.

And after that, she would return to the stone tower, and draw the whole map.


She kept their speed at roughly sixty kilometers per hour. At that rate she could sustain flight all day. The Redwater River moved below them like a belt of hammered silver, the forest’s dark green edge running parallel on their left, and the fear that lived in her chest was smaller in open air and sunlight, and grew smaller still with Maggie chattering beside her.

“Mountains! Mountains up ahead, goo!”

They were still distant when Lightning first saw it—a mass that rose above the horizon with unmistakable scale. The nearer they flew, the more of it resolved: white at the peak, perpetually white, the kind of height that put its summit among clouds. The mountain stood where land met the ocean, its roots descending to the coast, the river narrowing and accelerating as the surrounding terrain compressed.

“It’s enormous,” Lightning said. Not with pleasure—there was something about the mountain’s sheer size that deflated rather than inspired. She’d seen impressive mountains. This one felt like a different category of object. “The Redwater must come from its snowmelt.”

“The forest ends!” Maggie’s wings beat faster. “Look—the forest ends, goo!”

Below them the dark green stopped. Beyond it: a stripe of light green—grassland—and then something that made Lightning drop altitude fast to see clearly. A vast darkness covered the ground ahead, spreading toward the mountain’s base. Not shadow. The ground itself.

She landed, pulling Maggie down with her.

The surface was black stone. Not gravel, not loose scree—individual pieces, sharp-edged and clean-cut, covering the earth so densely that almost no soil showed through. It extended across a space many times larger than Border Town. Toward the mountain’s foot it thickened, the density increasing, the black spreading until it swallowed the horizon.

Maggie pecked at one piece experimentally. “Not food, goo.”

“Obviously not food.” Lightning picked up a piece and turned it in the sun. Heavy, but not quite as heavy as ordinary stone. Under light the surface caught a faint metallic sheen. Sharp fracture planes. Dense. This wasn’t volcanic slag or ordinary rock—

Ore? But it’s lying on the surface. And it’s everywhere.

“Take two pieces,” she said. “His Highness should see this.”

She rose back into the air, made her records, sketched the terrain. The mountain was two hundred and forty kilometers from the edge of Border Town—well past Longsong Stronghold, far beyond anything on existing maps. And the mountain behind the mountain, the ranges extending inland—

What’s on the other side?

She told herself: next time. This was a reconnaissance flight, not an expedition. But the thought had already lodged. Once a thought like that lodged, Lightning had learned, there was no removing it.

She gave Maggie strict instructions not to move, then increased her speed to the limit. The magic burned down fast at full pace; the wind stripped her hair flat against her head. She went far enough out over the sea to look south and east around the mountain’s flank.

Half an hour’s flight. Long enough.

What she saw stopped her.

At the far horizon, above and beyond the mountain range where land met ocean—a layer of reddish-brown fog. Not a weather formation. Not the evening light. The color of old dried blood, dense and settled, clinging to the mountains as if it had always been there. It extended westward in both directions as far as she could see. It had no visible end.

Lightning flew back at full speed, her heart going faster than the wind.

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