Somewhere else in the mountains, away from the pools and the steam, Alistair stood on a stone balcony carved into the cliff face.

Below him, the valley spread out in shadows, the last light of the sun bleeding orange across the horizon. The monks’ quarters were built into the rock itself—cells and halls and meditation chambers, all of it ancient, all of it silent.

He wasn’t alone.

An old man sat on a worn stone bench, his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees. His robe was the same grey as the others, but his face was different—lined deeper, eyes sharper, a faint scar running from his temple to his jaw. He hadn’t moved when Alistair arrived. Hadn’t acknowledged him.

Now he spoke.

"Great students you brought here, Alistair. They are truly unique." His voice was soft, dry as old paper. "Especially that boy."

Alistair didn’t turn. "He’s the son of Margaret Vale. Your former student."

The old monk’s eyes opened. They were pale, almost white, but not blind. Seeing things other people couldn’t.

"I know. I felt her in him the moment he crossed the ward line." A pause. "She was stubborn. Refused to meditate properly. Thought she could fight her way through everything."

"She still does."

"And yet she raised a son who sits still." The monk almost smiled. "Just like his mother, he is going to do great things."

Alistair finally turned. "Is that a prophecy or a guess?"

"I don’t prophesy. I observe." The monk uncrossed his legs, stood slowly, his joints creaking. "The boy’s energy is... different. Not just strong. Different. Like a river that flows both directions."

Alistair’s jaw tightened. "What does that mean?"

"It means I’ll be watching." The monk walked past him, toward the stairs leading down into the monastery. "Tell your students to join us for the evening meal. We have much to discuss about the Springs."

He disappeared into the shadows.

Alistair stood alone on the balcony, watching the valley darken.

---

The fire crackled low, sending sparks into the night sky.

The team sat in a loose circle around it, their backs against logs and rocks. The monks had provided blankets and simple food—bread, cheese, dried fruit, and a hot tea that tasted like pine needles. No one complained. The Springs had made them hungry in a way they hadn’t expected.

Derek was poking the fire with a stick, his ghosts drifting lazily overhead. Dr. Blackwood had retreated somewhere; Derek could still feel him, close but not present.

Mason sat cross-legged, his hands open, small blue flames flickering across his palms. He wasn’t showing off—just practicing. The heat soothed him.

Sera had her phone out, but there was no signal, so she was scrolling through old photos. Her thumb stopped on one. She stared at it for a long moment, then put the phone away.

"Tell a story," Cora said, leaning back on her elbows.

"What kind of story?" Derek asked.

"Any kind. We’re bonding. It’s required."

"Who requires it?"

"I do."

Mason spoke first. "My mother was a hunter."

The group went quiet.

"She wasn’t a Prime Human. Just a Grey Hunter. Worked the border territories for twenty years." His voice was flat, controlled. "She died on a mission when I was fifteen. Demon ambush. Her team was outnumbered. She held the line so the others could escape."

Cora stopped leaning. "I’m sorry."

"She knew what she signed up for." Mason’s flames dimmed. "I joined because I wanted to finish what she started. Keep people safe. Make sure her death meant something."

No one spoke for a moment.

Then Sera cleared her throat. "I’m scared of what I’m becoming."

Cora looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"My blood sense. It’s getting stronger. Today I could feel... everything. The trees. The rocks. The monks." She pulled her knees to her chest. "What if I lose myself in it? What if I stop being Sera and just become... a sensor?"

Derek put down his stick. "You won’t."

"You don’t know that."

"I know you. You’re too annoying to disappear."

Sera stared at him. Then she laughed. It was a small laugh, shaky, but real.

"Thanks," she said. "I think."

Derek grinned. "You’re welcome."

Cora turned to him. "Your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"Share something vulnerable."

"I don’t have anything vulnerable. I’m a fortress of emotional stability."

Dr. Blackwood materialized beside him. "He’s lying. Last week, his ghosts walked in on him changing. He screamed."

Derek’s face went red. "I didn’t—you weren’t supposed to—"

"It was educational," the ghost said dryly. "I’d forgotten how pale the living are."

The group burst into laughter. Even Mason cracked a smile.

Cora wiped her eyes. "That’s not vulnerable, that’s embarrassing."

"It’s the same thing!"

"It’s really not."

Derek buried his face in his hands. "I hate all of you."

"No, you don’t," Sera said.

"No, I don’t," he admitted.

---

The fire burned lower. The stars came out, one by one, scattered across the dark like seeds.

Lucian sat apart from the group, on a flat rock near the edge of the clearing. His back was straight, his hands resting on his knees. He wasn’t meditating—not fully—just watching. Listening.

Cora walked over and sat beside him.

"You’re doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Sitting alone."

"I’m not alone. You’re here."

She snorted. "That’s not what I meant."

He didn’t answer.

She looked up at the stars. The sky here was different—darker, clearer, the kind of dark you only got far from city lights. The Springs hummed quietly in the background, a sound you felt more than heard.

"Are you ever going to tell me everything?"

Lucian was quiet for a long moment.

"Not yet," he said. "But soon."

She turned to look at him. His face was calm, unreadable, but his eyes were tired. The kind of tired that came from carrying something heavy for too long.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay?"

"Okay." She looked back at the stars. "I can wait."

He didn’t say thank you. Didn’t need to.

They sat in silence, watching the sky, the fire crackling behind them, their teammates’ voices a low hum in the background.

The Springs hummed.

The stars turned.

And for a moment, everything felt almost normal.

---

Later, when the fire had died to embers and the others had gone to their cots, Lucian stayed.

He sat alone in the dark, listening to the water, feeling the energy of the valley press against his skin.

The old monk appeared at the edge of the clearing.

"You should rest," the monk said.

"I will."

"The Springs are patient. They’ll be here tomorrow."

Lucian looked at him. "You knew my mother."

The monk’s pale eyes glimmered. "I knew her when she was young. Before she became what she is now."

"Was she like me?"

"No one is like you." The monk stepped closer. "But she was stubborn. Reckless. Afraid of stillness." He paused. "You’re different. You’ve learned to be still. That will serve you better than any blade."

Lucian stood. "What else do I need to learn?"

The monk smiled. It was a small smile, faded, like the rest of him.

"Everything else."

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the mist.

Lucian stood alone in the clearing, the embers glowing at his feet, the Springs humming around him.

Then he walked back to his cot and slept.