Ember sat on the ground, finally catching his breath. “Why? Why couldn’t I use the shield’s ability?” he gasped. It was like a wall was in the way.

  Chris studied the shield, then glanced between it and the sword before looking back at Ember. “This is going to be problematic,” he muttered.

  Ember drew in a slow breath and sat cross-legged. “What do you mean?”

  Chris sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “There’s a known quirk about powerful weapons—especially in the civilized world. Once a weapon reaches a certain level of strength, it can refuse to let its wielder use others. The best way I can explain it is…” He pinched his nose as he seemed to struggle to find the words. “It’s like the weapon’s bonded to you. It’s monopolized your ichor system, preventing weaker or stronger weapons ichor from having access to your cup. I’m guessing the only reason you could fill your cup is because the bonding process isn’t done yet.”

  Ember’s heart sank. “So you’re saying I have to use the sword now? Then what was the point of being cautious before?”

  “I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case,” Chris admitted, tapping the edge of the shield as he thought. “I don’t actually know much about the phenomenon, but since you could use a rare-class weapon, I figured my shield might work. Seems it’s too strong—and either your body or the sword’s leftover ichor is rejecting it.”

  He offered Ember a hand and pulled him to his feet. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this. Guess we’ve got no choice but to let you use the sword.”

  Ember swallowed hard. “Will you be able to help me if things go wrong?”

  Chris rubbed his neck. “I don’t know. Up to this point, I’ve been winging it. I know a lot about the Frontier, but I’m starting to hit the limits of even my knowledge. I’ve spent years researching it, but real information is scarce in the civilized world.”

  Ember stared at the sword, a tremor of fear running through him. He could still feel the freezing sensation that was followed by an all-encompassing burn.

  “If there’s a silver lining,” Chris went on, “it’s that you’re getting used to how ichor flows through your body. There are only two ways I know to expand your cup. One is to overflow. The other…” He frowned. “I’ve heard rumors there’s an artificial method, but I don’t know what it is. Overflow’s the only guaranteed way.”

  Ember’s voice came out small. “How many years could that shave off my life?”

  Chris went silent for a moment. “If you’re unlucky, ten to fifteen. Over time, every overflow will cost you a bit more.”

  He walked to the cart and set his shield inside, still frowning at the sword. “But that’s just a guess. The fact you can use ichor at all is impressive. It usually takes years of learning. Overflow is also an advanced technique most wouldn’t dabble in with a weapon as strong as yours. If you feel yourself losing control, let go of your sword; that’ll stop it immediately.”

  Ember nodded, his palms slick with sweat. “Okay. So we start now?”

  Chris gave him a sharp look. “No. It’s almost dark. We’re not doing something that dangerous at night. Tomorrow—when we’re set up again.” He stretched and sighed. “Let’s eat. We’ve got maybe a day or two before we hit the sub city.”

  As they cooked, Ember asked about the civilized world, but Chris stayed evasive, answering only in half-thoughts. Later, when they sat to eat, Ember unrolled the map.

  “Why doesn’t this sub-city have a name?” he asked. The map showed letters over the major cities, but most of the smaller ones, the ones off the main routes, were nameless.

  Chris shrugged. “No clue. Maybe they’ve got local names, but this map’s pretty bare-bones. Just gives us the basic layout.”

  Ember traced the outline of what used to be the United States. At the center was an enormous lake, something he hadn’t noticed before. What he’d thought was land was actually a body of water so vast it cut through the entire middle of the continent.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “What’s this?” he asked, pointing.

  “Oh, that,” Chris said, glancing over. “That’s the Boundary Sea. It separates the true wild Frontier from the more established lands. I didn’t come from that direction, so I don’t know what’s on the far side. But it’s supposed to be as large as an ocean, and almost impossible to cross by ship.”

  “Great,” Ember muttered. Then, after a pause, “Speaking of crossing, why go all the way to the port city? I thought you didn’t want to go back home.”

  Chris leaned back, chewing on a particularly tough piece of meat. “As I said, I want to use you as a banner. My poster boy, if you will. And what good’s a banner if you don’t wave it around?” He pointed at the port city. “It’s just the natural path. Maybe we’ll pick up people along the way. Once we get there, you can decide for yourself what to do. I’m not forcing you to stay by my side, but I think it’d do you good to stay with me. A lot of people will do anything to take advantage of you.”

  Ember grunted softly. How do I know you’re not taking advantage of me? Ember didn’t voice the concern, but it stayed in the back of his mind. Right now, he was just trying to survive. If that meant following a stranger who had hidden agendas, that’s all he could do.

  The rest of the night passed in quiet contemplation. Ember couldn’t shake the thought of the sword—or the weight of what Chris had said.

  Fifteen years, he thought. Fifteen years…

  *******

  Ember held the sword reluctantly in his hands as the cart rolled down the dirt path. They hadn’t seen any monsters since the troll—a surprise that made him uneasy. This was supposed to be a dangerous trek, but so far, they’d been lucky. At least, he hoped it was luck.

  Chris guided the horses while Ember clenched and unclenched his grip on the hilt. He gazed at the dark blade, visions of the cathedral playing across its surface.

  “The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to get,” Chris said, snapping Ember out of his trance.

  “It’s not my fault you filled my head with horror stories,” Ember shot back, forcing the screams out of his mind with difficulty.

  Chris chuckled. “Hey, I always say—it’s best to know the worst outcome before you learn what the best one is.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t agree with you.”

  He shrugged. “Your call. I’m just saying, the longer you put it off, the worse it’ll be when we actually need you.”

  “I know,” Ember grumbled. He couldn’t get the idea that he was burning in lifespan on a whim out of his mind. It felt alien.

  “Relax,” Chris said, keeping his tone light. “I’m right here. Worst-case scenario? I knock you out.”

  “That’s so comforting,” Ember muttered, deadpan.

  Chris laughed, a pleasant, melodic sound that somehow made the tension fade. Ember couldn’t help but smile faintly. He tightened his grip on the sword.

  Okay. Let’s do this. Just don’t kill yourself. I’ll be good to no one dead.

  He pictured the cup in his mind and imagined filling it. The ichor came out in an uncontrollable torrent, like a dam breaking. He visibly gasped at the amount.

  It took every ounce of willpower not to overflow. But even that wasn’t enough. His cup filled immediately, and the ichor poured over the lip violently. He didn’t even have time to brace himself.

  Warmth spread through his chest, radiating out to his limbs, until it twisted into searing pain. It was fire under his skin. I’m losing control! He tried to scream, but before he could, the heat vanished—ripped from him as Chris yanked the sword out of his hands.

  Ember fell off the cart, but he didn’t even notice the impact, his body twitching and pins and needles running across his body from head to toe.

  “Well,” Chris said, frowning at the sword and stopping the cart, “that was quick.”

  Ember sucked in a shaky breath as the stinging sensation faded and he regained control of his body. He used the cart to lift himself up and fell to his knees, legs still stinging. “That hurt.”

  Chris hummed in thought. “That was you dipping into your life force. Probably not much, since I pulled the sword away fast. You have to keep the cup in your mind at all times. When the ichor drips off it, that’s you using your life.”

  He crouched beside Ember. “Overflow isn’t supposed to hurt. It should feel like warmth—calm, steady, almost comforting. I’m guessing you felt that, right before it started burning?”

  Ember nodded weakly, swallowing hard. “Yeah.” His voice wavered. “How much did I use?”

  Chris shrugged. “No idea. Maybe a few months’ worth? I don’t really know how precise it is. It varies from person to person.”

  Ember managed a weak glare. “You know, for someone who acted all-knowing back in the city, you really don’t know a lot.”

  Chris laughed, unoffended. “Hey, I just said I knew enough to get us out alive. Never claimed to be an almanac of frontier wisdom.”

  Ember huffed a breath that was half a laugh. Then, still shaking, he hopped into the cart and reached for the sword again.

  “Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s try this again.”

  He closed his eyes.

  ?─????????─?

  Life isn’t some kind of grand destiny.

  It’s just a collection of decisions shaped by the moments that happen around us.

  Of Moon and Magic follows a silver-haired girl. Her mana was weak, but that never dulled her hunger for magic.

  We follow her steps. We weigh her choices. We sit with her loneliness. In a world where magic is everything, war is constant, and morality is little more than a neglected guideline.

  Will she become just another cog in the machine?

  Or will she be the one to end it all?

  Only one way to find out.

  Point of Interest:

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  ?─????????─?