Deep breaths. In, out. In . . . out. This was not the time to panic. He had surprised the Valkir; the man was just suspicious.

Asher stared at the assassin, close enough to see the traces of stubble on his chin. The man was younger than he had initially thought, only in his late twenties or so. He also noticed they shared the same stormy gray eyes, which he found disturbing for some reason.

"I will let you explain yourself now," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "And do not try to yell or run, else you won't live to see the morning."

Asher nodded, not bothering to hide his fear. The Valkir made a subtle motion with his hand, and Asher was once again able to speak.

"Why were you following me?" the man asked.

"On my honor, I swear I wasn't. I had a nightmare and came outside to get some fresh air. I live in that house," Asher finished weakly, indicating Henry's house with a jerk of his head.

"Is that so?" Something flashed through the Valkir's eyes. Surprise? "What was your dream of?"

"I--" Asher stopped himself. He had a bad feeling about the way the man was looking at him. Had he said something wrong?

"Magic," he blurted. The instant the words left his mouth, he regretted them. That may have been the worst excuse he could've used. But instinct told him to lie. "I dreamed a magic-user attacked Aleran."

The Valkir raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He looked behind him once, and his expression changed. Impatient.

"I truly don't have the time for this," the man muttered to himself. He waved his arm, and the force holding Asher dissipated. Asher stumbled back, caught off guard. "Go. I have other matters to take care of. Don't let me catch you near me again." The threat didn't have much anger behind it; the Valkir wasn't even looking at the boy. With a swish of his cloak, he began to walk back into the fog. Just before he was consumed by the mist, he turned his head.

"Few know it, but not all magic is evil. We know how to control it."

"In . . . in that case, perhaps my fears have been misplaced." Asher said carefully, wondering why the man would bother telling him such a thing.

"Indeed." And with that, the Valkir was gone, leaving Asher with only his troubled thoughts.

<><><>

"Asher!"

The thin veil of sleep was whisked away from Asher's mind like a paper in the wind. He opened his eyes. He was still sitting outside, facing the empty street. The fog had not lifted--if anything, it had only gotten thicker.

"What are you doing out here, boy?" Henry was standing just outside the front door; Asher could see Wade peering over his father's shoulder. Nobody else was in sight. "We were worried you had been kidnapped!"

"Er--" Asher stammered, looking around. Though he couldn't see the sky, the creamy white color of the fog told him the sun had fully risen. The air was still freezing, and his face and skin were numb from the cold. "I had a nightmare and went outside to calm myself. I suppose I fell asleep."

In truth, he had been keeping vigil over the house, terrified the Valkir had found out what he was and decided to attack him in his sleep. Or worse, Henry and Wade. At some point, however, exhaustion must have overwhelmed him.

"Get back inside and clean yourself up. When you've finished, come meet Wade and I at the forge."

"Yes, sir."

The blacksmith set down the path. Wade followed somewhat reluctantly, giving Asher a concerned look. Asher gave him a reassuring smile--or tried to: his face, stiff with the cold, didn't seem to be working correctly.

Slightly more at ease now that the night had passed, Asher got up, stretched his frozen muscles, and went indoors. A few smouldering lumps of charcoal remained in the fireplace, and Asher squatted beside them, enjoying the heat they exuded.

Once he'd warmed up a little and his fingers weren't quite so blue, he went up to his room and changed. Then he went to the shallow water basin and washed his face, raking his fingers through his black hair. It was getting long.

He sighed and leaned against the basin, feeling a little ill. The half-hour or so of sleep he'd gotten seemed to have clouded his mind instead of refreshing it. In his fatigue, he could feel the barrier he usually kept between himself and the magic starting to slip. He could feel it thrumming through his veins, pulsing through the floorboards. There were traces of it everywhere, in and on everything. He could even feel slight vibrations of it in the air. It was an odd sensation, like the world had opened itself up to reveal the hidden currents beneath it.

Asher closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to sever the connection. He couldn't afford to be so exposed to magic, otherwise he might lose control of it.

He hesitated before leaving the room, reluctant to start the day. He kept thinking of the Valkir, and the way the man had let him go so easily. It bothered him, but he couldn't think of anything he had said that would reveal his secret.

All he could do was hope that he never saw the man again.

Before he left, Asher took a carrot from the larder and had a small breakfast. With some food in his stomach, he felt a little better about life. He was about to open the front door when he heard a strange rushing sound, similar to that of a wave crashing onto a beach.

It all happened so fast. A blast of blazing heat and light threw Asher backwards. His head slammed against the table, making his vision flicker alarmingly. A great splintering, tearing sound filled his ears, and chunks of flaming wood and debris were suddenly falling all around him.

There wasn't time to think. Asher pulled himself under the table, his head spinning, as fire and smoke filled the air. He heard something strike the wood directly above his head, but the table held.

And then the barrage ended. An intense heat filled the air, making it hard for Asher to breathe. Knowing that the the smoke would suffocate him if he remained where he was, he kicked a large section of burning wood away from the table and crawled out. Fire surrounded him, and the exposed skin on his face and arms felt like it was blistering off. Above him, he could see the entirety of the upper floor was gone, like a giant had carelessly swept it away. A few tendrils of fog had reached down from the exposed sky, only to be evaporated in moments.

The remaining floor was engulfed in flames: there was no way Asher could escape without burning to death. He had no other options. Cringing away from the heat, he thrust his hand up into the air and thought of rain.

Everything darkened. Fog obscured the sky, but Asher knew he had succeeded: he could feel the shift in the air. With a thunderous crash, a flash of blinding light lit up his surroundings as the first bolt of lightning struck.

And then the storm began. Sheets of water poured from the sky, cutting through the fog like knives. The flames fought the rain, hissing in protest, but proved no match against the water. Clouds of steam replaced the smoke, only to be swept away by the tempest.

Asher didn't move. The world tilted sickeningly as the magic he'd expended took its toll. A bout of dizziness struck him, and he fell to his knees lest he faint. To create a full-on thunderstorm out of nothing--limitless as magic was, the human body could only handle so much.

When he recovered, Asher staggered to his feet and looked around, adrenaline still singing through his veins. The wind tore at his hair and clothes, and he was drenched in rain.

The Valkir had to be the one responsible for the explosion. There was no other person that could do such a thing.

Wade. The thought sent a flash of panic through Asher's mind. And Henry, too. Were they alright? He was sure that the Valkir was not near, otherwise he would have attacked by now. Could the assassin have . . . ?

Asher needed to know. He tensed, ready to run, but he already knew it would take him too long to get to the forge. Trembling, he grasped for the magic again, daring to try something he wasn't even sure was possible. It wasn't hard--in his current emotional state, it was all he could do not to unleash it again. He conjured a mental image of the forge and opened his eyes just in time to see the world around him shatter, leaving a dark void in its place. Before he even had time to be afraid, his surroundings resolved and he found himself standing right next to the furnace. Asher reeled and fell to his hands and knees; his vision blurred. He was dimly aware the rain had ceased; his storm must've been focused over Henry's house.

"Ash?" The voice was filled with fear and a desperation that sent alarm shooting through Asher's body. Something was wrong. He blinked the darkness from his eyes and looked up.

Asher turned and saw Wade kneeling next to Henry. The blacksmith was unmoving, lying in the center of a growing puddle of dark liquid.

Blood.