Chapter Six: Rules Everyone Breaks
Maelra believed in rules the way mountains believed in gravity.
They were not suggestions.
They were not metaphors.
They were facts that would kill you if you forgot them.
"Rule one," she said, pacing the narrow room like a caged thought, "the world does not care what you meant to do."
Kerris raised a hand. "Counterpoint: the world seems deeply invested in ruining my plans specifically."
Maelra ignored him.
Aerin sat on the floor, legs folded, hands clenched tight in their lap to keep from touching anything. The stone beneath them hummed faintly, aware, curious.
Maelra stopped in front of them. "You feel that?"
Aerin nodded. "It's… louder inside."
"That's because you're paying attention," Maelra said. "Listening sharpens the echo. It does not dull it."
She turned sharply. "Rule two: attention is an invitation."
Kerris frowned. "So you're saying the floor is eavesdropping."
"Yes."
"…Rude."
Maelra picked up a small stone from the table and tossed it to Aerin.
Aerin caught it instinctively.
The moment their fingers closed, the hum spiked—heat flaring through the stone, pressure rolling up their arm like a held breath.
"Don't bind," Maelra snapped.
"I'm not!"
The stone vibrated, hairline cracks whispering across its surface.
Aerin dropped it with a yelp.
The stone hit the floor and went still. Dead weight. Silent.
Aerin's heart hammered.
Maelra watched closely. Too closely.
"Rule three," she said quietly, "every echo pushes back."
Aerin swallowed. "It didn't hurt."
"No," Maelra agreed. "It remembered you."
That was worse.
Kerris leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "So just to recap: don't listen too hard, don't touch anything, and if we do both, the ground might decide we're interesting."
"Correct."
"That seems… unfair."
Maelra's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "The world was here first."
She moved to a low shelf and pulled down a cracked slate etched with old, uneven markings. She set it between them.
"This is as close as you'll get to practice," she said. "No chanting. No carving. Just… breathe."
Aerin stared at the slate. "And do what?"
"Nothing," Maelra said. "That's the lesson."
Silence stretched.
Aerin breathed.
The hum rose.
Not fast. Not violent. Like a tide pulling at their ribs. Images brushed the edge of thought—hands carving the slate, arguments over symbols, a laugh caught mid-breath—
A sharp pain lanced behind Aerin's eyes.
They gasped.
Maelra's stone hand slammed down on the slate.
The echo collapsed instantly.
Aerin reeled, clutching their head. When the pain faded, something felt… thin. Like a string pulled too tight.
"What did you feel?" Maelra asked.
"Someone laughing," Aerin said. "I don't know why."
Maelra nodded grimly. "That's how it starts."
Kerris stared between them. "Okay. I see the problem now. Very haunted. Ten out of ten atmosphere."
He stepped forward suddenly. "But—hypothetically—what if someone without the listening thing tried?"
Maelra turned slowly.
"No."
"Just curiosity!"
"No."
Kerris grinned. "Too late."
He cleared his throat, placed his palm dramatically on the slate, and said, in his most solemn voice, "Oh ancient floor, I beseech—"
Nothing happened.
He frowned. "Hm."
He tried again, louder. "OH ANCIENT—"
The slate cracked.
Not with power. With stress.
Maelra swore.
Aerin yelped as the hum exploded outward, uncontrolled—emotion, memory, pressure slamming into the room like a thrown door. Kerris stumbled back, face draining of color.
"I don't—" he gasped. "Why am I—sad?"
Maelra grabbed him, hauling him away as the echo surged.
"Aerin!" she barked. "Bind it or break it!"
"I don't know how!"
"Then choose!"
Aerin reached out—not to command, not to pull—but to steady. To remember standing. To remember weight without movement.
The echo shuddered… then sank.
The slate crumbled into harmless dust.
Silence rushed back in, heavy and complete.
Kerris slid down the wall, breathing hard. "Okay," he said weakly. "New rule. I do not touch magic things."
Maelra rounded on Aerin, eyes fierce. "What did you lose?"
Aerin blinked. "What?"
"What memory slipped," Maelra demanded.
Aerin searched their mind.
There was a gap.
Small. Almost unnoticeable.
"I… can't remember what I ate this morning."
Maelra exhaled slowly.
"That's the mercy," she said. "For now."
Aerin's hands shook.
Kerris looked between them, humor gone for once. "So the rules?"
Maelra met Aerin's gaze.
"Rule four," she said. "Everyone breaks the rules."
She gestured at the dust on the floor.
"Rule five," she added softly, "the world always collects."