The snow beneath Sparrow’s knees was still smooth and pristine, albeit a bit heavy against his trousers. If he walked just a few metres further, though, he’d come face to face with yet another vertical drop like the one at the edge of the village—and this one a drop even a fearless Bullet Ant Soldier could laugh at.

  Ninmah had warped him all the way out to a thin strip of rock protruding from the side of a towering blackrock mountain, and the hundred-metre stretch in front of him must’ve been a properly paved road a few decades ago; an avalanche must’ve smashed through the rock and created the chasm before him. To join both ends of the road, the Worm Mages had thrown dozens of frayed ropes across, creating what was the most hazardous-looking web of ‘bridges’ he wasn’t sure even the fleet-footed Silver Ant Battalions would dare challenge; the ropes weren’t pulled taut, the howling winds made them sway from side to side, and snow coated the top while icicles bled from the bottom.

  Even if he wasn’t already freezing in the blizzard, he doubted anyone from the Attini Empire would be able to balance their way across any one of the ropes.

  But, of course, the Worm Mages weren’t from the Attini Empire.

  Ninmah said, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she grinned back down at him.

  As he looked back up at her, tightening his jaw and gradually acclimating to the cold, she whispered in her warping voice to get the dozen children around them to disperse; six of them nodded and warped off to the side of the mountain, sitting and playing with strange string-like toys by the rocks, but the other six immediately jumped over to the edge of the cliff in front of the ropes, their heads leaning dangerously far forward.

  Those who were about to cross the chasm searched for a path with their eyes, and Sparrow zeroed in on the youngest one: a boy with his hood down and his long hair tied in buns, not looking even six of age. He was too young to be walking out in the harsh blizzard winds, let alone thinking about challenging the ropes while clad in clothes and cloaks twice the weight of his body.

  But again, the Worm Mages defied his expectations.

  The children not participating in the crossing whooped and cheered, opening dozens of wormholes overhead that warped the air around the chasm to push away the winds, warding them off. The children’s voices were also the signal for the challengers to go. All six of them stepped forward at once with slow exhales, and suddenly they were all at various distances away from the cliff, balancing casually on the swaying ropes.

  Sparrow widened his eyes as they kept warping leisurely forward, jumping five metres at a time, ten metres at a time. Most of them weren’t even walking normally with two feet on the ropes—some were skipping, some were hopping, some were crossing different ropes and laughing and trying to playfully nudge the other kids off—but of them were relaxed beyond reason, not taking the race across the chasm seriously whatsoever.

  Ninmah beamed proudly as the boy Sparrow had set his eyes on managed to finish first, a tiny pale dot on the opposite end of the chasm waving cheerily back at them, almost blending in perfectly with the snow. The rest of the children eventually caught up, and it became a rowdy mess of a snowball fight the remaining six children on his side were just fidgeting to join in. Ninmah whistled and jerked her head to the side, telling the rest of them to go, so they did with great pleasure; skipping, hopping, prancing their way across the ropes with ease, not a single child taking more than twenty seconds to reach the other side.

  And, while Sparrow kept staring at the children, completely dumbfounded, Ninmah sat down next to him and poked him with a smirk.

  she said, her voice bouncing with a playful, teasing lilt.

  He regarded her with a plain, dazed expression. She didn’t so much as curl a brow or twitch an eye in response; she was sincerely asking him to go and believing a thousand-metre drop wasn’t that high of a drop. Maybe could survive the fall with how high their toughness levels must be, but if he were to fall…

  …

  He gripped his fists and rose to two wobbly feet, exhaling sharply as the children had.

  Ninmah skipped a few steps back to give him a wide berth, cupping her hands before her mouth and cheering for him to make the passing. The children on the opposite side, too, noticed him staring at the ropes and ceased their carefree snowball fight—in its stead, they burst into yet another cheerful, vibrating song, more wormholes opening around the chasm to push away, to dampen the force of the howling winds.

  It wasn’t much, but he was grateful nonetheless.

  He’d been paying attention, and there weren’t any real techniques he could glean from the children’s movements but for their little short breaths before stepping onto the ropes. It to be an important move, then—a ritual to prepare their bodies for the warp.

  He was willing to bet his life on it.

  So, after completely expelling the air in his lungs and making his body as light as possible, he took one step forward onto the ropes—

  And he warped five metres uncontrollably, only the tip of his toes touching the rope he’d chosen for a split second before he felt himself plummeting.

  [Speed: 3 → 4]

  [Aura: 793 → 820]

  Points: 90 → 63]

  Hands shooting out on reflex, he snatched onto the rope and started swinging, legs dangling over an abyssal drop. The frayed rope wasn’t pulled taut at all, so there was plenty of slack for his body to sway around; the creaking wasn’t adding to his confidence, either. As the children erupted into great laughter, whooping and clapping to a rhythmic beat, he gritted his teeth and pulled himself up—struggling for a good thirty seconds before finally managing a strenuous balance with both his feet on the rope.

  It was only by pure luck that the ropes around him were as wide as his feet. Otherwise, he didn’t think he’d even be able to stand on them.

  Ninmah shouted over the cheers and the laughs, though he couldn’t spare a glance back to see if she was making any gestures at him.

  He clicked his tongue in irritation.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  But balancing across a swaying, rotting tightrope in the middle of a blizzard, was impossible.

  He took another step forward, warped three metres onto a different rope, and slipped again. Being ready to catch the rope as he fell had nothing to do with how much it hurt his palms, with how cold the snowflakes battering into his bare feet and hands were—it was than twice as difficult to pull himself up the second time, and his fingers even threatened to unfurl just as he was about to throw one foot onto the rope. Exhaustion bloomed in his chest like an inkblot spreading on a scroll; he couldn’t keep up with this endless cycle of walking, warping, and falling.

  And as he finally managed to stand again, holding both wobbly arms out as he tried to maintain his wire-thin balance…

  He found he couldn’t take another step forward.

  His muscles were locked. His nerves were electrified. Breathing in the snow was a pain, every breath drawn like daggers stabbed straight into his lungs, and all he could hear were the howls of the blizzard and the cheers from the children who didn’t understand what he understand—just what, exactly, was he missing that he was being outdone by a bunch of children half his age?

  He was a Bullet Ant Soldier, trained to traverse all sorts of difficult terrain, but it wasn’t like he was in this strength. Every military grunt and drone of the Attini Empire, regardless of their background, were put through the same training gauntlets as everyone else. It didn’t matter if they were orphans fleeing from the Swarm, children of peasants who needed the service allowance, or just fungus farmers who wanted a chance to make a better future for themselves; who fought on the frontlines had been put through the harsh training regiments that allowed them to survive the operations to receive an insect class system, so was all of that training for naught in this village?

  The hours he’d spent balancing atop a log while carrying two logs on his shoulders. The days he’d spent out in the pouring rain being roared at to finish his laps through the fungi forests. The weeks of lashing he’d endured whenever he’d failed to complete a regiment in time, the hunger he’d stifled whenever he’d been thrown into an isolation hole, the sharp aches and bruises where his nails had cracked—he’d pushed through all of it and became a soldier of the Attini Empire.

  How could he fear a simple thousand-metre drop?

  How could he be stuck on such a simple obstacle?

  How could he ever return to the Forward Army like this?

  A shudder rippled up his spine as he felt Ninmah grabbing his hand from behind, but he couldn’t look back. He couldn’t turn lest he risked spinning right off his rope. All he could do was clench his jaw and throat, trying to pull his back foot forward, taking one step at a time—

  she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand and holding him still. Her voice made the air curl around his ear; it was ticklish, almost. He didn’t let himself shudder again.

  He tightened his chest, trying to pull away, but Ninmah’s hand was locked. Her fingers were living worms, curled in a death grip around his—he’d have to warp if he wanted a chance at shaking her off.

  But if he warped now, he’d only have one hand to snatch onto a rope when he inevitably fell.

  The other would be busy holding onto her.

  He warp.

  she whispered again, reaching forward to curl her forearm over his eyes. Now he couldn’t see, and he couldn’t even try to jerk his head out of the way. He’d tip himself off balance if he did.

  she whispered,

  Ninmah chuckled softly, letting go of his wrist to cover his eyes with both hands.

  she said. try to meet us halfway, in the ‘in-between’, your instinct will handle the rest. It'll carry you the rest of the way through.”

  Without warning, Ninmah let out a wordless song in a worm’s low, thrumming voice.

  There was a shift in the winds, a distinct hum of power and weight that seemed to permeate the air. Her voice behind him was tangible, like the strumming of lute strings, a vibration that seemed to resonate with the blizzard itself—and the children on the other side decided this would be no one-girl performance. One by one, their warping voices joined the song, filling the sky with a slow-building rhythm that spoke… a story.

  The lyrics were indecipherable, he couldn’t catch a single ‘word’ they were singing, but he felt it was a ‘pretty’’ song.

  It was ‘comforting’.

  It was ‘soothing’.

  It was sung in a tongue that had always grated his ears and gave him a pounding headache, but that was because he’d always been listening to it thinking he had to decode it.

  But now his muscles were to unclench, his shoulders were to drop, he was not to hold his breath—

  And he took his first ‘slow’ step forward with his eyes closed, warping for the first time in a week.

  A wormhole didn’t open.

  He’d just taken a simple, normal step forward.

  He knew it, Ninmah knew it; she pulled her hands off his eyes and warped away with a low thrum, but still he didn’t try to open his eyes.

  The rope was straight, after all, and he already knew how to walk.

  ‘Balance’ wasn’t something anyone had to think about when walking.

  A strange tension began to uncoil in his chest as he took a few more steps forward, each bringing him closer and closer to the other end of the chasm. He didn’t start off by willing wormholes to open again and carry him great distances—in fact, he didn’t even to warp his first few steps after he successfully managed to stop himself from warping—but gradually, he pictured himself strolling across a wide, open plain. There were no trenches any mortars could be lurking in. No barbed spikes and traps to fall into. No mounds of dirt and soil giant bugs could be hiding behind. He imagined he was walking on the surface of the moon, because that was the only truly wide and open plain he could think of, and when he imagined warping was just like the moon under his feet instead of walking around the moon himself…

  He opened a wormhole, took one slow step through, and warped one metre forward, controlled.

  Two metres forward, controlled.

  Three metres forward, controlled.

  Five metres forward, controlled.

  And five metres was as far as his wormholes could warp him before his feet pressed into brittle snow, a dozen children running their heads into his stomach to tackle him to the ground.

  He'd done it.

  He'd it.

  He’d crossed the chasm.

  one of them shouted, making the rest disperse with a series of low-thrumming warps, and before he could even rub his eyes and sit up straight—nailed in his forehead by a snowball.

  The children floundered, disoriented, warping up and around the mounds of snow for their renewed snowball fight while they largely ignored him sitting in the middle of it all. It became apparent to him soon enough that their warping tongue was the only tongue they could speak, but even their space-twisting voices, he felt, were something he was beginning to understand.

  He recognised a few of the intonations and pronunciations in what the first child just shouted, though not completely as of yet.

  Ninmah said, sitting next to him and grinning with pearly white teeth.

  He stared at her for a moment, quiet, before falling backwards in the snow.

  He was too tired to even think about celebrating his minor victory.

  Ninmah sat down next to him, shrugging at him with a lopsided smile.

  He answered with a fierce scowl as she dumped three tiny snack worms onto his chest, making her laugh.

  He didn’t bother finishing that line of thought as he shook his head, knocked the snow off his face, and forced himself to sit up straight. The children were still play-fighting, Ninmah was still nagging at him to stay down, but he felt more energetic than ever—he wanted to try crossing the chasm once again.

  He tossed her snack worms into his mouth and chewed.

  [Points: 63 → 64]

  Ninmah said, poking him with yet another smirk.

  A teasing smirk.

  A somewhat ‘annoying’ smirk.

  So he shook his head a few more times, crawling onto his feet as he caught a stray snowball that would’ve flown right into his face.

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