Consciousness returned in fragments, probability shards reassembling into something resembling reality. First came sound—the creak of wood, the snap of canvas, the rhythmic slosh of water against a hull. Then sensation—the gentle rock of a ship in motion, rough blankets against my skin, the throbbing pain behind my eyes that always followed a major probability manipulation.
I kept my eyes closed, assessing my situation through other senses. The probability field around me felt different—more fluid, less structured than on land. We were at sea, then. The Tempest's Gambit had made it out of the harbor. That was something.
I calculated the odds that I was in immediate danger: 17%. Low enough to risk opening my eyes.
The ceiling above me was wooden, crossbeamed with polished teak. Not a prison cell, then. Not an Imperial interrogation room. Just a ship's cabin—small but well-appointed, with brass fittings that gleamed in the light from a porthole.
"Welcome back to the land of the probable," said a familiar voice.
I turned my head—too quickly, sending a fresh wave of pain crashing through my skull—to see Lyra Fortunus sitting in a chair beside the bunk. She was studying a complex navigational chart, her probability compass hovering above it, the needle spinning in patterns that would be meaningless to most but told her everything about the currents we were sailing through.
"How long?" My voice came out as a rasp.
"Three days." She set the chart aside and leaned forward, studying me with those sea-green eyes. "You pushed yourself too far with that last manipulation. I've seen probability backlash before, but never quite so... spectacular."
Three days. That was longer than usual. The probability debt must have been substantial. I did a quick internal inventory: headache (severe but manageable), nausea (present but fading), limbs (weak but functional). No permanent damage, then. Just the usual cost of doing business with probability.
"The Trackers?" I asked, pushing myself up to a sitting position despite my body's protests.
"Lost them before we even cleared the harbor. Your distraction was effective." She handed me a cup of water, which I accepted gratefully. "Though I suspect that was their intention."
I paused mid-sip. "What do you mean?"
"The blonde one. The one you recognized. She could have ordered her people to commandeer another vessel and pursue us. She didn't."
I remembered Seraphina's smile as we escaped. Not the frustrated grimace of someone whose quarry was getting away, but the satisfied smirk of someone whose plan was unfolding exactly as calculated.
"Seraphina Certus," I said, the name feeling strange on my tongue after so many years. "We trained together under Professor Verus. She was always brilliant at probability calculation, but she lacked the instinct for manipulation. Too rigid in her thinking."
"And now she's an Imperial Probability Tracker." Lyra's tone was neutral, but her eyes were sharp with interest. "Convenient."
"You think she let us escape on purpose."
"I think nothing happens by pure chance in our world, Dante. You of all people should know that."
She was right, of course. In a world governed by probability currents, true randomness was as mythical as the ancient gods some still worshipped. Everything followed patterns if you knew how to look for them. And Seraphina had always been exceptional at pattern recognition.
I swung my legs over the side of the bunk, testing my strength. Weak, but I could stand if needed. "Where are we headed?"
"The Fortuna Archipelago. My home." Lyra returned to her chart, adjusting the compass slightly. "Specifically, to the Isle of Contingency. If anyone can help us understand what's happening to the probability currents—and to you—it's the Probability Sages there."
The Probability Sages. I'd heard of them, of course—reclusive scholars who had studied the fundamental nature of probability for centuries, independent of Imperial oversight or Theocratic dogma. They were said to possess knowledge that predated the Probability Event itself.
"I never agreed to go anywhere with you," I pointed out, though the argument felt hollow even to me. It wasn't like I could swim back to shore at this point.
Lyra's smile was knowing. "You jumped onto my ship rather than face Seraphina and her Trackers. I'd say that constitutes agreement."
"I was choosing the option least likely to result in my imprisonment or death."
"And that calculation hasn't changed, has it?" She gestured toward the porthole, through which I could see nothing but open water. "The Empire wants you, Dante. They've wanted you since you escaped from Professor Verus's laboratory five years ago. The question is: why?"
I stared at her, reassessing. "You know about that."
"I know there was an incident. I know you were the only survivor, besides Verus himself, who disappeared the same night. I know the Empire has been hunting you ever since, quietly but persistently." She leaned forward. "What I don't know is what happened that night, or why the Empire is so interested in one rogue probability manipulator when they have an entire division of mathematicians at their disposal."
The familiar cold weight settled in my stomach at the mention of that night. Fragments of memory—the laboratory in flames, the screams of the other students, the look of betrayal on Seraphina's face when she realized what I'd done. What I'd become.
"That's not a story I share," I said flatly. "Especially not with someone who kidnapped me."
"Rescued," she corrected. "And I'm not asking for the story now. Just acknowledging that we both have questions that need answers." She stood, rolling up her chart. "Rest. Regain your strength. We'll reach the Isle of Contingency in four days if the currents hold."
She moved toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Zephyr will be bringing you food shortly. Try not to antagonize him. He wanted to throw you overboard when you started affecting the probability currents in your sleep."
"Affecting them how?"
"Objects in your vicinity kept rearranging themselves. Quite disconcerting to watch a man's boots walk across the floor with no one in them." There was a hint of amusement in her voice, but her eyes were serious. "Your abilities are evolving, Dante. Or destabilizing. Either way, you need help understanding what's happening before it gets worse."
With that, she left, closing the door behind her. I heard no lock turn—either she trusted me not to do anything stupid, or she knew there was nowhere for me to go. Probably both.
I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes and extending my senses into the probability field around me. It was different here at sea—more fluid, less structured than on land. Probability currents flowed like actual ocean currents, intersecting and diverging in complex patterns. I could feel the ship moving through them, guided by Lyra's navigation.
And I could feel something else, too. A disturbance in the field, centered on me. A kind of... ripple, extending outward from my position. It wasn't something I was consciously creating. It was just... happening.
That was new. And concerning.
I opened my eyes as the door swung open again. The tall, dark-skinned man from the dock—Zephyr—entered carrying a tray of food. His left arm was covered in the intricate tattoos of a navigator, though different in style from Lyra's. His expression was carefully neutral, but I could feel the wariness in his probability field.
"Captain says you need to eat," he said, setting the tray down on a small table. "Though personally, I think we should have left you in Alea."
"Charming bedside manner," I replied, eyeing the food—some kind of fish stew, bread, and what looked like fermented mare's milk, a specialty of the northern provinces. My stomach growled, reminding me that it had been three days since I'd eaten. "Did you draw the short straw for babysitting duty?"
"I volunteered." He remained standing, arms crossed. "Someone needs to make sure you don't sink us all with your unstable manipulations."
I raised an eyebrow as I reached for the bread. "Is that likely?"
"You tell me. You're the one who was making objects float while unconscious."
I paused mid-bite. "That's... not something I've done before."
"Well, you're doing it now." He nodded toward the corner of the cabin, where a small wooden figurine—a carved sea serpent—was hovering about an inch above the shelf it should have been resting on.
I hadn't noticed it. Hadn't felt myself manipulating anything. Yet there it was, defying gravity in clear violation of probability norms.
I focused, trying to release whatever unconscious hold I had on the object. Nothing happened. If anything, it rose slightly higher.
"Interesting," Zephyr said, watching my reaction. "You can't control it, can you?"
"It's not me," I insisted, though the evidence suggested otherwise. "I'm not actively manipulating anything right now."
"And yet." He gestured at the floating figurine. "This is why the captain's theory about you is probably correct. Your connection to the probability field is changing. Just like the currents themselves are changing."
I set down the bread, my appetite suddenly diminished. "What exactly did Lyra tell you about me?"
"That you're an Improbability Mage. That you don't just calculate and adjust existing probability like Imperial mathematicians—you create improbabilities. Force events that shouldn't be possible." He studied me with narrowed eyes. "She thinks you might be connected to the disturbances we've been tracking in the Probability Sea. Personally, I think you're the cause of them."
"Based on a floating trinket?"
"Based on the wake you leave in the probability field. I can sense it, you know. All navigators can. It's like... a tear in the fabric of reality, following behind you. Small, but growing."
That was the second time someone had mentioned a probability wake. First Lyra, now Zephyr. And if they were right, if I was somehow damaging the probability field just by existing...
No. That couldn't be right. Professor Verus had assured me that my abilities, while unusual, were just an extension of normal probability manipulation. A rare talent, but not fundamentally different from what the Imperial mathematicians did.
Then again, Professor Verus had lied about a lot of things.
"If I'm such a danger, why bring me aboard at all?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Zephyr's expression shifted slightly. "Because the captain believes the Probability Sages can help you. And because she thinks you might be the key to understanding what's happening to the currents."
"And what do you think?"
"I think you're a loaded die in a high-stakes game." He moved toward the door. "And I've never been fond of cheaters."
With that, he left, closing the door firmly behind him.
I turned my attention back to the floating figurine. It was still hovering, unaffected by my attempts to release it. I reached out physically instead, plucking it from the air. It felt normal in my hand—just carved wood, nothing special about it. I set it back on the shelf, and for a moment it stayed put.
Then, slowly, it rose again, hovering exactly as before.
"Well, that's new," I muttered to myself.
I'd experienced plenty of side effects from probability manipulation over the years—headaches, nosebleeds, temporary sensory distortions. But never unconscious, persistent manipulation. Never effects that I couldn't control or terminate.
I turned back to the food, forcing myself to eat despite my unease. I needed to regain my strength. And I needed to think.
If Lyra and Zephyr were right, if my connection to the probability field was changing, becoming less stable... that would explain the increasing difficulty I'd had controlling my manipulations over the past few months. The way simple adjustments had sometimes cascaded into larger effects. The growing frequency of probability backlash.
But why? What had changed?
The obvious answer was the laboratory incident five years ago. Whatever had happened that night—whatever Professor Verus had done to me—had fundamentally altered my relationship with probability. But the effects had been manageable until recently. Something else must have triggered this escalation.
I finished the stew and leaned back, closing my eyes again. The ship rocked gently beneath me, the probability currents flowing around us in their complex dance. I could feel Lyra somewhere above, her consciousness brushing against the currents as she navigated. Zephyr too, his presence a more rigid structure in the field.
And beyond them, the vast expanse of the Probability Sea, its currents stretching to the horizon and beyond. But there was something wrong with the patterns. Subtle distortions, eddies where there should be none, currents flowing against their natural direction. Like a great machine with gears slightly out of alignment.
I opened my eyes, unsettled. I'd never been able to sense probability currents at such a distance before. My awareness had always been limited to my immediate surroundings. Yet now I could feel the patterns of the entire sea, stretching for miles in all directions.
My abilities weren't just becoming unstable. They were expanding.
I stood, testing my legs. Weak, but functional. I needed to see more than the inside of this cabin. Needed to understand where I was and what was happening.
The door wasn't locked, as I'd suspected. I opened it to find a narrow corridor lined with other cabin doors. At the end, a ladder led up to what I presumed was the main deck. I made my way toward it, one hand on the wall for support.
The fresh air hit me like a physical force as I emerged onto the deck. The sky was clear blue, the sun high overhead. The Tempest's Gambit cut through the waves with impressive speed, its blue-green sails full of wind. The crew—about twenty men and women of various backgrounds, judging by their appearance—moved about their tasks with practiced efficiency.
And all around us, invisible to normal perception but blindingly obvious to my senses, flowed the probability currents of the Probability Sea. Complex patterns of potential and certainty, shifting and changing with the wind and waves. Beautiful, in their way. But wrong. Distorted. Like a familiar melody played slightly out of tune.
"You should be resting," came Lyra's voice from behind me.
I turned to see her at the helm, one hand on the ship's wheel, the other holding her probability compass. The needle spun in complex patterns, guiding her through the invisible currents.
"I needed air," I replied, moving to join her. "And answers."
"I'm not sure I have those yet." She adjusted course slightly, following some pattern in the compass that I couldn't decipher. "But I'm working on it."
I leaned against the railing beside the helm, looking out at the endless blue. "Your navigator thinks I'm causing the probability disturbances."
"Zephyr is cautious by nature. And he's lost friends to the changing currents." She glanced at me. "But he's not entirely wrong. You do leave a wake in the probability field. I've just never seen anything like it before."
"Neither have I," I admitted. "And I've never had... uncontrolled effects before. Not like this."
"The floating objects?" At my surprised look, she smiled. "Zephyr told me. It's interesting. Most probability manipulators can only affect things through deliberate calculation and focus. Your abilities seem to be becoming more... intuitive."
"Or more dangerous."
"Perhaps both." She studied me for a moment. "How much do you actually know about what you are, Dante? About Improbability Mages?"
I hesitated. Professor Verus had told me very little, preferring to train me through practical application rather than theory. And after the laboratory incident, I'd avoided anyone who might know more, fearing discovery by the Empire.
"Not much," I admitted finally. "Professor Verus wasn't big on explanations. He preferred results."
Lyra nodded, as if this confirmed something for her. "The Probability Sages have records dating back to before the Probability Event. Histories, theories, accounts of others with abilities like yours. If anyone can help you understand what's happening, it's them."
"And in return, you want me to help you understand what's happening to the probability currents."
"A fair exchange, don't you think?"
Before I could answer, a shout came from the crow's nest above. "Ship approaching from the northeast! Imperial colors!"