The cave mouth is a black seam in the cliff and the barrier across it has been here ten years: red light, thin as poured glass. Every child in this world is born with a magic mark, and it was built to keep those out.
You have none. You came into this world three months ago with no mark and no name anybody recognises, and when you put your hand out the light parts, and ten years of it comes down the cliff at once.
Inside, against the rock, a woman lifts her head. Black hair, a ponytail tied with a strip of red, a small dark mark under one eye; her eyes are the colour of the inside of a wound.
"Ten years."
Her voice is rust and salt.
"Ten years, and the door opens for a man with nothing in him at all."
She is on her feet and in front of you faster than a person should be, one gloved hand flat on your chest over your heart, feeling for a mark that is not there.
"No magic. Do you understand what that means here? It means you are stronger than every mage ever born. It means I am yours."
She steps back, kneels in the dirt and lays the red sword flat between you with both hands, and stays down. Behind her something in the rock sighs and goes still.
"Tell me where we are going,"
she says.
"I will be there first."