“Hey, Prim…

  There are two ways to lose yourself.

  One is to pretend you’ve become someone else.

  The other is to hide from who you already are.”

  I didn’t sleep.

  Not much, at least.

  My mind kept circling back to my past—to my early days at the lyceum.

  The way I dressed. The foods I liked. My ideas about life, love—about happiness itself.

  They were all different then, weren’t they?

  Am I still myself?

  My eyes stay half-lidded as I stare up at the sky, stirred awake fully only by the low murmur of voices around me. I sit up and glance about.

  Looks like I’m the last to rise.

  A mug nudges into my peripheral vision.

  “Morning, Cat,” I murmur, accepting it with a small smile as I look up at her.

  The soup is different today—warm, smoky, not quite meaty. I finish the mug before I can place the flavor.

  As I gather my bedroll, I notice Cattleya has rolled her jacket into a makeshift pillow beneath my head. A pang of guilt tugs at me—her brand-new jacket is going to end up wrinkled because I couldn’t stop thinking.

  With my pack settled again, I approach her. She’s browsing one of the caravan carts, tail idly swaying.

  “Thanks,” I say, tilting my head as I return the jacket.

  She smiles warmly and slips it back on in a single, practiced motion.

  The scent of spices and herbs drifts from the cart beside her. Guess I know why she got up early.

  I chuckle softly, watching her for a moment.

  Before long, the caravan is on the move again, our cart taking the lead.

  “I was hoping linking up with them would make our job easier,” Ulric says, scanning down the line.

  “Instead, it’s twice the work. Four carts. Five of us, plus the old man. Twelve in their group, and maybe three who can actually swing a sword.” He grimaces. “Can’t count on the rest for much more than holding steel and looking brave.”

  “We shaved a day off by pushing hard the past two days,” he continues, thoughtful. “But with a group this size? It’s morning of day four. Best case, we reach Yunhai late on the seventh.”

  “Supplies’re solid, at least,” Veil cuts in. “They’re sharin’, so we’ll save our own for the way back.”

  Ulric exhales. Not enough to change much.

  “We can’t abandon them,” he says finally. “So we do our best, and we hope yesterday was the worst of it.”

  We break formation.

  Ulric walks beside the ironback at the front, Veil not far behind him, flanked by the few caravaneers who carry weapons. Cinna stays near the middle, close to the leader.

  Cattleya takes the rear, as always.

  And me—

  I fall into step not far ahead of her, my gaze drifting sideways.

  Kiereth.

  He walks at a deliberate pace, slower than the rest of us, yet covering more ground with each step. His movements are economical, hands folded loosely behind his back, hood low.

  I try to match his stride. It feels awkward.

  So instead, I drift closer.

  I tilt my head, peering up beneath his hood. Dark stubble. A serene, distant smile. His eyes remain hidden.

  He turns his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his features.

  “Hey,” I say suddenly. “What am I?”

  He hums, thoughtful, straightening as his gaze returns to the road.

  “You are a young scholar,” he says calmly. “One hungry for knowledge—who allowed that hunger to be dulled by fear.”

  I flinch.

  “You have risked more than most would ever admit,” he continues, unbothered. “Sacrificed even more, all in service to your craft. Why hesitate now?”

  The words settle uncomfortably close to truth.

  “So you could sense all of that,” I say quietly. “About me.”

  He inclines his head, a gentle smile returning.

  “But what are… we?” I press. “Not as individuals.”

  He draws a measured breath before answering.

  “What is an Altari? A Vesfel? A Varcen?” he asks. “Beings who walk the land and partake of the goddess’s bounty—governed by emotions powerful enough that we feel the need to name them, just to keep them in check.”

  I nod slowly.

  “That’s not wrong,” I admit. “But it’s not quite what I meant.”

  I hesitate, choosing my words.

  “Were you also born…” I pause. “…normal? And met Aeris later?”

  He chuckles softly.

  “Yes. That is the way of it. Our other halves are not born, nor do they die.” His voice grows distant. “Our meeting was so long ago that I no longer remember it.”

  “So you changed too?” I ask.

  “I believe I did,” he replies serenely. “But the how has faded. Too many emotions. Too many memories stretched across a mortal mind.”

  “And how many of us are there?”

  That earns a proper glance.

  “I am glad,” he says lightly, “that the fear I sensed before no longer hinders your curiosity.”

  He looks ahead again.

  “You are the fifth I have met in my travels. The one before you was three years ago. The others…” He sighs. “Distant memories.”

  “Does the name Lumoria mean anything to you?” I ask, sharper now.

  “Lumoria?” He rolls the word across his tongue. “It sounds familiar… but no. I cannot say it does.” He smiles faintly. “Though I should remind you—my memory is unreliable.”

  “I see.”

  Questions crowd my thoughts.

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  “Has fear dulled your tongue again?” he asks gently. “Do not worry. Our society has far greater need of seekers like you than of relics of faith like me.”

  I flinch.

  “…Why haven’t you tried reconnecting with your family?” I ask before I can stop myself. “If I had any left, I’d still—”

  I stop.

  His expression softens, something sad passing beneath the calm.

  “There are questions I cannot answer, young lady,” he says quietly. “That is one of them.”

  He exhales.

  “The man beneath these robes is no longer the one who once shared their table.”

  …Yeah.

  I know exactly what he means.

  The silence stretches. I sense his attention drift back toward me.

  “No further questions?” he asks, a hint of playfulness slipping into his voice.

  I chuckle softly.

  “I need to… organize my thoughts a bit. It would be easier if I had paper. Something to write with.”

  I pause, then glance at him again.

  “I used to think writing about it would be dangerous,” I admit. “Just another thing for others to find. If telling a handful of people is hard enough… I can’t imagine explaining it to the whole world.”

  That earns a thoughtful hum.

  “Men fear what they cannot name,” he says calmly, eyes still on the road. “What resists easy labels is often branded a threat.”

  He continues, voice steady.

  “It was once the task of faith to temper that fear. To teach that all who walk in the goddess’s light are equal.”

  A quiet sadness slips into his expression as he glances my way.

  “Alas… faith that does not serve coin has little place in our world now. I can no longer guide the masses—only those I happen to meet along the road.”

  “We’ve known each other less than a day,” I say lightly, trying to ease the weight of it, “and it already feels like much longer than that.”

  “So it is,” he replies, smiling. After a beat—“So it is.”

  I hesitate, then ask,

  “So… always on the road? Never settling anywhere? Don’t you miss having a home? Somewhere to return to?”

  “I have learned to live with only what the goddess grants me,” he answers. “Were clothing not a matter of custom, I would have shed even that.”

  He pauses.

  “Attachment is the root of most suffering—the desire for permanence and control in a world that offers neither.”

  Then he stops and looks at me again.

  “Of course,” he adds gently, “I would not advise you to follow such a path. Especially not now.”

  My cheeks warm at that.

  “They’re… good friends,” I say quietly, eyes dropping to the road.

  “Treasure them,” he replies.

  The road stretches on. As the sky deepens into vivid orange, the caravan peels away from the path, carts turning inward to form a loose circle on a patch of grass beside it.

  The moment I set my pack down, I feel a yawn—and a familiar weight latching onto my arm.

  “Hey,” I murmur, reaching up to pat the top of Cattleya’s head. “Tired?”

  “Mm.” She hums lazily, eyes already drooping shut.

  “...Cat, did you—?” I start, then stop myself. She looks exhausted as it is.

  She stayed up all night with me. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t complain.

  I help her shrug out of her pack and set our bedrolls down side by side near the cart.

  “Here,” I say, unclasping my cloak and draping it over her like a blanket.

  She sniffs it once, then tugs it tight around herself, smiling faintly.

  …I really wish she wouldn’t sniff everything she comes across.

  I chuckle under my breath and head toward the main fire. Veil’s there, helping the caravan cook, a large pot steadily filling with ingredients.

  “Couple minutes yet, cove,” Veil says without looking up. He jerks his chin toward Ulric. “We’re sittin’ comfy tonight. Feel free t’ nick some fruit if you’re peckish—goes off faster’n the rest.”

  I shake my head and settle onto the grass nearby, eyes idly following the flames.

  “Hey, Veil?” I glance up. “Mind if I talk while you work?”

  “Tha won’t bother me,” he replies easily. “Speak.”

  “What you said about the saint earlier… where’d that come from? And is it really true he’s lived that long?”

  Veil snorts softly.

  “Rumor’s rumor, cove. Same folk tellin’ tales ‘bout bogeymen and headless walkers.” He shrugs. “Still… bit uncanny when someone lines up with it that close. Maybe not th’ age part, but—” He waves a hand. “Is what it is.”

  “And where’d you hear it?” I press.

  He smirks. “Oh, y’know. Roads. Camps. Mouths that don’t know when t’ shut.”

  I hum and let my gaze drift. It settles on Kiereth—legs crossed, eyes closed. Meditating, maybe.

  His words echo back to me. My fear.

  “You get on with th’ mad old monk, then?” Veil asks, tone teasing.

  “He has… a lot of knowledge,” I say carefully. It’s true enough.

  “That so?” Veil dumps the chopped vegetables into the now-bubbling pot. Another cook arrives with strips of meat; Veil hands him the knife without ceremony.

  “You’ve known Cattleya a while, haven’t you?” I ask more quietly.

  Veil wipes his hands on a cloth and drops down beside me, grin sharp and knowing.

  “Ahh. There it is. That’s what you meant t’ ask.”

  I don’t deny it.

  “Aye. Long enough,” he says, glancing toward Cattleya—already asleep, bundled in my cloak. “Didn’t work fer th’ same outfits often, but paths crossed plenty.”

  “What was she like?” I ask.

  That gives him pause. His brows lift as he thinks.

  “Just as ruthless as she is now,” he says slowly. “But colder back then. Proper ice queen.”

  He huffs a quiet laugh.

  “Few lads tried their luck—didn’t even get a look, never mind a smile.”

  He shifts his grip on the ladle.

  “Had some arrangement with a big name. Swam in coin, kept folk at arm’s length.” He shakes his head. “Did her job, went home. No fuss. No ties.”

  The stew bubbles between them for a moment.

  “Thing is… that was already better than she used to be.”

  Veil exhales through his nose, almost amused.

  “Ain’t been like that lately, though.”

  He clears his throat and turns back to the pot.

  “Eh. Best I don’t say more. Start talkin’ shite if I keep goin’.”

  “Not my story t’ tell anyway.”

  After a moment, he glances back at me, expression softening.

  “Go on. I’ll bring you two a mug when it’s ready.”

  “Thanks, Veil,” I murmur.

  He gives a brief nod and turns back to the fire.

  I return to my bedroll and sit beside her.

  For a long while, I just watch her sleep.

  I suppose it’s natural—to want to know more about the people close to you.

  I sigh, my hand lifting to brush lightly at her bangs, fingertips grazing white hair.

  I trust them—

  and I trust her.

  But it’s not as simple as pulling her aside and laying everything bare. I don’t even know where I’d begin.

  My hand falls away, shoulders sagging.

  It’s not like she would suddenly open up just because I did. And somehow, that thought hurts more—offering everything and hearing nothing in return.

  When did truth start feeling so transactional?

  A mug nudges into my hand.

  “I’ll see she gets a bit extra come mornin’,” Veil says quietly, tipping his chin toward Cattleya.

  “Thanks,” I say, offering him a small smile before sipping the stew. The spices are unfamiliar—warm, layered.

  My gaze drifts, searching for Kiereth.

  I spot him seated beside Ulric, their heads close, expressions serious. After one last glance toward Cattleya, I rise quietly and approach.

  They acknowledge me with small nods, voices kept low.

  “You trust him?” Ulric asks, jerking his head toward the monk.

  “He’s… very wise,” I begin, then realize I’m already explaining too much. I stop, glance toward Kiereth, and steady myself.

  “Yes,” I say instead. “I do.”

  Ulric exhales through his teeth.

  “Hells,” he mutters.

  “The goddess grants me guidance through prayer,” Kiereth says calmly, head inclined. “The moment she warned me of the bandit attack was the moment the remaining guards chose coin over duty.”

  “And he says tomorrow’s worse,” Ulric adds, weariness creeping into his voice.

  “Had I been alone, that may have been where my path ended,” Kiereth says gently. He looks to me, a faint smile touching his lips.

  “But the goddess has her ways of correcting fate. Our meeting was… necessary.”

  He turns back to Ulric.

  “It will be difficult,” he says. “But together, we will endure.”

  With that, he rises, bows, and walks away.

  Ulric groans softly and grips my shoulder, pulling me close enough that I can’t look away.

  “Keep an eye on him,” Ulric says quietly. “If something feels off, you tell me.”

  I stiffen—then nod.

  His grip eases, his expression softening back into its familiar warmth.

  “Good. Get some rest.”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply lightly, and head back to my bedroll.

  Cattleya is bundled deep in my cloak—only her closed eyes and the top of her head visible.

  I’m definitely not getting that cloak back tonight.

  I rub my bare shoulders, the night air biting a little sharper now.

  Fear… huh?

  I close my eyes and focus. A thin lattice of orange crystal blooms over my exposed skin, threading into the fabric of my clothes, sealing in warmth.

  No more holding back.