The morning sun filtered lazily through the branches above, warm and dappled against the narrow road. The group moved at a measured pace toward Lanwrik, boots and wheels creaking over packed earth. Viktor trailed a few steps behind at first, pale and sluggish, lips drawn in a thin line. His coat stuck damply to his back, and he squinted at the light like it had personally offended him.

  "This bloody headache," he muttered under his breath, rubbing at his brow with the heel of his hand.

  Arelos, walking ahead, paused just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. His brow knit with subtle concern as he dropped his pace.

  "You sure you're up for this?" he asked, not unkindly.

  Viktor managed the faintest grin. "I'll manage," he said, though he sounded anything but sure. "I'll shout if I start dying."

  "I'd appreciate the warning," Arelos said dryly. "Preferably before you drop face-first into a ditch."

  Fenric turned his head from atop the cart. "If you're gonna keel over, do it in front of the wheels. Bit of blood might fix the squeaking."

  Viktor rolled his eyes but said nothing. Instead, perhaps out of stubbornness or guilt, he reached inside himself, trying to touch the thread of magic that pulsed faintly in his chest.

  And then the pain hit.

  White-hot pressure bloomed behind his eyes, like someone had wedged a chisel into his skull and started hammering. His vision blurred immediately. The trees doubled, then tripled. He swayed, reached instinctively for Mira's arm—and missed.

  He didn't fall, but he had to stop walking, bracing himself with one hand on his knee and the other shakily pressed to his temple.

  "That was a bad idea," he managed hoarsely.

  Mira, beside him in an instant, didn't waste breath on scolding. She simply reached out and steadied him by the shoulder.

  "You're going in the cart," she said, her tone brooking no argument.

  Viktor winced. "It's not that—"

  "I said cart, Viktor."

  A beat.

  "Fine, just so I don't slow us down," he muttered, defeated.

  Fenric hopped down from the wagon with exaggerated flourish, landing with a theatrical grunt. "Ah, my noble sacrifice," he said, waving his hand like a courtly page. "Giving up my seat for the wounded. You'll all speak of my bravery for generations."

  "Oh, shut it," Jax muttered, crossing his arms as Fenric offered Viktor his spot. "You've been up there since we left the village."

  "Exactly," Fenric said proudly. "Hard work, riding. A gentleman's burden."

  With no more fuss, Fenric helped Viktor into the wagon bed. It wasn't exactly plush travel—just a bit of canvas over wood and some burlap sacks—but Viktor lay back with cautious relief. His head still pounded, but at least the world had stopped spinning.

  As the group resumed their pace, Nora edged up along the side of the wagon, walking with a crisp pace that matched the swing of her cloak against her legs. She glanced from Viktor to Arelos, then back again.

  "You all trained together?" she asked, the question light, as though casual—though her eyes were anything but.

  Arelos was brief. "Something like that."

  "Hm. So, soldiers then?" she pressed.

  Soren chuckled wryly. "If Fenric's a soldier, gods help the kingdom."

  Jax snorted. "He'd be court-martialed within a week."

  "I resent that," Fenric called, still walking backward for emphasis. "I would not be court-martialed."

  Soren raised a brow. "Do you even know what that means?"

  "No, but I can tell it ain't good by the way he said it." Fenric sniffed.

  Nora arched a brow, smiling slightly. "Right. So… not soldiers."

  "We're more independent," Arelos said, choosing his words carefully as he stepped around a thick root that jutted quietly from the trail. "Scattered training. Shared goals."

  Nora nodded slowly, unconvinced yet intrigued. Her gaze shifted toward Mira. "And you? With them from the beginning?"

  Mira shrugged, her tone neutral. "More or less."

  "Looks like a strange group. A mage, a girl, whatever Fenric is… no offense." Though her eyes were already sparkling with mischief.

  Fenric flashed a grin. "Whatever I am, it's clearly the best part of the lineup."

  "Sure you are," Jax muttered.

  Nora's gaze slid toward Viktor, curious now. "But you—how'd you learn magic?"

  Viktor blinked at her groggily from the wagon and gave a loose shrug. "Was kinda hoping someone would tell me someday."

  "You can't be serious."

  "Oh, I very much am. No teachers, no books, no scrolls. I tell things to float; I don't know why they listen."

  "That seems... dangerous."

  Viktor smiled faintly. "You might not be wrong."

  "Shouldn't a mage… I don't know. Know things?"

  "Says who?" he said, a dry crack in his voice.

  Arelos' voice dropped a notch. "Viktor."

  The warning wasn't sharp, but it was enough. Nora blinked, catching the shift in tone.

  Her lips pressed together. There was a pause, then she tilted her head and feigned lightness once more. "Just seems odd. Mages don't just end up on farm roads slugging it out with bandits."

  "He didn't do it alone," Fenric interjected. "Credit where credit's due, yeah?"

  "Mostly alone," Soren amended with a straight face.

  Jax gave a shrug. "I say it was about 80% Vik."

  "Hey!" Fenric cried. "I pulled a knife on the headman! That counts."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  "Why would you even do that?" Maggie asked flatly.

  Fenric pointed to Arelos like a child tattling on a sibling. "Because he told me to!"

  "I just wanted them out in the open." Arelos muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We didn't know how many archers were holed up inside."

  "Worked," Fenric said proudly.

  "Barely," Arelos replied.

  Viktor sighed, settling his head back against a folded-blanket. "I was half-conscious through the last part. Couldn't tell if we'd won or if it was just a very vivid afterlife."

  "What even happened to you?" Nora asked again.

  "Pushed too hard," Viktor admitted. "I think at least."

  "You didn't know that would happen?"

  "I'm playing guesswork, here. Trial and error. Emphasis on error."

  Maggie made a low sound. "Maybe don't go blundering around with powers you don't understand, then."

  To his surprise, it wasn't Mira who stepped in next—it was Nora. Her voice was notably sharper than before, steadier.

  "If he hadn't," she said, eyes on Maggie, "we'd still be prisoners, from what Ardon told us. So maybe don't go throwing around judgement like that?"

  A small silence followed, then—Maggie nodded once, recoiling slightly. "Didn't say he did wrong. Just that it's risky."

  The moment lingered, softening as it stretched. Before long the conversation rounded another bend.

  "So, who's actually in charge of this merry band?" Nora asked, lighter now, almost teasing.

  "You're looking at him," Fenric said, gesturing grandly to himself.

  "Yeah... no." Jax added dryly. "I guess it's mostly Arelos. Maybe Viktor when he doesn't have one foot in the afterlife."

  "Feels more like a whole leg," Viktor grumbled from where he lay.

  "We all share the weight," Arelos said with a small nod.

  Nora studied him a moment longer, something unreadable flickering behind her gaze. "Not the answer most would give."

  "We're not most," he replied simply.

  From the wagon, Viktor half-listened, eyelids parting just enough to peer at brighter sky between the branches. The mood around them had changed—tension frayed and falling away. Even Nora, whose wariness had once felt sharpened and alert, now walked with a lilt to her step.

  "You're not what I expected," she said quietly to Arelos.

  "I'll assume that's a good thing," Arelos replied, a faint smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

  She smiled. "It is."

  Eventually, the conversation faded, giving way to the steady rhythm of travel. Time slipped by beneath the creak of wheels and the crunch of boots, the sun dipping lower as the road unwound before them.

  They rounded a gentle turn as the trees began to thin, revealing a clearing with packed earth, a few ringed stones from old fires, and a natural curve of rock that made for a perfect windbreak.

  "There," Maggie said, jutting her chin toward the spot. "Good place for the night. Not too exposed."

  "We'll settle here," Arelos agreed.

  The creak of wagon wheels slowed as the cart rolled into the space.

  Viktor exhaled and leaned fully back, propped against a pile of sacks.

  "I could get used to this," he murmured.

  "Try it," Mira teased, tossing him a sidelong glance. "I dare you."

  "He'll be asking for pillows and pastries by next stop," Fenric quipped, elbowing Soren.

  "Assuming we don't throw him off the cart first," Soren responded.

  Viktor didn't answer.

  But the soft smile on his lips said enough.

  The fire crackled low in the clearing, its flickering glow lapping at tired faces and casting long shadows across boots and cloaks. Circled close to the heat, the group rested in a silence thick with exhaustion and wary relief.

  Nora stirred a small pot of stew suspended over the flames, shoulders hunched as steam coiled upward. Maggie knelt beside her, chopping the last of the dried roots into the broth.

  "So…" Nora said quietly, not looking up. "What's your reason for going to Lanwrik?"

  The words settled for a moment. The stillness around the fire wasn't broken so much as nudged.

  Arelos didn't look away from the flames. "Just resting for the night," he said. "We leave at dawn."

  Nora nodded slowly. "And then where?"

  "The capital."

  She glanced at him now. "Just passing through, then?"

  "Just a stopover."

  There was a pause in the stirring. "And what are you doing in the capital?"

  The silence that followed wasn't defensive—just cautious. Subtle glances passed between the group. Arelos met them, then answered without hesitation.

  "Meeting someone."

  "Someone important?" Nora asked.

  "Important enough," Arelos said evenly.

  Across the fire, Mira leaned back slightly, watching the exchange with muted interest. No one interjected. Viktor, swaddled in blankets near the wagon and half-lost in his own breath, said nothing, but listened.

  "Do you already have a place in Lanwrik?" Nora asked.

  "We'll find one," Arelos said with quiet confidence.

  Maggie, still focused on the pot, gave a small nod. "Try Rosie's Hearth. Just inside the west gate—look for red shutters. Rooms are decent. Food's plain, but filling. Tell Gilda that Maggie sent you."

  Arelos tilted his head. "Thank you."

  "She'll still charge you," Maggie added, faintly amused, "but maybe she'll call you dear instead of idiot."

  "Sounds promising," Fenric muttered. "Hope she sells cider."

  Soren rolled his eyes. "We don't need cider. We need sleep."

  "Well, if we find both," Fenric said, "I'd say that's even better."

  A faint smile curved on a few mouths, but it didn't last long. The night folded inward again, firelight softening, wind brushing the leaves.

  Mira's gaze drifted toward the other two women. "How long were the bandits in your village?"

  There was a pause. Nora's hand stilled in the stew. Maggie's jaw tensed.

  "Three weeks," Maggie said quietly. "Maybe four. I lost count."

  "They came at night," Nora added. Her voice was almost flat, as if rehearsed too many times in her mind. "No warning. No reason. Doors broken. Screaming."

  The others grew still.

  "They started with the smithy," Maggie continued. "Then the grain stores. Men who could fight were cut down before the rest of us realized it was even happening."

  "They moved through the houses," Nora said. "Fast. Cold. Most of us didn't even have time to run."

  "They rounded us up into three homes," Maggie murmured. "The strongest among them would walk in and count, and if they thought someone was trouble…"

  "They made examples," Nora finished quietly.

  Mira's fingers tightened on her knees. "You couldn't fight back?"

  "We did." Maggie's voice hitched. "Not all at once. Not in a way that… mattered. Three men stood up the second morning. One lived through to nightfall."

  Soren bowed his head, voice low. "I'm sorry."

  "We held out, but barely." Nora looked up briefly. "Another week, and we'd have started starving. The food was theirs."

  A long silence followed. Even Fenric didn't speak.

  "If you complained," Maggie said, her voice stretched thin, "they took you out behind the barns. That was it. You didn't come back."

  No one moved. The fire hissed softly under the weight of the words.

  "And that Ronovan guy oversaw all of it?" Mira asked.

  "Didn't have to lift a blade," Nora said. "He just watched."

  "He watched," Maggie echoed. "Like it was entertainment."

  Viktor, still beneath the blanket, stirred. He shifted just enough for the firelight to catch in his eyes. He didn't speak.

  Maggie met his gaze, her expression tightening. "I wasn't fair to you. When you showed up. Truth is… mages scare the life out of me. Still do."

  "I don't blame you," Viktor said, voice rough with wear. "It scares me, too—what I can do."

  "You could've used it to rip our village in half," Maggie said. "But you didn't. And then you collapsed trying to save us." Her posture settled a little. "Thank you. For that."

  Nora nodded. "All of you. I don't think we'd be here if you hadn't showed up when you did."

  "We're just glad we were close enough to help," Mira said.

  "You might've been strangers," Nora added, "but you stepped in when it mattered."

  The fire crackled low again, and the hush that followed was heavy. The kind of quiet that settles after hard truths are spoken—somber, brittle. No one rushed to fill it. Just the wind, the creak of branches overhead, and the slow simmer of the pot.

  "Right," Fenric cut in. "How long till that stew's done?"

  Mira gave him a sharp look. "Seriously? Read the fucking room for once."

  He raised both hands in mock surrender. "I'm sorry! Just—it was getting awkward. Besides, my stomach's empty, I'm bloody starving here."

  The annoyance on her face barely covered a hint of reluctant amusement.

  "Crude," Maggie said with a small smile. "But I get it."

  Nora ladled out the stew with a grateful sort of breath. "Well, it's done. Soren—can you pass me those bowls?"

  Each bowl was filled in turn, passed around with quiet thanks. The stew wasn't fancy—thin, mostly root vegetables—but it was warm, and after days on the road, it tasted like gold.

  For a few minutes, conversation faded. Chewing filled the silence instead: slow, deliberate, comfortable.

  "Better than field rations," Jax muttered, licking the rim of his bowl.

  "I'd say that's not a very high bar," Fenric mused, between mouthfuls, "but you're not wrong."

  When everyone had eaten, and the fire dropped to low coals, Arelos rose and dusted his hands.

  "That's enough for tonight. We break camp early. Should reach Lanwrik by late afternoon."

  All nodded or murmured assent. Soren helped Nora gather the empty bowls. Maggie rolled the spoons inside a cloth and tied them off neatly. Mira returned to Viktor, gently lifting his arm to help him settle back.

  "Still hurting?" she whispered.

  He nodded faintly. "It's pulling less. But still—dim. Like reaching for something underwater."

  "Then don't reach," she said. "Rest."

  Nearby, Jax collapsed onto his pack. "Wake me for second watch."

  Fenric had already curled himself half into his cloak. "Third, if someone kicks me hard enough."

  "You're on every watch if you keep snoring like last night," Jax warned.

  "Lies! I don't snore."

  Soren chuckled, faint and tired as he took first watch, quietly pacing the tree line.

  The rest of them folded like stones into the dirt and leaves. One by one, conversation fell away. The fire ticked low into coals. Wind rustled branches.

  Tomorrow, they would reach the Lanwrik.