Froy awoke as the pale light of dawn bled gently through the treetops.
His body stirred beneath a threadbare blanket, but his mind was already sharp — burning with clarity and knowledge that hadn't been there the day before.
He sat up slowly, stretching his arms and letting out a soft yawn.
For the first time in a long while, he truly looked like a boy.
Just a sleepy, ordinary child.
But he wasn't.
Not anymore.
Within him stirred the memory of dreams that weren't dreams — whispers, images, meanings etched deep into the bones of his spirit.
Sethvyr had come to him again, not as a thunderous god, but as a gentle tide in the dark sea of sleep.
Each night, the Outer God poured lessons into him: logic, rhetoric, manipulation, divine theory, ancient rites.
It was like being raised again — this time by something colder, older, and far more precise.
And Froy remembered it all.
He blinked slowly, watching the morning mist curl around the wagon wheels.
Aryvael was still curled up beside him, dozing peacefully with her hands folded under her cheek.
Selene and Luma were already tending to the horses, brushing them down with quick, efficient motions.
Brumgar crouched near the edge of the camp, sharpening a Axe against stone.
None of them looked rested.
Their eyes were tight. Shoulders tense. Expressions cautious.
Froy tilted his head and asked innocently,"Why do you all look so troubled?"
None of them answered.
He offered a soft smile."Let's eat first," he said. "A good breakfast will help. I'll summon it."
And with that, he offered a silent prayer to the one entity he trusted.
"O Sethvyr, grant us strength and nourishment for the road ahead."
A gentle glow shimmered beside the campfire.
Wooden bowls appeared one by one, each filled with steaming portions of roasted root vegetables, fruit, and dried meat — simple but warm, fragrant, real.
A clean pitcher of water appeared beside them.
The others stared in silence.
"Also," Froy added casually, "I had a good dream last night."
He took a seat beside Aryvael, who stirred and immediately reached for a bowl like a starving kitten.
"It was about the road," he continued. "It should've taken us two months to reach Solmira. Beast attacks, bandits, broken paths — the usual problems."
He smiled gently."But Sethvyr told me not to worry. We'll arrive in seven days. No rush needed."
That silenced them more than the miracle.
Selene blinked slowly.Luma's spoon hovered mid-air.Brumgar frowned thoughtfully.
None of them said anything, but there was something in their eyes now — not fear, not worship. Recognition.
Froy wasn't just a strange boy anymore.He was becoming something else.
When the meal was done, Froy stood and dusted himself off.
He glanced at the circle of stones where the fire had burned low, then turned to the edge of the clearing where shadow and light met.
He took a deep breath.It was time to apply what he had learned.
He gathered stones and carved tiny sigils into them with his fingernail — each symbol sharp and exact, just as Sethvyr had taught him.
He laid them in a wide pattern, a minor ward of perception and clarity.
Then he whispered a short phrase in a forgotten tongue — a tongue Sethvyr had imprinted on his soul.
The circle shimmered.
Froy stepped into it and began to recite aloud everything he remembered from the dreams.
Each line, each lesson, each spell-form and mental exercise.
He didn't care if the others watched.This was his test.
The words tasted like ash.Like stars.Like ancient steel.
By midday, the circle hummed faintly.
Froy collapsed to the grass, breathing hard — not from exhaustion, but from joy. From progress.
He looked at his trembling hands and whispered,"So this is what it means… to become something more."
As the sun climbed high, the boy who had once been caged now trained his mind and soul for the days to come.
The road to Solmira would begin again at dusk.
Selene and Luma took the afternoon to rest in the shade, their eyes heavy from the long night of driving and watching.
Brumgar stood guard once more, his stance relaxed but his gaze ever alert.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky with fire and ash, Froy packed away the warding stones and cleaned the circle of its symbols.
The others rose with him, quiet but calm.
There was no need to rush. No need to fear.
They now understood what Froy had seen in his dream:The path had been cleared.Or rather—wiped clean.
Somewhere beyond their view, El'Kharuz slumbered in the shadows of the earth, its colossal presence having erased all predators from their route since the night it arrived.
Monsters, beasts, even the boldest bandits had vanished in its wake.
The path from Ythrene to Solmira was open.
And so, under the fading light of Umbryss's black sun, the wagon creaked forward once more.
Froy leaned back, his gaze lifted toward the horizon.Solmira awaited.And the true game was only beginning.
As the wagon rolled deeper toward the invisible border, a quiet weight settled over the group — not fear, but inevitability.
Solmira was close.But so was the end of this chapter of their journey together.
Froy's gaze lingered on his companions — Brumgar, Selene, Aryvael, Luma.
They had endured much.Shared blood, pain, and miracles.
Yet even now, he could feel the distance forming in the silence between them.
Because Solmira was not kind to those who were different.
In the human-dominated lands, elves were distrusted, beastkin were reviled, and dwarves were tolerated only when their labor was needed.
At worst, they would be killed.At best, enslaved again.
And Froy knew.
When they crossed the border, they would need to split.Not forever.But long enough.
"Once we reach the gates," he murmured under his breath,"we'll have to part ways."
He didn't want to say it aloud — not yet.
But the truth hung in the air like the scent of distant smoke.
He wasn't afraid.He was preparing.
Because the world ahead would demand more than faith.It would demand masks, silence, and sacrifice.
But Froy had learned much.
And he would play the game — until the board belonged to him.