Finally. Silence. Blessed, glorious silence, save for the creaking of the wooden wheels and the wind brushing past my ears. The reins felt solid in my hands, the horses cooperative, the sun gentle overhead. For once, I wasn't babysitting anyone, stabbing monsters, or whispering some emotionally intense crap to a panicking girl in the middle of battle.
I had the driver's seat to myself, and I was going to milk it.
I leaned back, letting out the biggest sigh of relief, dragging it out like a man sipping soup in the middle of a funeral.
"Finally, I'm free. Free from the girlboss and the secret boyfriend who took half a fable to show up," I muttered.
Not that I hated Amalia or anything. She was... sweet. Fragile. The emotional equivalent of a wet napkin held together by stubbornness and light magic. And Jeremy? Don't even get me started. That man radiated the energy of a very elegant crow who learned human words but decided to only speak in soft-voiced flirts.
They were in the back of the wagon now. Probably talking about "feelings" or "trauma" or doing that mutual soft-shuffling thing people do when they're afraid of physical contact but spiritually married. Whatever. It was none of my business.
"I swear if they kiss before I get paid, I'm selling both of them to the next cult I see."
Ah, but back to the scenery.
The Halmun Plains sprawled out like a painting—wide, open grasslands studded with obsidian-colored trees (called duskwoods, apparently), and far-off glimmers of silver lakes that shimmered unnaturally even in daylight. Occasionally, blue birds—like real, literal blue, not just feathers—flew overhead, and once I spotted a stone-wolf lurking at the treeline. Big lad. Too big for my mood.
According to the mirror notes I wasn't supposed to have (thanks again, God of Light, for throwing divine inventory like a drunk toddler), we were headed toward Fehras, a smaller settlement where some fable-plot event would "probably happen." Great. That was vague enough to be a death flag.
I adjusted my glasses—the ones that now glitched with new floating information every time I focused too hard on someone—and stared at a passing shrub.
[Shrub]
Potentially venomous. Useless unless chewed during full moon.
...Why the hell do I know that?
Cool. My brain was now a walking wiki. Can't wait to forget how to tie my boots in exchange.
Behind me, something soft was said.
I didn't catch it. Didn't want to.
But the moment Amalia giggled, I felt my soul detach.
"Oh gods, it's happening. They're in that post-battle trauma-bonding stage. The dinner-that-didn't-happen energy has been shifted. This is where the romantic subplot tries to come alive and bite me."
Jeremy responded with some poetic bullshit. I think he quoted a tree? Or the wind? I didn't know because I refused to hear it.
"If I turn around and see eye contact, I will crash this wagon into the nearest theological structure."
There was no town in sight yet, but the road was smooth, suspiciously so. The gods really wanted this Fable to work. Too bad I was not designed to be here. I was an intruder in a role that was supposed to be temporary.
Except... it's not.
Jeremy was finally here, and yet I was still driving. Still protecting. Still thinking of who would die first when another bandit group decides to get experimental. And still wondering what part of the story I was going to accidentally derail by simply being myself.
"You know what?" I muttered, flicking the reins gently. "If I'm going to be stuck in this cosmic sitcom, I'm writing my own script. First plot point? Not getting attached. Second? Surviving. Third..."
Amalia's laugh sounded again, breathy and light.
"...third is keeping these lovebirds alive long enough to retire somewhere quiet and punch God in the face."
The wind shifted. A warm gust.
Something stirred far off on the horizon. Mountains—no, teeth. No, wait, that's just the caffeine hallucination talking. Right? Right.
I squinted.
"Please just be rocks. Please don't be foreshadowing."