My boots hit the gravel with a satisfying crunch. My gaze lifted to the colossal mountain stretching impossibly high, its peak disappearing beyond dark clouds. Wisps of fog drifted down the rocky slopes like ghostly fingers, creating a scene so breathtaking that my usual mental commentary simply stopped.
Another pair of boots landed beside me.
"It's beautiful," I muttered.
Emilia's laugh broke through my stupor. "Come on, silly. You can stare all you want once we get settled." She grabbed my hand and gently pulled me backward.
I turned to look upon Crossveil, a bustling crossroads grown around the necessity of commerce. The town served as the pivot point for merchants heading north to Costuul and Gusteko or descending south into Lugunica's heartland.
The streets stretched wide and straight, cobblestones worn smooth by decades of wagon wheels. Inns and taverns lined the main thoroughfares, their painted signs creaking in the mountain wind. Lamplight flickered to life in shop windows as evening settled over the settlement.
Designated caravan lots dotted the perimeter, filled with merchant wagons ranging from ornate to weather-beaten. Many merchants had set up camps beside their goods, canvas tents and cooking fires creating small neighborhoods. Armed guards wandered with practiced casualness, eyes scanning for threats.
The air buzzed with activity: handlers tending ground dragons, merchant groups sharing news about road conditions, travelers and guards sitting shoulder to shoulder around fires.
It was cozy. No obvious corruption or cutthroats, just honest commerce and road camaraderie.
Still, I wouldn't completely let my guard down. With Puck having gone to bed before we arrived, we were down significant firepower.
Catching up and walking beside Emilia, I shook my mind of the paranoia for just a second as I found myself admiring—no, observing—her travel outfit. She wore the same ensemble I'd seen her in during our time in the capital: a purple-trimmed white blouse with long-sleeved coat tails and a matching skirt.
But she'd added a white traveling cloak that draped elegantly over the entire outfit, complete with an adorable hood sporting purple-tipped rabbit ears that somehow managed to look both practical and endearing.
"Cute outfit, Lia," I murmured as we walked side by side.
She shot me a look of flustered surprise, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue, which I answered with a playful grin before turning my attention to where Ram was leading us.
The maid had already secured our carriage and arranged for our ground dragons to be stabled with the way station's dragon handlers.
Now she strode ahead of us with confident purpose, navigating the busy streets toward what I assumed was our lodging for the night, likely one of the larger inns that catered to travelers with coin to spend rather than the rougher establishments that served common merchants and guards.
The main thoroughfare buzzed with foot traffic as merchants conducted their final business before the evening meal, everyone moving with the slightly hurried pace of people eager to get indoors before the mountain night turned truly cold.
Eventually we came upon what was unmistakably one of the finer establishments in Crossveil. The Golden Compass rose three stories from the street, its walls constructed from weathered dark timber and solid mountain stone that spoke of both durability and prosperity.
Warm amber light spilled from numerous windows, and the painted sign above the entrance, white, black, and gold, bore both the inn's name and an elegant compass rose.
Ram stopped before the ornate double doors, her hands rubbing together with what looked suspiciously like anticipation, as an unmistakably pleased gleam flickered in her eyes. She caught herself quickly, straightening her posture and smoothing her expression back into professional neutrality.
"Lady Emilia, esteemed guest," she announced with formality, "we shall likely be lodging here for the evening. Lord Roswaal has provided me with sufficient funding to secure appropriate accommodations for our journey." She produced a surprisingly hefty coin pouch from her white arm bag, its weight suggesting Roswaal hadn't been stingy with the travel budget.
"Please follow me, and we shall determine whether the rooms and amenities provided by this establishment meet the standards required for my comfort—" She paused, her expression remaining perfectly blank. "That is, for your comfort as well, Lady Emilia."
'She didn't even correct herself.' I studied the maid, whose face showed absolutely no shame or embarrassment about her slip.
She turned crisply toward the entrance and pulled open one of the heavy doors, holding it with practiced grace while warm air and the appetizing scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted out to greet us.
As we stepped out of the cool mountain air, I watched Emilia quickly slip the hood of her cloak over her head, the rabbit ears providing a disguise that concealed her distinctive silver hair and pointed ears.
The act was a firm reminder to me of the discrimination she faced simply for existing. The fact that she had to hide her identity just to avoid unwanted attention struck me as fundamentally wrong.
I gave her hand a firm, reassuring squeeze, and she looked over with a small but grateful smile in return.
While Ram got our rooms, my gaze drifted toward the lounge area off to the side. A group of five men caught my attention immediately. Heavily armed and armored, professional-looking. Mercenaries, most likely, or perhaps a private security detail. They were hunched around a corner table, voices low but intense, debating something with the kind of focused energy that suggested whatever they were discussing mattered.
I tilted my head slightly, tuning into their conversation while maintaining my casual posture beside Emilia.
"Listen guys, I'm telling you, once was probably a fluke, twice was strange, but seven entire merchant companies all saying the exact same thing?" The speaker was a lean man with a scar through his left eyebrow. "It's bad news. We ought to take the pass through White Rock and enter from the western gate."
"That's gonna be one hell of a detour, Marc." A bearded mercenary shook his head. "What about the Snow Blights that come through that pass?"
Marc grimaced. "We've got Den with us, so we can probably manage, right Den?"
A third man sat slumped with a half-empty bottle. "Ubah... wha?"
"Oh for Od's sake, are you seriously wasted already!?" Marc's voice rose sharply, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables before he forcibly lowered it again. "If you weren't the strongest swordsman in the company, I'd whip your ass myself."
Den lifted his pinky finger with exaggerated precision, pointing it vaguely in Marc's direction. His words came out thick and slurred. "You... are mooooore than welcome to try, fat feet."
"Fat feet? You—"
"Oi, both of you shut it." A fourth mercenary, older, with graying temples and the bearing of someone used to command, cut through the brewing argument with quiet authority.
"Marc's got a point. Seven companies reporting the same issue isn't coincidence—"
But before I could get to the interesting part, Ram's crisp voice cut through my eavesdropping.
"I've got our rooms, third floor."
"Thanks," I mumbled while filing the mercenaries conversation away and allowing Emilia to pull me away.
I glanced back at the mercenaries one more time as we headed toward the stairs. Marc was still arguing with the bearded man about routes, while their leader looked resigned to making a decision nobody would be happy with.
'Something to keep in mind," I thought. Whatever was happening up the road was enough to make experienced mercenaries consider dangerous detours through likely mabeast infested mountain passes.
—
The climb to the third floor left me slightly winded and privately wishing I'd thought to enhance my body with mana like I did during combat. A humbling reminder that for all my growing magical abilities, I was still fundamentally a weak human when it came to basic physical exertion.
At the first of our assigned rooms, I waited for Ram to explain the sleeping arrangements, assuming she and Emilia would share one room while I took the other. That assumption proved spectacularly wrong.
"I have received instructions from Lord Roswaal," Ram announced matter-of-factly, "that Sir Caldwell is to assume the position of advisor and personal attendant to Lady Emilia for the duration of this journey. Therefore, you two shall share quarters while I enjoy the queen-sized bed to myself."
I opened my mouth to protest, or at least ask for clarification, but Ram was already offering Emilia a perfectly respectful curtsy.
"May you rest well, Lady Emilia. I shall retire to my own room now. I have heard that the room service at this particular establishment is quite exemplary, perhaps you might find such amenities beneficial."
With that pronouncement, she turned on her heel and walked away with obvious satisfaction.
"What...?" was all I managed to articulate as our supposed servant disappeared around the corner without so much as a backward glance.
I turned to Emilia, expecting to find her as bewildered as I felt, only to discover her calmly using our room key to unlock the door. When she noticed me standing frozen in the hallway like a confused child, she laughed, a sound of pure delight that echoed in the quiet hallway.
"Come on, Ethan," she said, reaching out to take my hand and pull me toward our shared room. "Unless you'd prefer to sleep in the corridor?"
No, I definitely didn't want to sleep in the corridor, so I followed her inside, watching as she removed her cloak and hung it on a wooden peg near the entrance.
The room was impressive for a waystation inn. A queen-sized bed dominated the center, a wooden dining table with two chairs sat to one side, elegant carpets with black and gold patterns covered the hardwood, and a large window offered access to a private balcony.
"Pretty nice place, Lia," I said, trying to keep my voice casual despite my awareness of the sleeping situation we'd been maneuvered into.
Emilia moved past me toward the window, drawn like a moth to the spectacular view. The evening sun was painting the mountain peaks in brilliant oranges and purples, the massive stone face blocking most of the direct light and creating dramatic shadows across the landscape.
"It truly is beautiful," she murmured, pressing closer to the glass.
"It certainly is," I agreed with a chuckle, amused by how she was essentially recreating my earlier reaction to Crossveil's natural splendor.
While she lost herself in the mountain vista, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to investigate the corner door that had almost gone unnoticed. Inside was a proper bathroom with sink, toilet, and bathtub. Better than what I'd had at the manor.
"What's in there, Ethan?" Emilia asked, appearing at my shoulder to peer around me into the bathroom. "Ooh, how fancy!"
"Very fancy," I agreed, stepping back from the doorway, already imagining a hot bath before going to sleep.
"So... now what?" I asked, feeling oddly adrift. It wasn't often that I found myself without a preset plan or immediate objective to pursue. This was technically Emilia's trip, I'd just decided to tag-along.
Emilia tapped her chin thoughtfully before brightening. "Dinner would probably be good. All that traveling has made me quite hungry."
I couldn't argue with that logic. A day of carriage travel with only packed sandwiches had left my stomach protesting now that she'd drawn attention to the fact.
"Room service?" I suggested with a grin that felt slightly giddy. The entire situation struck me as surreal, sharing an upscale inn room with a beautiful half-elf girl, about to order food delivered to our door in a fantasy world. If someone had told me a month ago this would be my reality, I'd have questioned their sanity.
"I'm sorry, Ethan," Emilia said, looking apologetic. "I don't know what 'room service' is."
"Then I guess you'll learn tonight." I glanced around the room until I spotted a leather-bound booklet resting on the dining table. "This should be it."
We examined the menu together, discovering an impressive selection of regional specialties and imported delicacies. The options ranged from hearty mountain fare to more refined dishes that spoke to the inn's upscale clientele.
Eventually we decided on some sort of mountain bird, herbed potatoes with other assorted vegetables, and what the menu promised was locally-renowned sowarie, some sort of cream puff.
A rather simple meal, but it turned out that neither Emilia nor I were entirely sure what all the other things on the menu were supposed to be. It was all rather… eccentric.
One of the options on the menu was simply, "Company."
Now what did that mean? I had... some idea.
Ignoring that, the ordering process proved surprisingly modern, a small metia embedded in the wall allowed us to relay our selections directly to the kitchen through specific mana pulses.
With dinner supposedly on the way, I moved the two chairs to face the window, creating an impromptu seating arrangement with the mountain vista as entertainment.
We settled side by side, absorbing the magnificent view in comfortable silence. The setting sun painted the sky in shifting shades of gold and crimson.
"You know," I eventually began, "I never really thought I'd get to see sights like this. Or have the opportunity to just... do stuff."
Emilia giggled at my inarticulate phrasing. "I think I know what you mean. It was just a year ago that my life was reeeally different. I never thought I would do any of the things I've been doing."
"You didn't know you were a royal candidate?" I asked, watching the way the fading light touched her silver hair.
She shook her head lightly. "No, I didn't even know about anything outside the forest I grew up in. I could never have imagined seeing a city as large as the capital, living in a manor, or getting to stay in such a nice inn."
There was a subtle sadness in her voice, and I realized I was beginning to push into territory that made her uncomfortable.
I shifted awkwardly in my seat.
This was probably the moment where I should say something insightful that helped her see the situation more positively, or skillfully redirect the conversation, or... I could totally blank.
"Uhhh..." I floundered before inspiration struck. "Oh, hey, you didn't forget to commune with the spirits, did you?"
Emilia looked over at me, then gasped, her eyes shooting to the window.
"Looks like I really lost track of time!" She stood quickly, shaking her head. "I'm going to speak with the spirits right now. Will you come with me?" She was already moving toward the sliding glass door.
I had to decline. Food was on the way, and I had no idea if they'd just leave it at the door or decide we'd forfeited our order.
She gave me an understanding nod and stepped outside, sliding the door shut behind her. The cold mountain wind that had tried to rush in was sealed away, leaving the room pleasantly warm.
I watched Emilia begin to glow with that familiar soft luminescence, and my thoughts drifted to something that had been nagging at me.
'I don't actually know much about Emilia,' I realized. 'I never asked because I didn't want to be asked.'
The mutual unspoken agreement had seemed reasonable at the time. Now it was beginning to feel like a problem I wasn't sure how to solve.
Outside, the scene evolved from Emilia surrounded by faint blue light to a veritable sea of distinct floating orbs. Lesser spirits in every color, fire reds, water blues, earth browns, wind greens, danced around her. Even the rarer Yin and Yang spirits made an appearance, dark purple and pale gold among the swirling rainbow.
'Let's see,' I catalogued mentally. 'She used to live in a forest, which tracks for an elf. She looks around my age, but that's pure speculation, elves could age differently for all I know. No family that I'm aware of besides Puck. She hates bell peppers, which is fair. She's a royal candidate with some personal goal beyond the stated equality platform, but she hasn't shared what that is. Her favorite color seems to be purple... and she cannot carry a tune to save her life.'
I leaned back in the chair, scratching my chin. That was about all I could come up with off the top of my head, and it didn't feel like nearly enough.
'Then again, it's only been a week.' The thought was reassuring. 'Not like I'm on a deadline. Just means what Puck said was right, we got close really fast. Need to make sure I handle this properly going forward.'
That meant continuing with this approach I'd started: speaking up more, telling the truth when I could, rather than deflecting or staying silent.
'But should I tell her about Earth? About my Authority?'
I sat with the question, watching Emilia gesture animatedly as she chatted with the floating lights.
'Probably not right now,' I concluded. 'Nothing she needs to worry about with the royal selection so close. She's got enough on her plate without adding my baggage to it.'
I nodded to myself, feeling oddly satisfied at solving that little problem, when a sharp knock at the door pulled my attention away from the luminous scene outside.
I crossed to the door, hand instinctively settling on the dagger at my hip. Opening it revealed not a threat, but dinner.
A young man in white kitchen assistant's garb stood beside a serving cart, slightly out of breath from what must have been an interesting trip up three flights of stairs.
"Your order, sir?" He pulled the lid off the main dish with practiced flair, revealing what was definitely some kind of roasted bird.
"That looks right. What do I owe you?" I reached for my borrowed coin pouch.
"Two silver, sir." He quickly covered the meal again to preserve the heat.
Two silver for all this food seemed like a steal, unless part of it was meant for another room.
I fished out two silver coins, then added three more before handing the entire stack to him. The kid's face lit up like I'd just made his week.
"Would you like me to set the table, sir?" His enthusiasm was immediate and genuine. "I've been doing this for about a year now, and I can make it look really nice! The last gentleman I served said I did an excellent job!"
I glanced back at Emilia. The number of spirits surrounding her was gradually decreasing, her communion was almost finished.
"Sure, if you're offering." I shrugged. "Knock yourself out."
I turned to head back inside, adding over my shoulder, "Nothing fancy though. Just get the food on the table and you can head back down."
The kid followed me in, pulling the cart, but I noticed his confident energy had suddenly evaporated. He looked... worried?
"Um, sir?" He shuffled nervously behind the cart. "I'm really grateful for the coin, truly! But... do I actually need to knock myself out?"
Oh for the love of—
I resisted the urge to facepalm. "It's just a saying, kid. It means 'go ahead' or 'do your best.'"
"Oh!" Relief washed over his face. "That makes much more sense, sir. I was very confused why you'd want me to hurt myself after being so generous."
Together we transferred the dishes to the table, the roasted bird, herbed potatoes, assorted vegetables, and two delicate sowarie cream puffs that looked far fancier than I'd expected.
"Will that be all, sir?" he asked, already positioning the cart for his return trip.
"Yeah, thanks." I handed him another copper for good measure. "Appreciate it."
He gave an enthusiastic bow and hurried out, carefully maneuvering the cart back through the doorway.
I closed the door behind him and turned to find Emilia already inside, leaning over the table and admiring the spread with obvious interest.
"Have a good conversation, Lia?" I asked, moving to join her.
I'd noticed the glow from the spirits had faded while the kid and I were setting the table, but she hadn't come back inside immediately.
"Mhm! I was a bit surprised to see someone else in the room..." She reached up to fidget with a strand of hair, her tone turning sheepish. "So I decided to just stay outside until they left."
Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
Emilia liked people, genuinely enjoyed their company when given the chance. But she'd learned through painful experience to make herself scarce around strangers. Discrimination had taught her that her presence often made situations uncomfortable, so she'd developed the habit of simply... removing herself.
I thought back through the past week at the manor. I'd suggested visiting Arlam village several times, and every time Emilia had gone from enthusiastically willing to accompany me practically anywhere, to suddenly remembering important tasks that needed her attention.
It hadn't taken more than once for me to understand why.
Finally approaching her from behind, I gave her shoulder a light squeeze before pulling her chair out for her.
"Know that your presence is never detrimental to me, alright?"
She gave me a smile for my attempt, her amethyst eyes meeting mine and not looking away.
"You have such a unique way of saying things," she said softly, a hint of amusement coloring her voice. Then her expression turned more serious, genuinely touched. "But... thank you, Ethan. Really."
She sat down, then seemed to realize something and looked back up at me with a small, determined nod. "You're not detrimental to me either!"
The phrasing was so earnest and awkward that I couldn't help but crack a smile as I took my own seat. "I'm glad we've established our mutual... non-detrimentalness."
Emilia giggled at that, covering her mouth with one hand. "That's not a word."
"Then I'm making it one now." I chimed back, settling into my seat next to her with a smile.
—
Subaru watched with apprehension as Roswaal's figure disappeared into the dark night sky, magical light fading until only stars remained.
His mind was in a slightly better place than it had been, mostly thanks to Rem's patient efforts over the day. But part of what the clown had told him that morning also helped.
After "the incident" (as he'd taken to calling it in his head), Subaru had felt completely lost. Directionless. Like someone had pulled the rug out from under his entire reason for being here.
But at least for the moment, he had a goal to strive toward. And somebody who'd be by his side while he did it.
"Hey, Rem-rin?" He turned to the blue-haired maid standing beside him. "I know Ros-chi just promised to teach me, but can you teach me magic in the meantime? You're like the super maid! Surely you've got some crazy magical prowess that screams 'hidden boss' energy!"
Rem tilted her head at him in that particular way that let him see both aqua blue eyes clearly, the movement shifting her hair just enough. Subaru found himself momentarily distracted, wondering what Rem would look like with different hairstyles. A ponytail, maybe? Or—
"There is only one 'boss' in this household, Subaru," she said with a matter-of-fact tone that somehow still managed to sound patient. "If that is how you would so crudely refer to Lord Roswaal—which you most certainly should not."
Her expression softened into a small smile as she turned toward the mansion. "Come. Let's finish preparing dinner and eat."
"Ehh? But you didn't answer if you could use magic!" He hurried after her, falling into step. "Let me guess, it's gotta be some crazy power. Something... demonic, maybe? That's a good trope, right?"
The maid halted in place, almost causing him to bump into her from behind.
"Oi! Rem, you okay?" Subaru peered around the girl's shoulder to see her face, but her expression was that careful blank that she sometimes wore.
"Subaru..." Rem stopped walking and turned to face him, her expression unreadable. "Do you like demons?"
He looked up at her, blinking at the unexpected question. After a moment's thought, he grinned. "Well, the gods generally don't do anything, but demons will laugh along when you talk about future plans."
It sounded fitting. Profound, even, in a weird way.
Rem stared at him for a long moment, something thoughtful crossing her features before her expression gradually shifted into a genuine smile, warmer than he'd seen from her before.
"Hmm. Maybe tonight we'll try making some of that 'mayo' you told me about."
Subaru blinked in surprise, wondering where this sudden benevolence was coming from. But hey, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He shrugged and grinned wider. "Alright, Rem-rin! Tonight is the night I convert you into a true believer!" He pumped his fist in the air. "Bask your body and soul in the glory that is mayonnaise!"
He took off down the hall toward the kitchen with renewed energy, completely missing the warm, almost tender smile Rem aimed at his retreating back.
—
Sliding into the warm water that filled the bathtub, I couldn't help the loud exhale that escaped. The carriage had been remarkably comfortable for what it was, but sitting around for hours on end still left me feeling stiff and sore. This bath was exactly what I needed.
I lowered my head under the water, letting the warmth seep into my muscles while my thoughts drifted to tomorrow.
We'd finally reach Costuul. I still didn't quite know what to expect or what my role would actually entail. I'd been playing advisor rather naturally, and apparently that was now my official position according to Ram and Roswaal.
Did that mean I'd stand on stage with Emilia during her speech? Would I need to introduce myself to city officials? Shake hands and make small talk with nobility?
'Ugh... this is starting to sound like a pain.'
I wasn't exactly the most social person, as evidenced by my track record at the manor. Over the entire week, I'd talked to nobody except Emilia and her floating death cat. At one point I'd considered doing the whole apprentice thing with Ms. Belle in Arlam village, but never got around to it. Laziness mixed with... other factors.
'I mean, I can use mana to boost my body at this point, so do I really need to exercise—'
I frowned at my rippling reflection in the water.
'Alright, that's a step too far. We're not that lazy. Eventually I need to get on some kind of workout regimen.'
At the thought of physical excellence, my mind immediately went to Emilia.
She was always pulling off crazy athletic feats, jumping and catching me 15 feet off the ground, leaping down from entire stairwells. Was that magic, or was she just built different? Maybe she had exercise tips?
'...Actually, that sounds kinda embarrassing to ask about.'
I toyed with the idea while finishing my bath. Eventually, I concluded that Emilia probably wouldn't laugh at me for asking. She was too kind for that.
Probably.
She had been growing more confident around me lately, though not so much with other people, as the servant boy earlier had demonstrated. Still, it was progress.
'Maybe she will actually laugh at me,' I thought with a wry smile as I stepped out of the bath, reaching for the towel and drying my face.
There was no mirror in this bathroom, so I couldn't see what my hair looked like. But going by experience, it was probably a disaster.
'Eh, screw it. These magical hands will work wonders.'
They did not, in fact, work wonders. My hair remained an untamed mess that only copious amounts of product could tame, and I'd made peace with that long ago.
I pulled on my clothes, the only set I had with me, and stepped out of the bathroom to find Emilia still at the dining table, hunched over her papers with intense focus.
"Bath's all yours," I called out while crossing to the bed and flopping onto it face-first like a dead fish.
Emilia made a small noise of acknowledgment. I heard her chair scrape against the floor, followed by the soft padding of footsteps heading toward the bathroom.
With a grunt, I managed to roll off my stomach and went through my equipment check. An old habit that had only intensified since arriving in this world, the paranoia that drove it had always been there, just... far less justified before.
Like usual, nothing was missing except for a few coins I'd spent on dinner. With nothing else to occupy my time, I pulled out my maintenance kit and got to work on my short sword and dagger. The familiar motions were oddly soothing, checking the edges, oiling the blades, ensuring everything moved smoothly.
By the time I finished, Emilia was done with her bath. She stepped into the room trailing steam behind her, silver hair fully down and loose around her shoulders. She wore a simple pink nightdress that looked comfortable and perfectly suited for sleep.
Which, of course, brought up a rather immediate concern.
"So, I'm perfectly fine sleeping on the floor if you want," I offered quickly as she made her way to the opposite side of the bed.
I shifted to gauge her reaction, but rather than respond verbally, she simply pulled back the covers and crawled in.
"Why would you sleep on the floor when we have a perfectly comfortable bed right here?" She patted the space beside her with a small smile.
I ran a hand through my slightly damp hair, considering, before eventually giving in. I put my things away, keeping my weapons within easy reach, and settled onto my side of the bed.
Glancing over, I noticed Emilia was quietly watching me instead of settling in herself.
"Ready for bed?" I asked while getting comfortable, adjusting my pillow.
"Mhm." She hummed with a sleepy expression, her eyes already half-lidded.
I nodded. I didn't have anything else planned for the night anyway. With a wave of my hand over the glintstone lamp, the room plunged into darkness.
I laid down and turned so my back faced Emilia. Probably more comfortable for her that way.
"Good night, Lia," I whispered into the dark room.
Silence.
I strained my ears but could only catch the faint sound of shallow breathing behind me. She must have been more exhausted than I'd thought, probably fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
I laid there in the darkness, various thoughts churning through my mind. I wasn't particularly tired yet, so sleep was slow to come. Instead, I found myself staring into the shadows beyond the bed.
Eventually, a rustle of fabric caught my attention from behind me. Either Emilia hadn't quite fallen asleep and was getting more comfortable, or she was shifting in her sleep.
"...Ethan?" Her whisper broke the silence. "Are you already asleep?"
I thought about staying silent. See what she'd do, whether she'd just settle back down or if there was something she actually wanted. But that felt disingenuous, and she might genuinely need something.
"I'm still awake, Lia," I murmured back.
"Can you roll over?" she asked softly.
I considered the question. She probably wasn't asking me to roll off the bed entirely, so instead of that, I turned to face her.
"Ethan?" She whispered, her hand reaching for me under the covers, fingers grasping hesitantly at the hem of my shirt.
"Lia?" I whispered back, heart hammering against my ribs in the strange, charged atmosphere.
Emilia looked uncertain. Her eyes dropped to my chest, then slowly traced back up to meet mine. Her lips parted, but for a long moment no words came.
I waited.
Eventually, she found her voice.
"...Can you hold me, Ethan?" The words were so quiet I almost missed them.
Almost.
But I didn't.
This was beginning to become a routine, so this time I didn't hesitate. I scooted closer until I reached the middle of the bed and stretched my arms out, wrapping them around her small frame and pulling her close.
She was quick to reciprocate, latching onto me and melting against my chest with a pleased hum that made my heart do dangerous things.
"Thank you, Ethan." She mumbled into my shirt, her breath warm through the fabric. "You're the only person who's ever held me like this... it almost reminds me of something. Or someone. Every time you do, it makes me reeeally happy." She tightened her grip on me, as if afraid I might pull away.
While she settled in, I felt my expression shift into a frown. She made it sound like she had no family, or at least, no one she could remember. If nobody had ever hugged her before me, then she was severely lacking in something as basic as affection. I'd need to ask Puck about that.
"...I'll hold you whenever you want," I murmured, running my hand almost reverently through her long, impossibly smooth hair. "That's a promise I'd have no problem swearing an oath to."
"You promise?" She leaned back just enough for her amethyst eyes to find my dull gold ones.
"I promise," I repeated firmly.
She smiled at that, genuine and warm, before settling back against my chest with a contented sigh.
We lay there in comfortable silence for a moment, her breathing gradually evening out. But I could still feel a slight tension in her shoulders.
"Hey, Lia?" I said quietly, my hand continuing its gentle path through her hair.
"Mm?" She hummed, not lifting her head.
"You're going to do great. With the speech, I mean." I felt her shift slightly against me. "I've watched you practice it about a million times. You know it backwards and forwards. And all that work you've been putting in shows."
"You really think so?" Her voice was small, uncertain in a way that felt different from her earlier vulnerability.
"I know so." I squeezed her a bit tighter. "And I'll be right there beside you the whole time. You won't be doing this alone."
I felt some of the tension leave her body, her frame relaxing more fully against mine.
"Thank you, Ethan," she whispered. "For everything."
"Anytime, Lia." I meant it.
Her breathing gradually slowed and deepened, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to her. Within minutes, she was asleep, truly asleep this time, peaceful and warm in my arms.
I lay there with the beautiful girl in my embrace. I briefly considered stressing about life, the Witch of Envy, tomorrow's uncertainties, but thought better of it and banished those thoughts from my mind. Instead, I took comfort in her warmth and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Gradually, I found myself matching her breaths until we were breathing in sync. My consciousness began to dim, and I welcomed the sleep that embraced me.
But before I fully drifted away, a single thought pierced through the haze.
'Puck is going to absolutely kick my ass.'
The thought should have worried me more than it did. But wrapped up in Emilia's warmth, with her silver hair tickling my chin and her steady heartbeat against my chest, I found I couldn't bring myself to care.
Sleep claimed me with a smile on my face.
—
Waking up entangled with another person was a new experience for me.
Last time, Emilia had slipped away while I was still asleep to take her bath. But with the sun barely cresting the horizon and the half-elf still firmly clinging to me, face buried in my chest, I'd clearly woken first this time.
'Man, what a sight to wake up to.' I thought with a small grin.
It felt... nice. Being the source of comfort for someone else. Opening your eyes to find a beautiful girl in your bed, trusting you enough to sleep so peacefully.
An hour passed where I drifted in and out of sleep, just holding Emilia close and enjoying the simple peace of it all. No urgent objectives, no threats to analyze, no masks to maintain. Just... this.
Eventually she stirred. A soft, sleepy mumble escaped her as she slowly lifted her head. I brushed a lock of silver hair behind one of her pointed ears and smiled as her eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep.
"Morning, sleepyhead," I whispered with just the faintest hint of teasing in my tone.
Her eyes focused on me slowly, recognition dawning across her features. Then, instead of responding with words, she simply hummed contentedly and burrowed back into my chest, her arms tightening around me.
"Don't wanna get up yet," she mumbled into my shirt, voice thick with sleep. "You're too comfy."
With a single sentence, my face was on fire. I laid my head back down, resigning myself to being a human pillow, when a shimmer of light caught my eye.
A small breeze of cold air washed over me, and floating in the air, looking innocent as ever, was Puck.
'Save me!' I mouthed desperately.
The cat's eyes narrowed slightly, his whiskers twitching as he took in the scene. There was something sharp in his gaze, not quite suspicion, but definitely scrutiny. His tiny paws crossed over his chest as he floated closer, and the temperature in the room dropped by a noticeable degree.
'You got yourself into this situation,' his expression seemed to say, equal parts exasperated and... wary? 'And now you're begging me to save you?'
He circled around us once, inspecting the scene with the careful attention of a father who's trying to determine if he needs to turn someone into an ice sculpture. His gaze lingered on Emilia, still peacefully asleep, completely undisturbed, then flicked back to me with an intensity that made me deeply aware of how easily he could freeze me solid.
After a long, uncomfortable moment of assessment, something in his posture relaxed slightly. The killing intent, because that's definitely what it had been, dialed back from "imminent death" to merely "I'm watching you."
But the mild frustration remained, written clearly in the way his ears flattened just slightly and his tail gave an irritated flick.
'I didn't do anything!' I mouthed frantically, gesturing down with my eyes toward Emilia. 'It was all her idea!'
I had zero shame in throwing the sleeping girl under the proverbial bus.
Puck's expression shifted to something that could only be described as profound weariness. His tiny shoulders sagged in what might have been a sigh, and he shook his head slowly, as if he'd simply run out of energy to be properly annoyed.
He glanced out the window at the rising sun, then back at the two of us tangled together in bed. Another small, resigned shake of his head.
The temperature in the room gradually returned to normal. Not warm, exactly, but no longer threatening.
Puck's ears twitched once more, his tail gave one final flick of mild exasperation before he seemed to come to a decision.
'If you can't beat them, join them,' his posture seemed to say, with all the resignation of a parent who'd realized they'd lost this particular battle.
With that, the fluffy cat descended and wedged himself directly between Emilia and me, a very deliberate placement, somehow managing to squish his small body into the narrow space. Within seconds, he'd made himself comfortable, looking absurdly pleased with the arrangement.
'Haah... what in the world is this?'
I stared at the ceiling, caught with a sleeping half-elf holding onto me, and an overprotective spirit cat wedged firmly between us.
The cold breeze Puck had brought with him faded completely, replaced by a comfortable heat. Emilia shifted slightly in her sleep, unconsciously adjusting to accommodate Puck's presence in a way that made the cat smile.
I should have felt more awkward about this, instead, exhaustion pulled at me like a tide. The warmth, the steady breathing from both the cat and Emilia, the simple comfort of not being alone, it all conspired against any attempt at staying awake.
My eyes grew heavy. The absurdity of the situation faded into distant background noise.
Sleep claimed me once more, and I didn't bother fighting it.
—
The time did eventually come when we all crawled out of bed. That time was when Ram came barging in with a spare key, looking far too pleased with herself.
Puck almost looked ready to turn the girl to ice, before he caught himself and suddenly began agreeing with the maid's insistence that we get moving.
Over the course of an hour, we readied ourselves, grabbed a quick breakfast, and stepped out of The Golden Compass.
The chilly morning wind of Crossveil slapped me in the face, chasing away any lingering drowsiness that had stubbornly clung to me. Emilia, Puck, and I waited on the side of the road for Ram to arrive with the carriage.
I glanced up and down the street, noting the increased ground dragon traffic as people woke and quickly got back on the road toward their fortunes.
I hadn't spotted that mercenary group from last night, and nobody in the inn's main lounge had looked willing to talk at such an early hour. I'd have to make do with the information I'd overheard yesterday evening.
"Something might have happened either at Costuul or on the road leading there," I said, turning to Emilia.
She looked up from the paper she was reading with a surprised noise. "Really? How do you figure that?"
"Overheard a group last evening talking about taking a detour because of some issue. They never specified they were heading to Costuul, but with the talk about entering from the western gate, I'm fairly confident they meant a major city."
I adjusted the sword at my hip.
"Hmm. Then I suppose we should keep an eye out." Emilia agreed, glancing around as if she'd suddenly spot clues to this mystery right here on the street.
"If it's anything dangerous, I'll make sure it gets dealt with," Puck chimed in with a cheerful smile.
It felt reassuring knowing we had so much firepower on our side. Puck alone could probably freeze an entire city, and Emilia was no slouch either. I was... somewhere on the power scale? I knew that if I got within melee range, it was over for most foes thanks to Indomitable. But that didn't mean I was always invincible.
'Whatever. Shouldn't be anything too serious on the way there.'
With those thoughts settled, I turned my attention back to watching Emilia study.
—
The carriage inched forward a few feet, then slowed to a stop. Again. The process had been repeating for the past hour and a half.
We were stuck in a traffic jam.
It had taken a little under half a day of travel from Crossveil before the looming walls of Costuul finally appeared on the horizon. Emilia and I had been filled with anticipation, that eager, simple joy of exploring a grand city and discovering what made Costuul so "Great."
But it quickly became apparent what the 'threat' on the road actually was.
Traffic.
There was a seemingly endless line of carriages and foot travelers stretching for miles ahead. At this rate, we wouldn't reach the city until evening.
The speech was tomorrow, but the more time we could spend on the ground seeing the city and its inhabitants for ourselves, the better prepared we'd be.
... Plus, I may have wanted to go shopping.
'But instead I'm fucking stuck in traffic! This is giving me PTSD flashbacks to my practice runs to university. I guess I should thank whatever gods or cosmic accident brought me here after all, I would've spent two hours every single day just driving to campus. But apparently not even a fantasy world can spare me from mind-numbing—!'
My patience was wearing thin. Not only did I lack my phone for entertainment like back on Earth, but as much as I enjoyed Emilia's voice, hearing the same speech ad nauseam had its limits.
Even Puck, the ever-protective spirit, had decided to nope out after the eighth recitation.
'Lucky little rat... though wait, he's a cat. So... cat-rat? Rat-cat? Am I starting to lose my mind?'
I needed fresh air.
With a smile that felt more like a grimace, I stood and stretched in the cramped carriage space. Emilia was quick to notice my movement. She set down her script and looked up at me with a question in her eyes.
"I'm going to step out for a bit, Lia. See if I can figure out what's causing all this traffic, and if I'm really lucky, maybe find a way to get us inside sooner."
Emilia looked like she wanted to follow, but the paper in her hand suddenly seemed impossibly heavy. I'd told her I believed in her, and I'd meant it. But self-doubt was one hell of a thing.
With a reluctant expression, she gave me a small, pained smile. "Be safe, Ethan. May the blessing of the spirits be with you."
I shrugged off my Astrea jacket, opened the carriage door, and dropped down to the dirt road.
Looking left and right, I confirmed what I'd already seen. People everywhere, either sitting around waiting or walking forward along the massive line. There appeared to be two distinct queues: one for wagons and carriages, another for foot traffic.
'Why are there so many peasants walking into town anyway? Wouldn't they just stay and work in their villages? Surely not all of them are here to make important purchases.'
Plenty of questions. Standing here wouldn't answer any of them.
I moved up to the front of our carriage and spotted Ram in the driver's seat, looking profoundly bored. She noticed me immediately and turned to face me.
"I'm stepping ahead to scout," I said before she could speak. "Don't mind me. I'll be back soon enough."
She looked me up and down, shrugged with complete disinterest, and turned back to staring into the middle distance. Her eyes looked utterly blank.
'Should've packed a book,' I thought with a grin before taking off.
Weaving through the stopped carriages, I made mental notes of who looked approachable and who radiated a distinct 'talk to me and I'll either punch your head off or draw my blade' energy.
Unfortunately, there were far too many people in the second category, and ten minutes of walking around got me no leads.
'Okay, I'm not getting anywhere with this. Can't tell who'd be willing to talk, and I don't have the confidence to just walk up to random strangers and work my charisma.'
Well... it was a good thing I had just the solution for these concerns.
Click
Reason and Judgment
Time snapped to stillness. The people walking and talking around me froze mid-motion. Their voices and the ambient sounds of the world ceased to exist in this frozen moment.
Any anxiety I might have felt vaporized, replaced by a calm, clear veil... and a creeping sense of annoyance.
'Haah. We truly are rather foolish. So many situations where we could be making better use of our Authority. Where minor problems and annoyances could be dealt with so easily. Why have we been shunning its usage recently?'
If I had the capability, I would shake my head in disappointment at my own shortsightedness.
'We possess so much power. So much potential. And yet we limit ourselves... for what? How tedious.'
But no matter, I could correct that inefficiency now.
My gaze swept across the frozen tableau, seeking someone interesting, or at the very least, someone capable of providing useful information.
The road stretched before me in two neat columns of stopped vehicles, creating a canyon of wood, canvas, and frustrated commerce. Miles ahead, the mighty walls of Costuul rose like a promise that none of these people would reach anytime soon. The great stones gleamed dull gray in the afternoon light, their height impressive even from this distance.
Immediately before me sat two carriages, side by side in their respective lanes.
To the left: a merchant's wagon, its wooden sides weathered to a silvery-gray that spoke of years on the road. The canvas cover had been tied back, revealing crates of produce, root vegetables mostly. The merchant himself was visible in profile: a middle-aged man with a sun-weathered face, deep creases around his eyes from years of squinting at horizons.
His hands, frozen in the act of adjusting a rope, were thick-fingered and calloused, the nails trimmed short and rimmed with dirt that no amount of washing fully removed. He wore a brown leather vest over a homespun shirt, both garments practical and worn soft with age.
'Unremarkable. A simple tradesman of vegetables. Competent in his domain, perhaps, but what useful knowledge could such a creature possess? He knows dirt and turnips. We require information about the city.'
To the right: a passenger transport, larger than the merchant's wagon, with a heavy canvas flap mostly obscuring the interior. Through the gap, I could make out the shapes of people, eight, perhaps more, crammed into the back like cattle.
One woman's hand was visible, gripping the wooden frame: thin fingers, pale skin suggesting she spent little time outdoors, but the knuckles were red and swollen, possibly from cold or work-roughened despite her seeming status.
A silver ring on her middle finger caught the frozen sunlight. Behind her, barely visible, a man's shoulder showed the brown wool of a working-class coat, decent quality but patched at the elbow with thread that didn't quite match.
'Too many variables. Too many unknown quantities packed into an enclosed space. Approaching such a group would require navigating multiple personalities, multiple agendas. Inefficient. We could spend precious time sorting through their collective mediocrity only to find none possess relevant information.'
I let time slip forward and continued down the road. None of the people here would be of any use.
Walking past the carriages I let the confidence of my Authority carry me onward. I'd find what I was looking for, it was merely a matter of time.
To the left, a group of peasants trudged along the side of the road in their endless march toward whatever desperate hope drew them cityward. There were five of them.
I considered them for a second, before dismissing them entirely and turning my attention rightward.
Further ahead, about to pass the passenger transport, were two city guardsmen, their presence immediately commanding in a way the peasants could never achieve.
Both were demi-humans, their non-human heritage obvious even at this distance.
'Ah, now they look interesting.'
Click
Reason and Judgment
Time once more froze under my command, and I made out every little detail on the two guards.
The first was a dog-type demi-human, his features a blend of canine and human that created something both familiar and alien. His ears, large, pointed, and covered in short tan fur, sprouted from the top of his head, currently swiveled forward in attention.
His face bore a slightly elongated jaw, and when I observed his frozen expression, I could see pronounced canines pressing against his lower lip. His nose was wider and darker than a human's, with a slight leather-like texture. A thin layer of fur covered his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his uniform.
He wore chainmail armor over a padded gambeson, the chain links small and expertly forged, city military quality, not some provincial knockoff. The color scheme was white and black: white-painted steel for the chain, black-dyed leather for the gambeson beneath, visible at the wrists and neck. The city crest was emblazoned on his chest, a symbol I recognized from studying with Emilia.
His halberd was held at a relaxed angle, but everything about his posture suggested he could bring it to bear in an instant.
The second guard was a lizard-type demi-human, his reptilian nature even more pronounced than his partner's canine features.
His skin was scaled, though the scales were small and fine across most of his visible body, creating a texture like fine chainmail made of flesh. The coloring was a mottled green-brown, darker on top and lighter beneath, natural camouflage adapted for a predator.
He wore the same uniform as his partner, white and black chainmail and gambeson, but the armor had been modified to accommodate his physique.
His spear was well-maintained: an eight-foot shaft of dark wood, with a leaf-shaped steel head that had been sharpened recently enough that I could see the faint lines of the whetstone's passage. The butt of the spear was capped with steel, creating a secondary weapon. At his hip hung a short sword, practical and plain.
Both guards carried themselves with the casual alertness of professionals. They weren't tense, but they weren't relaxed. This was routine for them, but they were taking it seriously.
'Guardsmen. Competent ones, admittedly. Servants of the state, walking the line checking papers. They possess information, certainly, they are checking every carriage, scrutinizing every traveler. They know what they are looking for, which means they know what has occurred.'
I paused and considered.
'But approaching them presents... complications. They are authority. They would expect deference, explanation, justification for our questions. We would need to position ourselves carefully, perhaps invoke our connection to House Astrea, though we abandoned that jacket precisely to avoid such entanglements.'
'And even then, would they speak freely? Or would they guard their knowledge, give us only what they deemed necessary for a random traveler to know? Guards are trained to control information flow. They tell people what they need to hear, not what is actually occurring.'
A conclusion was rapidly forming in my mind.
'Approaching them would be direct. Efficient in one sense. But it would require... negotiation. Possibly justification of our interest. Too much of a nuisance.'
Time resumed and I let out a small sigh of indignance.
Carrying on even further up the column, past perhaps a dozen more carriages, I spotted someone far more promising.
He was young, early twenties at most. Dusty orange hair, disheveled and wind-blown from travel. Freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks gave him an almost boyish appearance, making him seem even younger than he probably was. His face was smooth, barely a shadow of facial hair, with the kind of soft features that spoke of someone who had not yet been fully hardened by the world.
But it was being hardened now. I could see it in his expression: amber eyes wide with panic, mouth slightly open as he seemed to be beginning to hyperventilate.
He wore merchant's clothes, but they were new, too new. His vest was deep blue wool, the kind of garment someone bought specifically for the purpose of "looking like a merchant." It still held its shape and hadn't been worn soft by years of travel.
His shirt beneath was white linen, clean, too clean for someone who had been on the road. His pants were brown canvas, sturdy but showing no wear at the knees, no fading from sun and dust. Even his boots were new: brown leather that hadn't yet molded to his feet, the soles barely scuffed, laces still stiff.
He stood perhaps five-foot-eight or nine, with a lean build that hadn't quite filled out yet. Everything about him, from his pristine clothes to his panicked pacing, screamed "first venture."
His cart was small, pulled by a single ground dragon. The dragon was a standard transport breed, nothing fancy, probably rented or bought cheap.
'Hmm. Odd how my thoughts continue to feel sharpened. My mind, more analytical even without using Reason and Judgment at the moment. Perhaps a benefit of continued rapid usage under a short time frame?' I mused while approaching the still panicking man.
'But why not make sure of things?'
Click
Reason and Judgment
Once more, time fell to my will, and the man froze in place.
'Look at him. A child playing at being a merchant. Panicked. Desperate. Drowning in a situation he does not understand and cannot control.'
I couldn't discern any details that would explain what had the man so frightened, but I could form assumptions. It had to do with the cargo he was carrying, regardless of how he paced and fretted, his eyes never left the back of his wagon.
'This man will do. He's a merchant, which immediately elevates him above the peasants from before. Clearly something has alarmed him, and recently too, otherwise, why would he be unraveling here and now, when he's already this far into the line?'
'And best of all, he is weak. Pliable. Desperate for any lifeline, any hope of salvation. He would fall over himself to provide information if it meant someone, anyone, might help him. Might save him from whatever fate he sees approaching.'
The satisfaction that curled through my mind was cold and precise.
'How fortunate for him that we have arrived. How generous we are being, to even consider helping such a man. He should be grateful, will be grateful, that someone of our caliber has deemed him worthy of attention, however briefly.'
I analyzed his face for a few moments longer.
'Yes. This one will do nicely.'
Time slipped forward. A calm, easy smile settled across my face without conscious thought, and I found my arms had folded behind my back in a posture of casual authority, as if I were a lord surveying his domain rather than a traveler questioning a merchant.
—
Melyn was having a bad time.
No, not just a bad time. A really bad time.
But if he thought things were bad now, they were about to get so much worse.
'By the Dragon! What happens when those guardsmen finally check my cargo?!'
The thought screamed through his mind for what must have been the hundredth time in the last hour. His stomach churned with sick, nauseating pressure. He wanted to vomit. He should vomit, maybe then he'd feel better. Maybe then this nightmare would feel less real.
He should have never listened to that gray-haired bastard back in Fleur. What did that drunk merchant know about trading anyway?!
'Clearly not enough to keep me off the chopping block! I'm doomed, completely, utterly doomed—'
Then a voice, calm and confident, broke through the panic clouding his mind.
"You look like you're having some trouble there."
Melyn's head snapped up so fast his neck cracked.
A stranger stood before him, and Melyn had no idea when he'd arrived. One moment the road had been empty except for the slowly advancing queue, and the next, this man was simply there, as if he'd materialized from thin air.
The stranger was tall, with a lean build that suggested someone who knew how to move but hadn't been hardened by years of labor. His hair was white, not gray with age, but genuinely white, falling in messy waves that somehow looked intentional despite their disorder.
It caught the afternoon light in a way that made him seem almost ethereal, like he'd stepped out of some painting of northern nobility.
But it was his eyes that made Melyn's breath catch. Golden. Not brown with flecks of amber, not hazel in certain light, but truly gold, the color of coins fresh from the mint, bright and unsettling in their intensity.
They studied Melyn with an expression that was friendly enough on the surface, but there was something beneath it. Something... measured.
And that smile. Calm, almost pleasant. But it didn't quite reach those golden eyes.
"I—" Melyn's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, trying to force moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. "I'm fine. Just... just waiting like everyone else."
The stranger tilted his head slightly, then shrugged. "Is that so? Well, it certainly is an awfully long wait, hmm?"
Melyn's fist tightened unconsciously. He prayed the man would get a move on so he could go back to wallowing in despair in relative privacy.
"Mhm, yeah, sure is." He forced out a half-broken smile. "Probably best to wait in a carriage, right? Rather than standing out here in the sun."
The urgency in his voice was painfully obvious. Please, please just take the hint and leave.
"Hmm, perhaps." But instead of moving on, the stranger looked perfectly comfortable as he tilted his gaze up toward the sky, as though he had no worries in the world. "You see, I just had a rather interesting chat with a couple guardsmen merely a few carriages back—"
Melyn couldn't suppress the hiccup that escaped when he heard that dreaded word. Guardsmen. His eyes shot past the white-haired man, desperately scanning the road to see if his end was arriving already.
"They told me they were looking for something," the stranger continued casually, "but sadly were less than forthcoming on what exactly they were searching for."
Those golden eyes dropped from the sky and landed directly on Melyn.
"You wouldn't happen to know what they're looking for, would you?"
The question was asked so innocently, so pleasantly, as if he wasn't pointedly directing it at the man who'd just been about to rip his hair out in anxiety.
"Uh..." Melyn's eyes flickered wildly between the stranger's golden gaze, the carriages behind which those guardsmen would appear any second now, and his own wagon filled to the brim with the very implements that would cause his execution.
His mouth opened and closed uselessly. What was he supposed to say? Lie? This man clearly already suspected something. Tell the truth? To a complete stranger who might turn him in?
The silence stretched. Melyn felt it pressing down on him like a physical weight, crushing the last of his composure. His throat worked uselessly, words catching and dying before they could form.
Then something inside him just... broke.
"You, uh, haven't heard?" His voice came out strangled, too high. "They say some lunatic from the Witch Cult detonated a wagon load of fire crystals less than a week ago... right in the middle of the southern gate."
The words started coming faster, tripping over each other as desperation clawed its way up his throat. He needed someone—anyone—to understand. To know he wasn't a bad person. That this was just terrible, horrible, catastrophic luck.
"Listen, man, I didn't know!" It all came pouring out in a rush, his voice cracking. "If I'd known, I would have never spent all my money on this shipment! Every copper I had, everything, it's all in that wagon!"
His hands were shaking so badly now he had to clench them into fists. His vision blurred at the edges.
"I'm not with those cult freaks, I swear I'm not! But because I'm not with one of the big mercantile companies, because I don't have reputation or connections or—or anything—they're going to think I'm one of them anyway!"
His voice broke completely. "They're going to put my head on a spike for trying to make an honest living, and there's nothing I can do about it, and I—I—"
He was crying now. Actually crying in front of a complete stranger on a dusty road surrounded by other merchants who might see. He didn't care anymore. What did it matter? He was dead anyway.
"I just wanted to be successful," he choked out, the words barely intelligible through the tightness in his throat. "Just wanted to prove I could do this. And now I'm going to die because some bastard in Fleur told me this route was safe, and I was stupid enough to believe him."
The confession left him hollow, trembling. He waited for it, the condemnation, the mockery, the pity. Maybe the stranger would just walk away and leave him to his fate. That's what Melyn deserved for being so pathetically naive.
Instead, white-hair stepped closer.
A firm hand settled on Melyn's shoulder, solid, warm, and grounding.
"I believe you."
Three words. Just three words.
And somehow, impossibly, they made Melyn's fractured reality pull itself back together, if only slightly. The crushing weight lifted just enough to let him breathe.
"We can fix this," the stranger said with quiet certainty, before his ever-calm smile faltered for just a heartbeat. Something almost sheepish crossed his features. "But first, what's your name?"
Melyn let out a strangled sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. The absurdity of it all, breaking down completely before exchanging even the most basic courtesy, struck him as either hilarious or tragic. Maybe both.
"It's Melyn. No surname." He offered a shaky hand, still trembling from the aftermath of his breakdown.
"A pleasure to meet you, Melyn." The white-haired man grasped his hand with a firm, steady grip. "My name is Ethan Caldwell."
The handshake was solid, grounding. And the small nod Ethan gave him, confident, reassuring, did more for Melyn's mental state than any words could have.
Maybe... maybe this Caldwell fellow could actually get him out of this pit of mabeasts he'd fallen into?
For the first time since discovering the path his cargo would drag him down, he felt something other than dread.
He felt hope.
—
Author's Yap Session:
Woohoo! We not only hit 700 collections, but I've finally received enough reviews to get the story a rating! The Path of Pride is sitting at a 4.34 star rating. Honestly, for my first time ever writing something like this, I'm more than happy with that. Especially since my early chapters are... yeesh. One day, I'll make them look better... one day.
Anywhooo... sorry for the long wait, I said the schedule would get better... BUT I LIED! I did not anticipate midterms sneaking up on me so quick, nor having to rewrite this chapter THREEdamn times.
That's like 15k in words completely trashed, or shelved for a future chapter.
So this chapter was the result! 11k words, we touched on Crossveil (which will be playing a role later) and finally arrived near Costuul. Yeesh, when will we finally see the inside of this city?
Anway... worldbuilding and whatnot... uhh... definitely trying to make the world feel lived in and not just revolve around key characters. That probably means the introduction of more OCs in the future... so uh, thoughts on that?
Lastly, much appreciation for all of you that comment on my story, leave reviews, and throw power stones at my face! Every rock that strikes me fills me with more motivation to continue my rightous path onward.