Julian woke up in a bed that didn't smell like mold or regret.
It was... unsettling.
Sunlight streamed in through the warped shutters of the room at The Mild Axe. Blobby was curled up like a gooey bean beside his pillow, snoring softly. Lira, presumably, was already up sharpening something sharp or judging local tea.
Julian stretched, cracked his neck, and checked his pocket for the map they got from Lira's contact.
It was still there—tattered, stained, and now slightly sticky. Probably Blobby's fault.
[Reminder: destination is the Ironpine Range. Estimated travel time: five days on foot. Three with a horse. Two with a teleportation circle, which you absolutely do not have.]
Julian grumbled and rolled out of bed.
Downstairs, the inn's breakfast was surprisingly edible. Lira was at a corner table, sipping something hot, hood up.
"We need supplies," she said without looking up.
"I need pants without a rip in the knee."
"I'll buy you pants if you stop talking about them."
Julian raised his hands. "Deal."
They left the inn and hit Eastgrove's market—small but functional. Julian picked up food, a blanket that didn't scream 'I was made by a haunted sheep,' and, yes, new pants. Lira handled rope, oil, and knives, which she purchased with the calm familiarity of someone who expected to use all of them by lunch.
And then they came across the luggage.
Or rather, it came across *them*.
Outside a dusty secondhand shop, a large trunk with silver trim and squeaky wooden wheels sat unattended. Its latch clicked open by itself as Julian approached.
"Uh... Lira?"
The lid popped up.
Two small eyes blinked from inside.
A tongue rolled out. Then a note.
Julian took it.
Congratulations! You have been randomly selected to receive a Wandering Wardrobe™ – the magical storage trunk that follows you! Warning: moderately sentient. Do not feed after midnight.
"What the hell?"
[It's a semi-intelligent magical luggage unit. Common among mid-tier adventurers. Follows the owner. Protects its contents. Occasionally judges your fashion sense.]
The trunk blinked at him.
"I didn't pay for this."
[It has imprinted on you.]
"Why do these things keep imprinting on me?!"
The trunk let out a happy *bark*, rolled forward, and gently bumped his shin.
Lira looked mildly impressed. "Well, that solves the storage problem."
Julian sighed. "Great. Now I'm responsible for *another* thing with a face."
[Name it.]
"No."
[Name it.]
Julian groaned. "Fine. We'll call it... Trunkle."
Trunkle barked again, clearly thrilled.
They headed toward the northern road, Trunkle bouncing behind them like a hyperactive filing cabinet.
At the last shop, Julian grabbed one more item—a tiny compass etched with arcane runes. The shopkeeper, a hunched man with a permanent sneeze face, whispered, "It doesn't point north. It points where you *need* to go."
Julian turned it in his hand. The needle spun, twitched, then locked in a direction slightly northeast of the mountains.
Lira leaned over. "That's... not where the path is."
"Yeah," Julian said. "But it's where we *need* to be."
[Highly suspicious. I approve.]
Julian pocketed the compass, turned to Lira, and took a deep breath.
"Let's go find the truth."
She nodded. "Let's go find your spoon's final form."
He paused. "Wait, it *has* a final form?"
[No comment.]
Trunkle barked, Blobby squeaked, and the group walked out of Eastgrove with full packs, stronger minds, and absolutely no idea what they were walking into.