Bang!
The door slammed open, the sound slicing through the darkness like a whip crack.
"Do you have the answers?"
The voice wasn't just heard — it vibrated. It sank through the air, crawled into the skull, and whispered against the bones as if it wanted to live there.
A figure sat chained to the chair in the center of the room, blindfold tight across hollow eyes. The ropes around his wrists had rubbed the skin raw, the faint scent of iron mixing with something far fouler — rot, sweat, and stale blood.
"You again," the restrained man rasped. "Just… let me die in peace."
His voice carried no fight, only the soft crumble of someone who'd run out of hope.
"You've become calm," the voice replied smoothly. "Isn't it great?"
The prisoner said nothing. His breath was shallow, trembling through the still air.
"If you use your nose," the voice continued, almost playfully, "you might notice something delightful. Of course, the choice is yours to make."
Through the stench of metal and decay, another scent began to creep in — warm, sweet, and impossibly out of place.
Fresh bread.
The man's lips parted. "Is that… bread?"
"Yes. You guessed it right."
He slumped forward slightly, confusion flickering through his voice. "Just let me die in peace. I can't… can't take more torture."
"Oh no, no, no. You've got it all wrong," the voice purred. "I'm here with an offer. Let's put it this way — you'll be free. You'll eat well, rest, live comfortably… but at a cost. What do you say? It's far better than starving to death here."
The prisoner's answer came barely above a whisper. "As you say."
A pause. Then:
"Want to hear the catch?"
"I agree to all the catches," he muttered.
"Don't want to hear them? Right," the voice said, almost amused.
The air thickened — footsteps echoed closer — and the faint scent of bread grew stronger, warm enough to make the hunger twist like knives in his stomach.
sharp hissing sound hissssssss, followed by a sudden movement
Then silence.
✦✦✦
The carriage wheels rattled over the uneven road, iron-rimmed and heavy with the weight of dusk. Beyond the narrow slit of the canvas, the last rays of sun spilled in ribbons of red and gold, streaking across jagged treetops and sliding along the rooftops before dying on the horizon. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, the faint tang of sweat from the horses mixing with the metallic bite of the carriage fittings.
Inside the covered wagon, Thrynn sat beside Coachman Soryn, her posture straight, eyes scanning the road as she mentally traced every twist and bend in preparation for the Traveler's Exam. The children, exhausted from a day of running and poking at each other, had drifted into a careless sleep, heads lolling against each other or the sides of the wagon. The lazy slacker of the group — Mivara — was wide awake, knees tucked to her chest, listening to the steady thrum of wheels and the creak of the timber beneath her.
The guard's eyes swept back and forth, vigilant for any unusual movement among the trees that edged the road.
"We're going to set up camp here," Coachman Soryn announced, voice calm and measured.
Mivara's attention drifted outward. From the rising hill ahead, she saw it: a wooden fortress, its tall, sturdy walls looming like a sentinel in the thick, shadowy forest. Smoke from chimneys spiraled upward, caught in the golden light, and torches flickered faintly along the ramparts. The trees pressed in close, their dark boughs swaying in the evening wind, a whispering chorus that set her heart racing. She slipped out of the carriage before anyone could notice, her boots crunching on the gravel path as she approached the wooden gate. The scent of burning wood, straw, and faintly spiced smoke mixed in the air, and the murmurs of people preparing for nightfall floated from inside the walls.
"Ah! Please do no harm—" she began, jerking back in surprise, before recognizing Thrynn's hand on her shoulder. "Oh. It's you."
"I think you forgot our luggage," Thrynn teased softly.
"No need," Coachman Soryn called from behind.
"Why, Vaer?" Thrynn asked, tilting her head.
"Because—"
"We take the carriage in and set up the tents. There's no point in unloading your luggage just yet," the guard interrupted.
"Yes," Coachman Soryn nodded. "It's our turn."
A gatekeeper approached, torchlight glinting on his polished armor. "Good evening, Vaers. May I see your IDs?"
Both Coachman Soryn and the guard handed over neatly folded papers. Thrynn and Mivara exchanged puzzled glances — IDs? Affiliation certificates? Why the formality? The gatekeeper scribbled notes on a small parchment, glancing up now and then.
"For what purpose are you traveling, Vaer? Are you part of the carriages heading for the Binding Ritual?" he asked, eyes flicking between the papers and the approaching wagon line.
"Yes," Coachman Soryn replied, calm and authoritative.
"And your affiliation certificates, please." The guard handed over a neatly creased sheet. The gate creaked open slowly, flanked by two tall towers joined at the walls. A second gatekeeper in the left tower signaled them forward, peering through a narrow window slit.
Coachman Soryn and Vaer turned to Thrynn and Mivara, seeing the questions written across their faces. "We know you have questions," Soryn said with a small smile, "but let's get inside first."
Thrynn and Mivara nodded, sliding back into the carriage.
As the wagons rolled through the gate, the fortress interior revealed a bustling scene. Merchants had pitched colorful tents along the main road, wares stacked in wooden crates — fabrics dyed in deep indigo, glimmering trinkets, hand-carved toys, and jars of preserved foods glinting in torchlight. The aroma of roasting meat, fresh bread, and sweetened nuts mingled with the crisp evening air. Closer to the entrance, food stalls steamed and sizzled, frying small pastries and skewering meat over open flames.
Coachman Soryn guided their wagon toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd, where soft straw had been laid for temporary tents. The children stirred briefly at the new sights and smells but settled quickly. Mivara hopped down, brushing straw and dust from her cloak, inhaling the mix of scents — pine smoke, frying oil, and baked dough — letting it anchor her senses.
The wagon creaked and groaned as it came to a stop, and Thrynn carefully slid out, eyes still flicking to the paths and alleyways within the fortress. Vaer and the guard moved swiftly, helping secure the wagons and ensure their tents were properly staked, while merchants shouted final calls for customers. Lanterns flickered along the wooden walkways, casting dancing shadows across the walls, and the distant sound of a lute carried from somewhere deeper inside the fortress.
Mivara finally exhaled, settling into the rhythm of the place. "Well," she muttered, eyes scanning the bustling courtyard, "this is… different."
Thrynn allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Welcome to camp."