I stepped out of the chambers in a dark travel tunic and cloak, ready for the long ride ahead. Jered was already standing by the horses, yawning, but at least he looked prepared.
Then I saw them.
The twins.
And I almost stopped in my tracks.
What they had on might have been understandable in some backwater tavern or a private room, but certainly not for an expedition to the North. Black lace tightly wrapped around their chests, with a neckline so deep it covered only the bare minimum. Thin leather straps crisscrossed over their stomachs, revealing more skin than I was willing to tolerate. Their trousers were split open along the sides all the way up to the hips, held together only by laces. And high boots with buckles that looked more suited for a night game than a march through inhospitable mountains.
"And this is supposed to be what?" I asked coldly, my gaze moving from one to the other. "We're heading North, not putting on a show for drunken mercenaries. Change."
The older one just smiled and twirled a dagger in her hand. "This is combat gear. Light, flexible."
"It's provocation," I shot back. "And in the North it'll be useless—except for attracting the kind of attention we don't want."
The younger one crossed her arms under her breasts, looking at me curiously. "So… it bothers you?"
"It bothers me that you're under my command and you're not taking this seriously. You have one hour. Change into something that makes sense."
Without another word, I walked to my horse.
Behind me, though, I heard them lean toward each other.
"Now we've got a chance," the older one whispered.
"Just have to play it long enough," the younger one replied with a laugh.
We set out early in the morning, when Kaelas' city gate opened and let us onto the road north.
The air was cold, with a metallic tang in the morning mist. Steam rose from the horses' muzzles.
Jered and I rode at the front, the twins a little behind, close enough to catch every word.
For a while, we rode in silence, until Jered leaned toward me.
"You know what I just remembered? That tournament. Remember when you knocked that arrogant noble off his horse straight into the barrel of ale?"
I smirked. "I remember."
Behind me, Serenya chimed in, "And didn't you offer him your hand after that—only to let him fall right back in?"
I glanced over my shoulder. "Maybe."
Lyss jumped in immediately. "Not maybe. That's exactly something you'd do."
"I do what needs to be done," I replied flatly.
Jered burst out laughing. "Sure, that's why we both ended up in that same barrel."
The twins laughed along with him.
Then Jered moved on to army stories. He recalled the time some recruits forgot to set a watch because they got drunk on stolen ale, and in the morning the commander caught them sleeping by the fire—without pants.
"And remember that spice caravan escort?" he asked, not waiting for my reply. "You stood in the middle of the road with two torches, pretending to be a demon."
"The bandits retreated," I said calmly.
"Right," he laughed, "but I nearly fell off my horse laughing, and those torches almost set your sleeves on fire."
The twins started joining in more. Serenya smirked, "It's cold up north. Maybe you should consider some company at night."
Lyss, with an innocent look, added, "Two blankets, two sisters."
"I'll manage," I said firmly, letting it drop.
Jered was quick to jump in. "I'd take the company."
No one replied to him. We just exchanged glances and then all burst out laughing.
The rest of the morning, Jered kept the mood light with more stories. The twins teased both him and me, asking which of us had the worse reputation, and Jered swore it was me—because he was a "saint."
"A saint?" Serenya repeated with a sarcastic smile. "Maybe for the village girls who believe your stories."
Lyss grinned. "But admit it—without Jered, it'd be boring."
I had to agree. I was glad he was riding at my side. He always knew how to keep spirits up, even when something hard was ahead.
And I knew these moments of peace wouldn't last forever. The North would take them from us sooner than we realized.
We rode through Thornevale by midday, the valley shrouded in thick, deep-green forests. Sunlight broke through in narrow shafts, painting gold across the moss and damp leaves. The road here was steady, the air fresh—almost too calm.
The villages we passed greeted us, but always with that same look in their eyes when they heard our destination. Men paused mid-work, women pulled children closer, and conversations dropped to whispers. Nobody told us not to go, but every farewell felt like it could be the last.
By the second day, the forest began to thin. The hills rolled higher, the roads steeper, until we reached the rocky approaches to Sarnxalh. Wind cut through the passes here, sharp enough to sting the skin. We stopped at the gatehouse, where the local guards were eager to pass on their news—if you could call it that.
"North of Darkspire," one said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, "there's silence. Villages gone cold. Not burned, not looted. Just… empty."
Jered glanced at me, his grin fading for the first time on the road. The twins, though, seemed to listen with a different kind of interest—eyes narrowed, but not with fear.
Crossing Darkspire was like stepping into another world. The mountain cast its shadow over us so heavily it felt like a weight on my chest. Old stone fortifications stood abandoned, half-swallowed by moss, their walls telling stories of wars long forgotten. And yet… in the wind, I caught the faint scent of smoke.
On the far side, the land began to change. Forests thinned into pale, dry plains, and the ground took on a strange, gray hue. We passed fewer settlements, until there was only one—Greynhollow.
If you could call it that.
A single old blacksmith stood outside, hammer idle in his hands. A woman kept two children close, watching us without a word. The rest of the place was silent. When I asked where everyone was, the blacksmith simply said, "They left." He didn't say where.
From there, we rode under heavy skies toward the Northern Wastes. Snow-capped peaks loomed ahead, clouds clinging to their jagged edges. The air grew colder, sharper, every step. Sometimes, at night, I thought I saw lights moving along the ridges—but when I blinked, they were gone.
The last sign of civilization was an abandoned watchpost near the Frozen Pass. Our maps ended there. Beyond it lay nothing marked—only the territory no one from Thale had mapped, ruled by rumor and old tales of "the land where the earth breathes and the mountains whisper."
Jered's voice broke the silence. "Well, I guess this is where the known world ends."
"No," I told him. "This is where the part best left forgotten begins."
We rode on, into the white haze curling through the pass, the cold biting deeper with every step.