The wind changed.
Shifting from a slow whisper to a cutting breath, it swept across the frostbitten fields and carried with it distant sounds—wooden wheels creaking, hooves thudding against hardened ground, and faint muffled voices wrapped in thick winter cloth.
Kel raised his head slightly.
Reina and Landon followed his line of sight.
Ahead, through thin veils of morning mist, a caravan approached from the western ridge—a long, canvas-covered wagon drawn by two sturdy snow-draft horses bred for endurance rather than speed. Frost clung to the edges of its cover, and the timber beneath showed scars of long travel and harsher weather.
A man drove it. Middle-aged. Rough-spoken aura. Clothes worn but layered enough to betray survival. A simple heavy coat of brown wool and a thick fur cap. He held the reins loosely, surveying the terrain with the eyes of someone accustomed to caution.
He looked at the three figures walking along the road.
Not with suspicion.
Not with fear.
With curiosity born from routine.
Kel lifted his hand in a calm, composed gesture—not flagging him down with urgency, but inviting acknowledgment.
The driver slowed the caravan to a halt.
Hooves thudded lightly in frost.
Wheels creaked as the load settled.
Kel stepped closer.
Still, a careful distance away—not too near, not too far.
He raised his head slightly and greeted with an unforced tone.
"Good day, traveler."
The driver looked him over briefly—dark coat, light pack, pale young face under controlled composure. Then his gaze shifted to Reina, her posture precise and watchful even in stillness. Then to Landon, whose solid stance made him appear subtly defensive despite neutrality.
The driver's eyes narrowed, reading them.
Then, after a beat, he nodded.
"Road's long ahead," he said. "You three walking it alone?"
Kel glanced toward the horizon.
"We are," he replied. "Though fortune appears to have sent company sooner than we expected."
The driver looked at him again.
Then exhaled, faint plume of white rising.
"Heading northeast?" he asked, rein hand relaxed but ready.
"Yes," Kel said.
A slow nod.
"I'm headed to the border city up that way," the driver offered. "If you're not types to cause trouble and don't mind sharing space with trade crates, you can ride along."
Kel turned slightly, gauging Reina and Landon.
Neither objected.
Reina gave the smallest nod.
Landon rolled his shoulder once. "Better than freezing our toes off walking," he muttered.
Kel met the driver's gaze.
"Then we accept."
The driver nodded and gestured with his chin.
"Climb on."
Upon the Caravan
The three climbed into the wagon.
It carried barrels of salted winter herbs, dried meat strips, and crates marked with various regional trade sigils. The interior smelled of straw, wood, and iron—like an inn pantry crossed with a weapons locker.
They positioned themselves carefully.
Kel sat slightly toward the center, back straight, hands resting calmly over his lap. Reina sat to his right, knees together, back aligned, boots silent. Landon sat to Kel's left, one hand resting casually on his pack—not overly cautious, but alert.
The caravan lurched forward.
Hooves resumed their steady beat against frost.
Inside, wooden planks creaked as weight shifted.
Reina traced the motion of the wheels beneath with her eyes, calculating path stability and distance.
Landon adjusted his coat and leaned slightly back. "This is better than walking," he muttered—though under layers of bluntness, there was quiet relief.
Kel sat still.
For the first time since leaving the estate, his posture eased fractionally.
He watched the frost-covered scenery slip past through the opening of the wagon's flap.
After several minutes, the driver spoke without looking back.
"Name's Ganz. I run supplies between small settlements and border towns. Don't often see travelers this way unless they're hunters… or running from something."
Kel lifted his chin slightly.
"Neither," he said softly.
The man's eyes narrowed in the front reflection of the small wood mirror hung beside him.
"Then?"
Kel met his eyes from the reflection.
A single beat.
"Searching."
The driver observed him, then snorted quietly.
"Most dangerous reason of all."
Kel did not look away.
"Often true."
Ganz gave a signaling grunt—acknowledgment without agreement.
After a moment, his tone eased.
"Well, searching's fine business as long as it doesn't disrupt mine. Mind answering who you are, then? Road folks appreciate knowing names."
Kel's gaze drifted briefly to Reina and Landon.
Then he looked forward.
A breath.
And then—
A name not his own left his lips.
"Heral."
His voice was steady.
Silk over iron.
"Just a poet traveling with two friends."
There was no stutter.
No hesitation.
Even his posture did not shift.
He said it like a truth this world had simply not yet acknowledged.
Ganz raised an eyebrow.
"A poet, eh?"
Kel nodded without theatricality.
"Words travel lighter than steel."
The corner of Ganz's mouth curved.
"But more dangerously, sometimes."
Kel's lips moved faintly.
A ghost of a reply.
"Sometimes yes."
The driver's attention shifted to the two beside him.
"And you?"
Reina's gaze met his from the shadows of the wagon.
Her tone was calm, almost emotionless.
"I am Elira."
She paused.
"A scribe."
Ganz blinked. "A scribe?"
She nodded.
"Words need preservation too."
The driver let out a low chuckle.
Something like approval passed between his eyes.
Then he looked to Landon.
Landon hesitated half a heartbeat.
Then grinned faintly, despite the cold.
"Name's Bran," he said. "I fix wheels."
Ganz squinted.
"You fix wheels?"
Landon shrugged.
"Among other things."
The driver shook his head, amused.
"A poet, a scribe, and a wheelwright walking into a blizzard. I'm either transporting the beginnings of a legend… or the dumbest trio I've seen in a decade."
Landon coughed once.
"…Probably both."
Reina stared ahead without reacting.
Kel allowed the smallest breath of amusement to escape him.
Barely perceptible.
But present.
Names Accepted, For Now
After some time, silence returned to the wagon.
A different silence.
Not strained.
Settling.
Ganz spoke again after evaluating the air between them.
"Border town's about half a day ride from here. We'll stop by a small outpost midway to feed the horses." He glanced subtly back. "If you're headed past the border, consider renting mountain coats there. Frost deepens past civilized land."
Kel nodded once.
Reina noted the information.
Landon exhaled slowly, rubbing warmth back into his hands.
Kel glanced outside.
Frost. Fields. Pale sky slowly darkening in the east—the direction they were traveling.
The deeper north was waiting.
With it, mountains.
With them, barbarians.
And beyond them…
A lake.
Not a marked destination.
Not a place on maps.
A place code had carved into memory.
A place cursed to remain unseen if approached by logic.
A place that might break his curse.
Or kill him faster.
His eyes dimmed.
Scarder Lake… one more phase closer.
He leaned back, posture composed.
Conclusion – The Road Gains Three Shadows
The caravan rolled onward.
Snow began to fall lightly.
This time not sharp.
Soft.
Like ash.
As if the world had begun to remember what lay beneath its crystalline mask.
The driver hummed a low road tune.
Landon dozed lightly, though his hand still rested close to his blade.
Reina watched the snowfall.
Kel stared forward.
His voice broke the silence only once.
Soft.
Like a memory.
"In winter, false names travel farther than true ones."
Reina's gaze shifted.
"Until when," she asked, "will we use them?"
Kel answered without pause.
"Until we no longer need to be believed."
Outside, the snow thickened.
Carving white across everything.
The wagon wheels turned.
Three hidden names traveled under a canvas cover.
Three real intentions walked in the cold.
And far ahead—
Mountains waited.
Quiet.
Unmoved.
As if amused at what dared approach their gates.