Mud shifts under Floris's boot as he walks. Time has passed. Enough time that his ribs have begun to feel better. The pain isn't gone. But it's dulled enough it doesn't feel as sharp as it did. He continues eating willow and marsh-root at needed. He doesn't overindulge. He lets the healing properties move through his system. Overindulgent would be fatal.
Alvis walks beside him, ready to assist if Floris finds an embankment too steep to climb on his own. Neither speak. But they listen. Intently. They only speak if it's absolutely necessary, relying on hand signals they had trained their bodies to follow automatically throughout the years. Duck.
Hide.
Climb.
Wait.
The boys knew how to read each other without uttering a single word. They didn't need to. The swamp is the one who talks.
Alvis leads the way primarily. His instincts are sharper. His hearing is more fine-tune. His vision is more fixated. His senses are more in tune with the swamp. Floris's instincts aren't bad. They just aren't as sharp. Alvis was the main hunter and gatherer of the village for years. Floris spent most of his time in his room brewing potions and writing notes in his journals. But that's all gone now.
The boys walk through dense vegetation. The swamp begins to become tight again. They look around. Things begin to seem more familiar. Trees seem to hold old memorable scars.
They both freeze.
"You've got to be kidding me…" Alvis whispers under his breath.
Floris only stares silently.
A tree they both recognized stood before them. An old tree they used as a waypoint for years. Knife marks carved into the bark with arrows pointing towards important landmarks.
"We've been walking in circles!" Floris utters under his breath.
For a moment, neither of them speaks. The swamp feels different now — not familiar, not protective. Closed. As if it has decided they do not belong anymore.
Floris feels it then — a quiet, creeping thought he refuses to say aloud.
What if we don't make it out?
Alvis doesn't respond. He just stares. Silently. Dumbstruck. He doesn't understand.
"We never turned completely around." Alvis mutters. "How does this make any sense?"
Floris shakes his head, "I don't know." He peers deeper into the swamp. An idea comes to him. "The wagon trail. We could follow it."
"But…but, that would take us back to Two Creeks." Alvis utters. "We agreed not to return."
Floris glances at Alvis, then looks deeper into the swamp. "We're not returning. Just passing by."
Alvis pauses. He holds his breath as he looks in the direction of where home used to be. He then looks at Floris and asks, "Are you sure about this?"
Floris adjusts his bow over his shoulder and begins to walk forward. "No. But it's not like we have anything left to lose."
Alvis lingers behind for a moment in silent protest. But he realizes Floris is right. What other choice did they have? At least the wagon trail would be easier to follow than making cleaving their way through the undergrowth, not knowing where to go.
The boys cross through familiar territory. Back in the land they used to own. Where they used to be the top predators. But now…they felt like strangers in a world they used to call home.
They walk behind a hill. A hill they know. A hill that used to welcome them home. A hill that used to show the first signs of Two Creeks with the rooves peering over it, and smoke columns rising from chimneys. But now…it's silence. No smoke. No roofs. No laughter. No work. Just…silence.
It isn't peaceful.
It's wrong.
Even the swamp hasn't returned here yet — as if it, too, is wary of what happened.
The boys find the wagon trail. Bushes hide the destruction of their village. Alvis's body seems to act on its own, as he slowly walks closer to the shrubbery. Floris catches his shoulder, making him stop.
Alvis looks at Floris. Part of him doesn't want to believe it's actually real. But Floris only shakes his head. Alvis glances back at the shrubs for just a brief moment and then nods at Floris. Silent understanding in both their eyes.
Floris is tempted to look, too. But he forces himself to turn around and start following the wagon trail.
"How long do you think it will take us to catch him?" Alvis asks.
Floris thinks silently, then responds, "He was here not too long ago. His wagon won't make quick progress through the swamp. He's heavy, we're light. We'll catch him."
"And if the path splits at some point?" Alvis asks
Floris glances at Alvis and begins walking ahead, "Then we flip a stick. And let fate decide."
Alvis nods. It wasn't a great plan. But it was their only plan. At least now they had something familiar to try and find.
Their food runs thin. Floris wakes one morning lightheaded, vision swimming when he stands too quickly. Alvis pretends not to notice.
They don't say it aloud, but both of them understand — if they lose the trail again, they may not get another chance.
Days pass. The tracks of the wagon become fresher. The path weaves and bends, avoiding the thickest underbrush and deepest mud. The boys move quickly and silently.
A sound echoes through the swamp. Not a natural sound. Something slow. Burdened. Rhythmic. Almost architectural.
Floris and Alvis glance at each other, then quicken their pace towards the sound. The don't run. Prey runs. But they stalk quickly and silently. They crest over a hill and see something large moving in the distance. Something that rivaled even the tallest buildings of the village.
A spark ignites in both their eyes. Not hope — not yet — but something dangerously close. Something survived. Something solid. Something not burned or torn apart in the night.
As the boys get closer and into plain view in the open, the trader stops. The mighty mules pulling make calls as the reigns loosen. Some pant as if needing a rest. Others try grazing the grass they can reach.
The trader, sitting in a makeshift balcony that stood far from the ground, looks down at the boys curiously.
"Alvis? Floris? Is that you?" The trader asks. Surprised to see them so far away from their village.
The boys nod once.
"We need help." Alvis says.
The trader drops his reigns and goes inside his wagon. A few moments pass, then a door lower on the wagon opens. The trader invites them in. The boys step inside.
This part of the wagon was the living quarters for the trader. A place neither Floris nor Alvis had seen before. It was specious enough for one person, though a bit crowded with three. Still, they manage to find places to sit or stand.
The boys tell the trader about what happened.
The trader's face goes pale.
He grabs his chin as if thinking. Then he utters words under his breath. "That…that can't be right."
Floris catches it. "What do you mean?"
The trader looks at Floris, "Those creatures…they shouldn't be this far north."
Floris and Alvis's eyes widen.
"You mean there's more of these things?!" Alvis nearly shouts. A mixture of anger and fear fills his voice.
The trader looks at Alvis and nods. "Yeah. There's an abundance of them down in southern regions of the continent. But I've never heard of one coming up here. It must have swam along shoreline and then found its way into the swamp."
"There were two of them." Floris says dryly.
"Two?!" The Trader asks, snapping head at Floris. "Two? That's not good."
"What even are they?" Alvis asks. "If there's an abundance of them, the species must have a name."
The trader grips his chin, face still pale from finding out there were two of them in this swamp of all places. He looks at the boys and says, "They go by many names. Your people whispered the name swamp lizard. Other people call them drakes. Most people, however, call them bog leviathans."
"Bog leviathans?" Floris asks. "They were a force of nature. None of our weapons could penetrate their armor."
The trader shakes his head. "No. You'd never kill one with spears and arrows. Even the military with their weaponry struggles to bring them down."
Alvis thinks for a moment. A realization comes to him. "If you've never seen one here before…that would suggest one of two things is happening."
Floris and the trader look at Alvis.
"Their populations have gotten so large that they're now leaving their territory and trying to claim other areas away from competition. Or… something else is driving them away." Alvis says.
The trader stares at Alvis, his hair almost standing on end. "A creature that could kill and eat a bog leviathan? That's a terrifying thought."
Floris shakes his head. "There's nothing that would hunt those things. There can't be."
The trader nods at Floris, "It wouldn't be any creature I've ever heard of. But this continent still has a lot of unclaimed territory."
"Continent?" Floris asks. The word feels too large for his mouth. Continent. As if the ground beneath them is only one piece of something far greater.
The trader glances at Floris and Alvis. A realization comes to him. The boys had never been outside the swamp. And with their home destroyed, they were about to enter into a world they had no idea how to handle. The don't know how big the world is. They don't even know what continent they're on.
The trader sighs heavily and hangs his head for a moment, then looks at the boys again, "You two are about to enter a world you know nothing about."
The boys just stood where they were. Silent. Neither one of them questions the trader. He was saying something they both already knew.
The trader reaches into his pockets and pulls out four items. Tiny disks of a color neither of the boys had seen before.
"Here. You'll need these." The trader says, handing the boys the tiny disks. Two to Floris. And two to Alvis. "These are silver coins. One fifty copper coins, which means you will be both carrying a hundred coins of value. These won't make you rich…but they will help you start."
He doesn't rush them. He lets them hold the coins. Lets them feel their weight. As if he understands that this moment — small as it seems — is a threshold.
The boys hold the coins in their hands. To the outside world, they resembled something used in everyday life. But to the boys, they were alien. Foreign. They had never held coins a day before in their lives.
"This is what you call…currency…isn't it?" Floris asks, staring at the coins in his hands.
The trader nods. "You will have to leave your old system behind. People in the outside world don't have a system like Two Creeks did. Where you hunt for food and each person has a role to fulfill. Outside the swamp, people work for money. And people steal for money. You will have to be careful with how you spend it."
Floris and Alvis look at each other, then back at the trader.
"In Two Creeks, stealing from someone was considered an act of betrayal. You betrayed people who trusted you." Alvis says.
"The outside world isn't like that, Alvis." The trader says. "Out there…all people care about is money. Greed is a disease that has no cure. You will need to be wary. You'll find people can be far worse than any predator the swamp throws at you. Animals will attack for food, or to chase you from territory. People will stab you in the back the second they have a beneficial reason to."
"But why? Why would they do that?" Floris asks curiously. "Why would people not bond together and work for the betterment of their communities?"
The trader exhales as he looks at Floris. "You'll have your questions answered in ways you'll learn better from. I can only warn you. I can't guide you."
Floris looks down at the coins in his hands. "People betray each other for these little things? How stupid can people be?"
"It's not stupidity, Floris." The trader says. "It's survival. Just different survival to what you're used to."
The boys stand silently.
"So…what do we do? Where do we go?" Alvis asks. "We can't go back."
The trader looks at the boys. He studies Alvis's eyes and recognizes Floris's skill. He thinks quietly. Then an idea comes to him.
"I've never recommended this to anybody before. But…search for the Mage's Guild." The trader says.
"The what?" Alvis asks.
"The Mage's Guild." The trader answers. He nods a few times as he thinks it through. "Floris, you have an exceptional skill when it comes to alchemical researching. You're a man of science. A man of reason. A man of caution. The guild will take you in. I'm sure of it."
The trader looks at Alvis.
"And you, Alvis…you have a certain fire in your eye. I can't say for certain if they'll take you. But it's not like you have any other choice."
"And where do we find this…guild?" Floris asks.
The trader reaches toward the wall and unhooks a large sheet of paper.
It unfurls with a dry, brittle sound.
The map is wide — wider than Floris's arm span. Yellowed with age. Edges curled. A crease runs down its center where it has been folded and carried more than once. Ink has bled faintly in places where damp air once touched it.
He presses it flat against the planks.
Black lines stretch across the surface in careful strokes.
At first, it makes no sense.
Jagged ridges drawn like teeth across the upper edge. Long winding lines that branch and rejoin. Dense clusters of marks. Empty stretches between them that seem to swallow space.
"What is it?" Alvis asks.
"It's Fiorra," the trader says. "All of it."
Floris steps closer.
Mountains are inked in sharp triangles along the north. Beneath them, rivers snake downward in thin, deliberate curves. Lakes sit like dark pools scattered across the land. Forests are shaded in tight strokes, their edges uneven and irregular.
And there — near the center — a body of water large enough to command the page.
"Misty Lake," the trader says, tapping it with his finger. "You're here."
His fingertip rests on the eastern edge of the lake.
Floris follows the movement.
The lake alone is larger than anything he has ever imagined in his life. Bigger than the swamp. Bigger than all the hunting grounds combined. Its outline curves wide and patient, stretching across the map like a dark eye.
"Across here," the trader continues, dragging his finger westward over the water, "is where you'll need to go."
His finger settles on the opposite shore. A small cluster of marks sits there — barely noticeable against the breadth of land surrounding it.
"The Guild operates on the western side."
Floris's eyes move outward from that point.
The land does not end quickly.
It stretches.
Eastward beyond the lake, the map narrows toward coastline. Southward, forests thin into plains. Northward, mountains form a jagged barrier beneath a strip labeled Frozen Coast.
The space between each settlement is vast.
Vast enough to swallow villages whole.
Two Creeks, Floris realizes, would not even earn its own marking unless someone cared enough to ink it in by hand.
"How far does it go?" Alvis asks quietly.
The trader's finger moves to one edge of the paper. Then the other.
"From the Frozen Coast in the north… to the Southern Reach. From the Eastern Sea… all the way to the western cliffs." He pauses. "Fiorra is larger than most men ever travel in their lifetimes."
Floris studies the distances between the rivers.
Between the forests.
Between the dots that represent towns.
The space between them feels more significant than the marks themselves.
For years, the swamp had felt endless.
It wasn't. It was a pocket.
A crease in something much larger.
The trader rolls the edge of the map slightly and lets it fall back flat.
"You'll leave me before the lake," he says. "My route bends south. Yours goes east to a village at Misty Lake's shore. From there, you book passage across."
Floris nods slowly.
Across the lake. West.
He looks once more at the scale of it — the mountains like teeth, the lake like a wound in the land, the forests spread wide and unbroken.
Fiorra is not a wilderness. It is a country. And they have lived in its smallest corner. Barely in the country at all.
"What lies in the other direction of Two Creeks? To the west?" Alvis asks.
"Another country called Eldorra." The trader replies. "It's similar in size to Fiorra."
Alvis snaps his gate to the trader. "You mean, there are other nations out there just as big?!"
The trader chuckles a little as he rolls up the map and puts it back on the wall. "There are many other nations out there, Alvis. Many of them dwarf Fiorra and Eldorra combined. Most of these nations however, lie to the west."
The boys stand motionless. Almost paralyzed. They weren't ready for such a reveal.
The trader looks at the boys. A small smile curved his lips. "It's a good thing you boys found me. Otherwise, you would have been lost forever."
Floris remains silent for a moment. Then asks, "How far is it to the nearest village we can book passage across the lake?"
"If you stay with me, it will be about a two-week travel." The trader says. "But if you go on your own, you'll cut the time in half."
Alvis and Floris exchange glances. They think the same.
They had both just had their worlds torn upside down. The world is bigger – far bigger – than they could have possibly imagined. Floris has broken ribs. They haven't had a decent meal in several days. Their bodies are worn and broken.
The trader knows where to go. And he can teach them about the world as they travel.
The boys make a decision without uttering a single word.
"We'll stick with you." Floris says.
The trader nods. "Smart move." He stands and walks a few steps towards the stairs that go up to his seat where he controls the mules. He stops briefly and looks back at the boys. "My supplies on the wagon are limited, so you'll still have to hunt or gather berries while we travel. Small game like rabbits, birds, or anything that won't take time to prepare would be preferred."
The boys nod slowly.
The trader ascends the stairs. Shortly after, the wagon starts moving again.
Floris sighs in relief. "This will at least give my ribs some time to heal."
Alvis nods. Floris needs a break, and not without reason.
"You're lucky that thing just clipped you." Alvis says.
"I know."
"Well…you just take things easy until you feel you're back to your old self. I'll worry about the hunting for now." Alvis says.
Floris nods. "Thanks."
The wagon lumbers on. Slowly. But steady.
For the first time since the night the village burned, the boys are not moving alone.
Alvis hunts small game and collects berries as the wagon moves, never straying too far out of sight from it.
The journey progresses.
The swamp begins to yield.