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The wheels of Theo’s caravan rumbled across the endless stretch of the great open plains, nestled between the scorched ruins of Enos and the towering trees of the Darkwoodz. Above them, the sky was a vast shroud of gray clouds—thick, heavy, and smothering the stars as if even they dared not bear witness to the darkness of the land below.391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn7QMvk6pca
The air tasted dry and metallic. Thin. Lifeless. Theo sat perched at the reins, his sharp eyes ever-watchful as the horses and dragon rhino galloped tirelessly beneath him. His posture was steady, hands calloused from a lifetime of spellcasting, gripping the leather reins with controlled tension. Each hoofbeat echoed like a warning drum against the hard-packed earth. The plains were far too open, far too exposed—and far too quiet.391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSo5tsZ1SXp
Monsters roamed here under the cover of night, drawn to the land cursed by the ruins of Enos. The corrupted soil still pulsed with echoes of an ancient cataclysm—its miasma infamous for spawning horrors that defied even the worst fevered dreams of mortal men. Sometimes, if one were to linger too long in the mists, they wouldn’t die. They’d change. Become something unnatural. Something cursed.
Tonight, Theo saw no mist. No unnatural glow creeping across the horizon. No tendrils of corruption slithering through the earth. Yet... something gnawed at the back of his thoughts. Something unseen. Felt.
Occasionally, he held out a hand and cast a simple Reficere Stamina—a low-level stamina recovery spell—to sustain the horses and rhino. Arcane light shimmered from his palm, soaking into their bodies like golden silk. It gave them the strength to continue—faster, further—but he hated it. Such spells, over time, strained the animal’s heart and muscle beyond natural limits. A cruel gift with a hidden cost.
Theo loved his animals. He would never push them to death. Not unless the alternative was worse.
He furrowed his brow. Why does the night feel so still?
As the caravan creaked and rocked along the uneven path, Theo’s unease continued to churn. They had just exited a sparse woodland, and the gap between forests ahead and behind left them in a vast clearing. A bottleneck of vulnerability. No cover. No shadows to hide in.
He scanned the ridgelines, the low hills, the thick grasses waving in the windless dark—but nothing stirred. Still, he could feel it. Eyes. Watching.
Then—behind him, the caravan’s rear door creaked open. Familiar boots stepped onto the wooden planks with casual rhythm.
“Hey, Theo!” called Vyncent, his voice cutting through the stillness like a thrown pebble into a quiet lake. “It’s getting pretty late. Why don’t you come in and rest for a bit? I’ll take over for a while.”
Theo didn’t look back.
“I’ve got another hour or two in me,” he replied, tone terse. “I’m alright.”
Silence stretched for a beat, long enough for Vyncent to realize there was more going on than stubbornness.
“Alright, well… I’ll be back to check on you,” he said. “Just don’t fall asleep and roll off the caravan again. You scared the hells out of us last time.”
Theo’s jaw clenched. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he snapped. “I was in a meditative trance.”
Vyncent chuckled knowingly, shaking his head as he turned and disappeared back inside the caravan.
He stepped down a narrow hallway, past crates of spare clothing and dried rations, past the racks of neatly organized potions and scrolls. The wooden corridor creaked with each turn of the wheels, lantern light flickering against the metal-braced walls. He pushed open a sliding door and entered the common room.
Two long tables, bolted into the floor to prevent shifting, stood on either side of the space. At one table, Riley sat hunched over a spread of maps, her fingers tracing routes through rough terrain. Red ink marked various danger zones and known miasmic hotspots. Scattered among the charts were small stacks of gold coins, some piled neatly, others tipped and rolling from the caravan’s constant motion.
Across from her sat Isaac, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes closed in a meditation that looked suspiciously like sleep. His foot tapped against the floor with a slow rhythm—perhaps the remnants of a tune only he could hear.
Vyncent leaned against the doorway, arms folded, casting a glance at the scene before him. The tension in the air was hard to miss. Theo wasn’t the only one on edge.
Vyncent pulled out the chair next to Isaac and plopped into it with a soft grunt. He leaned back, draping one arm across the backrest as he asked, “Alright, where were we again?”
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Riley shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “We were right in the middle of convincing Sir Grumpy and Generous here to start managing his own coin instead of dumping it into the community chest every single time we get paid.” She jabbed a thumb toward the large, reinforced coffer in the corner of the room, its heavy iron bands faintly rattling from the motion of the caravan. “When we’re out in the field, this man doesn’t even have a bronze coin to his name! Meanwhile, everyone else’s ale tab is growing faster than a mimic in heat.”
Vyncent lifted a brow. “There’s no reason to get pissy about it. I mean… it’s his money. He can do what he wants with it.”
Isaac didn’t even open his eyes. His arms were still crossed over his chest as he leaned slightly back in his seat. “If it matters that much, Riley, how about I just gift it to you?” he said dryly. “Then it actually becomes your business, and you can stop making it your business by force.”
Riley grinned wickedly, fangs barely peeking past her lips. “Sure, I’ve got no problem taking it. Just don’t come crying to me when you’re broke as hell and people start whispering that I’m your favorite.”
A low croak of laughter escaped Isaac as he cracked one eye open. “Yeah, because anyone would believe you’re my favorite—the greedy little coin-goblin hoarding gold like it’s dragon-spawned.”
Vyncent frowned and raised both hands as if to halt an oncoming storm. “Alright, you two—enough. Gods, what’s with the bickering lately? We’ve been friends since we were wetting ourselves to sleep, still confusing soap with food. Can we not turn every discussion into a tavern spat?”
He exhaled hard through his nose, rubbing his temples. “Just let Isaac put his money in the chest, and if he changes his mind, he can take it out. It’s not like anyone else is lining up to donate.”
Riley scoffed. “Oh sure, and when he eventually forgets how much he’s put in, or grabs more than his share, what then?”
Vyncent gestured toward the chest. “Honestly, most of the gold in there is his. He’s probably funded more of our operations than the rest of us combined. You think your maps pay for themselves?”
Isaac stood up, pushing his chair back with a faint scrape. “I drop coin in there because I hate carrying it. It jingles, rattles, and it gets in the way when I’m out in the field. Ever try sneaking through bandit territory with a hundred coins singing a lullaby in your coat? I’ve lost more purses than I’ve kept. And if I stash it in my room, it clutters everything. It's a pain.”
He walked toward the door, one hand brushing his hair back. “Besides, we forge most of our own weapons and armor. I’ve got nothing to buy. Not unless someone’s selling time or less stress.”
As he reached the doorway, Riley stood and shouted after him. “You are one of the most logical, tactical thinkers I know, and this is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth!” Her voice cracked, her cheeks flushed with frustration. “Are you doing this just to piss me off?!”
And then, without warning—her rage boiling over—Riley blurted out, “MEOW!”
The sudden feline screech echoed like thunder through every connected car in the caravan.
She froze.
Her hands shot up to her mouth in horror, eyes wide. “You asshole! Look what you made me do!”
Vyncent, who had already slid out of his seat to hide a fit of laughter, collapsed to the floor, clutching his ribs. His laughter filled the car like an instrument gone off-key.
Riley’s ears twitched as she hissed, furious but also embarrassed. Though she was a feline demi-human, raised among humans, she had grown so fluent in human dialect over the years that her instincts rarely surfaced anymore. Except, unfortunately, during moments of extreme emotion—love, grief, rage, or sheer humiliation—when her ancestral heritage squeaked through in the form of spontaneous, awkward meows.
She whirled toward Isaac to scold him further, but he was already halfway through the next car, grinning from ear to ear like he’d just scored a critical hit in an argument.
He moved through the transition passage, pushing open the interior door that led to the next carriage in the train. This car was narrower, dimmer—more personal.
The hallway ran down the center, with two doors to the left and two to the right. Each room beyond those doors housed a double bunk, a nightstand or two, maybe a small writing desk, and a few belongings. Personal touches, mismatched blankets, sketches or knick-knacks—every room told a story.
Originally, each member of the party had been given their own private quarters. But over time, the novelty of solitude wore off, and the weight of the road pressed heavier on them all. Now, most had paired up. Whether for comfort, company, or just the simple safety of not sleeping alone.
From down the hall, Isaac heard the familiar sound of conversation: Onyx and Osirus, voices muffled through one of the doors, engaged in what sounded like a calm but involved discussion.
Isaac walked slowly, his earlier grin softening as he reached the end of the hallway. He paused for a moment, hand resting on the frame of the door, letting the comfort of familiarity seep into him.
For all the bickering, stress, and insane magical nonsense they dealt with... this caravan was home.
Even if it was rolling headlong into a world that was breaking more every day.
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Isaac walked up to the first door on the right. It was already cracked open, the faint light from within casting a warm sliver across the dim corridor. He leaned against the frame, one hand resting lazily on the wood, and peered inside.
Onyx was reclined on the lower bunk, his arms folded behind his head, while Osirus sat at the small desk across the room, lazily tossing a dagger from hand to hand. Their conversation halted the moment they noticed him standing there.
Osirus rolled his eyes, smirking. “Alright, what did I do this time?” he asked, his voice laced with theatrical sarcasm. “I figured someone would be coming to yell at me eventually. Glad it’s you and not Riley. Her lectures make me feel like I’m back in school getting caned with a broomstick.”
Isaac gave a soft chuckle but didn’t return the banter. His expression was serious, if a little tired. “You’re off the hook. I was actually checking in on Onyx.” He crossed his arms. “I saw what that priest did to you. It… didn’t exactly look gentle. Just wanted to make sure you’re really alright.”
Onyx sat up straighter on the bed, giving a nod. “Surprisingly, yeah. I feel... good. Better than I should.” He ran a hand over his chest as if expecting to find a wound still there. “Feels like I should be dead, honestly. I remember the Wraith’s scythe, and the way it felt when it cut into me. Not just pain—cold. Like my soul was being carved out of my body.” He shook his head, a trace of disbelief in his voice. “Almost felt like a dream. But it was real. I know it was.”
Isaac’s lips twitched into a faint, grateful smile. “Good. You’re lucky. We’ve lost others to far less. But you’re not out of the woods yet.” He exhaled slowly. “We’re pulling you from active field duty for at least a week. Theo’s orders—and mine. The magic needs time to settle, and your body needs to catch up. You and Osira will be working with Theo until then.”
Onyx shrugged, but there was no bitterness in it. “Honestly? That’s fine. I’ve cheated death more than once this year. A week off sounds like a blessing.”
Isaac chuckled, “Glad you’re taking it well. Osira… not so much. She’s convinced she’s fine.”
Several cars down the caravan, past the armory car and the makeshift library, was a large enclosed car outfitted for bathing and hygiene—better known among the crew as the “Steam Hall.” It ran on a series of brass pipes and pressure valves that snaked through the walls and ceiling. The faint hiss of vapor and the occasional clink of cooling metal echoed softly within the walls.
A long, narrow corridor ran down the center. On either side, four shower stalls lined the car—each outfitted with copper piping, a pull-chain for steam pressure, and wall-mounted knobs for hot or cold. Mounted near the entry doors were two narrow closet compartments. Inside one sat a flickering orange spirit named Hie—a fire elemental, round and squat with ember eyes and an ever-dancing flame that hovered gently above his pedestal. In the opposite closet was Kōri, his icy blue counterpart. Where Hie heated the pipes for showers and warmth, Kōri cooled water reservoirs and kept the magical refrigeration system running in the adjacent car.
The two elementals existed in quiet tandem, their magic sustained by small offerings placed weekly by Theo. Hie was currently snoring—a low crackling hum like coals settling—while Kōri stared out blankly, motionless as frozen glass.
Behind one of the hallway doors, within the showers, a trio of voices broke the otherwise tranquil hissing of the pipes.
Osira scrubbed a bar of soap over her shoulders, her face twisted in a pout. “Unlike Onyx, I’m totally fine,” she huffed. “There was no reason to pull me from the field. Kitsune’s magic already fixed everything that needed fixing.”
The sound of splashing water accented her annoyance.
“And don’t even get me started on that creepy priest,” she added, scrubbing harder as if trying to erase the memory. “His weird old man spell embarrassed me in front of everyone! I still can’t walk straight without flinching every time the caravan rocks back and forth.”
Kitsune’s voice came from the next stall over, muffled slightly by the curtain but laced with concern. “I wish I’d been there... just to see what he was actually casting,” she admitted. “The way you described it, that didn’t sound like any standard healing ritual. What if it was a curse? Or worse... something meant to brand you?”
Esmerelda, perched on the small wooden beam above stalls with a small hand towel wrapped snugly around her, chimed in while combing her damp hair. “If it was a curse, it was the nicest curse I’ve ever seen. You were blushing like a schoolgirl in heat.”
“I was violated by invisible hands!” Osira cried, throwing her arms up dramatically. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to be massaged into unconsciousness?! That’s not normal! I nearly passed out from… stimulation overload!”
Kitsune giggled under her breath, though she tried to hide it with a cough. “I mean, I can imagine…”
Esmerelda grinned devilishly and sang, “Ohhh, Osira’s got a priest kink—”
“I swear to the stars, I will drown you in this tub,” Osira shouted, flicking a wave of hot water toward her direction.
“I’m just saying,” Esmerelda laughed, “if a healing spell made me melt like that, I’d tip the man and ask him for a second session!”
Osira groaned, turning off the water as she reached for a towel. “I hate all of you.”
“But we love you,” Kitsune said sweetly. “And don’t worry—we’ll make sure Theo doesn’t assign you any boring chores while you’re on bedrest.”
“Oh gods,” Osira muttered, “please tell me I’m not going to be stuck polishing cauldrons or labeling potion bottles.”
“Only if you complain again,” Esmerelda said, laughing as she ducked behind the beam she was sitting on. “Otherwise, you’re stuck alphabetizing the alchemy cabinet for three days straight.”
“I’d rather face another cursed Wraith than do that,” Osira muttered under her breath, still blushing furiously.
Osira huffed dramatically, her back against the warm wooden wall of the shower stall, one hand furiously scratching herself with a long stick that had a tied washcloth at the end like a makeshift loofah. “He probably did curse me!” she groaned. “Ever since that creepy tingly spell wore off, my body’s been insanely itchy.”
The rhythmic schk-schlk of her scratching echoed across the stalls.
From the far end of the shower car, Ifera’s voice chimed through the mist. “Well, at least you’re alive. That’s more than most can say after getting exploded with magic. From the short time I’ve been here… this is like…” A pause, followed by faint mumbling as she counted on her fingers. “The fourth? No—fifth time you’ve blown yourself up with that wand. Have you ever considered, oh, I don’t know—not using it?”
Esmerelda, now seated regally atop Gwen’s damp hair like it was a royal perch, flicked droplets of water off her wings and offered, “I’ve got plenty of enchanted rings Isaac gave me. You could use those instead of flirting with explosive death every mission.”
Osira, still mid-scratch, scoffed and puffed up her chest. “Haven’t you all figured it out yet? I’ve got incredible luck. I mean, seriously—I should be dead. Multiple times. But I’m not! I survive every time, because I…” She raised the stick like a sword and struck a dramatic pose, her silhouette barely visible behind the curtain. “I, Osira, am the Queen of Luck! Bow before my improbable survival skills!”
Laughter erupted from every stall—except Gwen’s.
Her voice cut through the mirth, calm but firm. “Are you an idiot, Osira?”
The laughter quieted at once.
Gwen turned off her water, wrapping herself in a towel with a practiced flick of her arms. “That wand has nearly killed you every time you’ve used it. If you bring it into the field again, the next explosion might not leave anything left to heal.” Her voice dropped, softer now. “You’re family to me. And each time it happens, it terrifies me. I forbid you from using it again. Please.”
Osira peeked out from her stall, the smugness gone from her face. Her ears drooped slightly beneath her wet hair. “Okay,” she said quietly. “If it scares you that much, I won’t use it… at least, not for now.”
Gwen nodded. “Thank you. I know it means a lot to you—since Isaac gave it to you—but promise me you’ll leave it behind. No missions. No practice. Just… keep it safe. Somewhere it can’t hurt you.”
Osira, already perking up again, grinned and struck another, less extravagant pose. “One day, I’ll master that wand. And then I’ll be unstoppable. Boom-free and fabulous.”
That got the laughter going again—everyone except Gwen chuckling softly.
“To master it, you’d have to use it,” Gwen said dryly, wrapping a second towel around her head, maneuvering it around her antlers. “Which defeats the purpose of promising not to.”
She sighed and turned toward the hallway, her sandals slapping lightly against the floorboards. “I’m going back to my room to change. You guys can keep laughing without me.”
Esmerelda, already wrapped in different doll-sized hand towel that barely covered her petite form, fluttered up from Gwen’s head and gave a playful salute. “I’m with her. Goodnight, ladies.” She zipped after Gwen, the door creaking open as they exited into the corridor.
A brief silence followed before Ifera spoke. “Gwen’s not usually that serious. That must’ve really freaked her out.”
“She’s right to be worried,” Kitsune said softly. “If I’d been more useful, maybe you and Onyx wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
Osira’s response came in a flash—loud, passionate, unfiltered. “No!” Her voice echoed off the tiles. “You are one of the most important people in our group! The only reason Onyx and I are even alive is because of your magic. You held the line while we panicked. You saved our lives. Don’t you dare put yourself down because I made a stupid decision!”
Her shout filled the entire car with emotional gravity, silencing the steady drip of the water for just a heartbeat.
A brief, heavy pause followed.
Then, the creak of the car’s exterior door opening in the hallway.
Osira perked up again, poking her head out of the curtain with narrowed eyes. “I know that’s you, Isaac! Don’t you dare even think about opening any of these doors! I’ll blast you through the wall!”
Isaac’s voice echoed lazily down the corridor. “Relax. I don’t know who’s in there, but I’m not about to spy on a bunch of ancient elven grannies washing behind their ears.”
“You insufferable human weed!” Ifera bellowed from the end stall, her succubus like tail grasping the shower curtain and slamming it closed the rest of the way.
“Watch your mouth, you hairy ape!” Osira shouted.
Kitsune, still quietly toweling her hair, laughed freely. “Glad I’m not an elf right now.”
As the trio of voices shouted obscenities down the hall at Isaac, he could be heard chuckling to himself as the door creaked open and shut again, leading him into the next car.
The sound of pipes hissing returned, the tension slowly dissipating with the warmth of the room.
Osira leaned back against the wall of her stall with a sigh. “That man’s going to give me gray hairs before I even hit my second century.”
As Isaac stepped into the final car of the caravan, the warmth and dim lamplight greeted him like a cozy hearth. Unlike the rest of the convoy’s metallic hum and bustling bodies, this room had the serenity of a dream tucked away behind oak and iron.
Nestled in a pile of hay and thick woolen blankets sat Lizyra, her pale lavender-silver hair falling gently over her shoulders. She leaned against the scaled belly of Nox—the black dragon coiled protectively around her like a massive, living cushion. His gleaming amber eyes blinked slowly, watching the pages of the book Lizyra read aloud with a peculiar intensity, as if deciphering every word.
Next to them, lying sprawled lazily across another mound of straw, were the two great dire wolves: Ragnus and Ragnar. Their massive forms were still, their snowy white and ash grey coats shimmering beneath the flickering torchlight. Ears twitching ever so slightly, they listened to Lizyra’s soft reading as if it were a sacred lullaby, their chests rising and falling in a rare moment of total peace.
As she caught Isaac’s silhouette in the doorway, she gently closed the book on her finger to hold her place. “So,” she began, lifting her gaze, “did you guys actually settle on where we’re going after we pick up Vlad’s crew?”
Isaac stepped in and gave a half-smile. “Nah. Riley mostly just wanted to chew me out about hoarding my gold in the community chest. Same old nonsense.”
Lizyra smirked knowingly. “Mhm. I figured. I heard her meow all the way back here.”
Isaac paused mid-step, laughing under his breath. “You heard that?”
“I think everyone in the entire plains heard that. You must’ve really ruffled her tail.”
“She was giving me grief, and I might’ve… compared her to a coin-hungry goblin.”
Lizyra grinned and shook her head. “You’re lucky she didn’t claw your face off.”
Isaac shrugged and looked over at Nox, who had lifted his head slightly to examine the human now sharing the room. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, there was a peculiar sense of understanding between them—one beast to another.
“You get him talking yet with all that reading?” Isaac asked, nodding toward the dragon.
Lizyra let her book fall to her lap and sighed. “Nope. Not a word. But I’m not sure he can. I mean, I remember some of the dragons that came to my father's court could speak with fluency—powerful, ancient voices like thunder in your chest. But others… they were silent. Still intelligent, still noble, but quiet.”
She glanced at Nox, who responded by gently nudging her cheek with the tip of his snout.
“He understands everything though,” she continued. “Every word, every mood, every feeling. I just don’t know if he wants to speak. Or maybe he simply... can’t.”
Isaac sat down on a nearby bench and folded his arms. “Even if he never speaks a word, you two have something special. It’s rare, that kind of bond. He may not talk, but he listens better than most people I’ve met. You’ve raised him right.”
Lizyra looked down, brushing a bit of hay from Nox’s scales. “I worry about what happens when he gets bigger. He’s already hard to hide. And if he keeps growing, he’ll outgrow this entire car. I won’t be able to read to him, or sleep curled up beside him like we used to.”
Isaac’s gaze softened. “That’s the nature of dragons—and people. We grow, even when we don’t want to. But that bond won’t break just because he gets bigger. You’ll find new ways to be close. Besides, having a fully grown black dragon in our corner? That’s not the worst card to keep up our sleeve.”
Lizyra moaned, throwing her head back into Nox’s scales. “I think he’s already perfect the way he is. Small enough to cuddle, big enough to scare off anything that tries to sneak up on us. That’s the sweet spot, Isaac.”
Nox let out a deep, throaty rumble that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, curling his tail closer around her like a child pulling up a blanket.
Isaac tilted his head. “You sure he’s not talking? That sounded awfully sarcastic.”
“Right?” Lizyra laughed. “He’s been mocking me all week, I swear. Especially when I try to practice spells and end up accidentally setting something on fire.”
“Sounds like you two deserve each other.”
Lizyra nudged him with her foot. “Careful. I might make you my next practice dummy.”
Before Isaac could retort, the light inside the car flickered.
Every member of the caravan heard Theo’s voice in their minds—calm, focused, and unshakably urgent. His telepathic message echoed through the runes embedded through out the caravan. It rang through their heads like a blade being drawn.
“Everyone up front now. We have something incoming.”
Isaac’s eyes sharpened instantly, the levity draining from his face as he stood. Lizyra stood too, her book forgotten, as Nox uncoiled from around her with a hiss like steam off stone.
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