Kivas sat with his arms folded across his chest, legs stretched out, back leaned against the wagon’s shadow. A half-eaten fruit dangled from one hand, forgotten.

  Across from him, Zafran stood beside a crate, morning light catching on the rolled map in his hand—already folded, already decided.

  “So that’s it?” Kivas muttered. “Ten years of silence, and the first thing that girl does when she finds you is toss another kingdom’s conspiracy into your lap?”

  Zafran didn’t look up. “It’s not just a conspiracy.”

  “No?” Kivas scoffed. “Assassins, forged evidence, political cleanup, shadow groups in Fyonar. Sure sounds like one.”

  “She says it’s connected to my father’s death.”

  Kivas narrowed his eyes. “And you believe her?”

  “I believe she’s trying.”

  Kivas exhaled. “Zaf… you just got back from a suicide mission, went after a child’s legend in the damn desert—now what? Off to Fyonar, digging into some noble mess that’s been buried for a decade?”

  Zafran was quiet for a long moment. Then, simply: “Yes.”

  Kivas stared. “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “If I have one,” Zafran said softly. “But I wanted this. To know the truth. To settle it right.”

  Kivas exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Bringing anyone with you?”

  Zafran nodded. “I plan to go alone.”

  Kivas chewed on that. Then asked, “And if you don’t come back?”

  Zafran looked at him. “Then maybe Fyonar is more lovely to live in than we think.”

  Kivas scoffed.

  For a long time, neither of them spoke.

  Finally, Kivas sat up straighter. “When are you leaving?”

  “Soon. A few days. I’ll travel light.”

  “Just take the train. What more do you need?”

  “Just your silence.”

  Kivas grunted. “You’ll get it. But for the record, this is a terrible idea.”

  Zafran allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “That’s how we’ve always been.”

  Kivas stood. “When you come back, I’ll put you on crate-lifting duty until you groan.”

  “Sounds like you don’t want me back,” Zafran said with a dry laugh.

  “Stubborn fool,” Kivas muttered, brushing dust from his coat. Then he paused, voice low. “Zaf… be careful. You walk too far into the dark, you might not like what’s waiting on the other side.”

  Zafran nodded. “I know.”

  Kivas didn’t press further. He just clapped him on the shoulder once and walked away—grumbling, but slower than usual.

  Zafran turned back to the map and began gathering his things, unaware that from a little ways off, beneath the shadow of a supply tent, Karin watched him silently.

  Eyes narrowed.

  Not saying a word.

  Yet.

  Zafran tied the last strap on his satchel, double-checked the rolled maps, and set them down by the crate. Quiet preparation. Steady hands.

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  “You’re going somewhere.”

  The voice behind him was far too casual.

  He didn’t turn. “I’m always going somewhere.”

  Karin stepped around the crate, arms crossed. Her expression unreadable, though her eyes held that sharp, cornered glint—too curious to ignore.

  “So,” she said, drawing the word out, “you’re packing quietly like someone sneaking off.”

  Zafran didn’t answer.

  She gave a small laugh. “Let me guess. A noble princess visits your tent under moonlight, and now you’re off on a secret mission with a brooding look and a satchel full of regrets?”

  Still nothing.

  She leaned in slightly, peering at the map he’d half-covered. “Fyonar? Is this a supply run? Doesn’t feel like one—you don’t usually sneak around for those.”

  Zafran sighed. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

  “That’s the worst way to stop someone from worrying.”

  She leaned against the crate, arms still folded. “So… are you chasing after her? What did the princess want?”

  Zafran finally looked at her. “It’s not important.”

  “Oh, sure. Royal visitors showing up unannounced just means it’s probably about tea and cakes.”

  A flicker in his eyes—but only for a second.

  She caught it.

  “Fyonar, then,” she said softly. “Another road trip?”

  Zafran didn’t answer.

  She pushed off the crate with a mock sigh. “Well, it does smell like danger. Definitely not my kind of vacation. I’ve just started enjoying mornings without sand in my teeth.”

  Still nothing.

  “I mean, really,” she added, walking away a few steps, “why would I ever want to go with you again? Just to be dragged into another disaster, nearly die in some forgotten ruin, or fight off another beast?”

  Silence.

  She turned back, grinning over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t follow.”

  A pause.

  “But Elsha might.”

  Zafran raised an eyebrow.

  “And if she goes… well, Ysar’s probably already packing snacks.”

  With a playful salute, she turned and walked off, humming to herself.

  Zafran watched her go.

  He didn’t say a word.

  But he had a feeling—

  He wouldn’t be going alone.

  Not really.

  The morning of departure was still and pale, the sky wrapped in soft gray before sunrise broke through. Zafran tightened the last strap of his pack, the familiar weight settling on his shoulders like armor.

  The past few days had been quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Not a single interruption. No Karin prodding him again, no Ysar’s usual antics, no passing glance from Elsha.

  Not even a comment from Kivas.

  That silence had been the loudest part.

  Zafran stepped out from the line of tents and followed the path toward the camp’s outer edge, where the gravel thinned and the road curved westward, to where the train station is.

  Then he stopped.

  Three figures stood at the bend.

  Elsha, arms folded, her posture already carrying the fatigue of another journey.

  Ysar, perched on a crate beside the road, chewing on dried fruit and grinning like he hadn’t waited long at all.

  And Karin, who met his gaze with a calm, knowing look—and her satchel already strapped to her back.

  Behind them stood Kivas, leaning against a post with his arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

  Zafran let out a breath. “I had a hunch it’d come to this.”

  Kivas pushed off the post. “They insisted,” he said. “Said you’d probably die at the train station without them.”

  “You told them,” Zafran muttered.

  “I told them enough,” Kivas shrugged. “And, well… the rest, they figured out on their own.”

  “You’ve been planning this,” Zafran said, looking at Karin.

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You all know where I’m going.”

  Elsha stepped forward. “We do.”

  “And you still want to come.”

  “We’re already packed,” Ysar said, hopping off the crate. “Besides, someone has to keep you from brooding your way into a political disaster.”

  Karin walked past Zafran without waiting for a cue. “You didn’t really think you were going alone again, did you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You could’ve just asked,” she added.

  Zafran looked to Kivas one last time.

  The caravan master tilted his head. “You’ll do what you want, Zaf. Just don’t get yourself killed. Or her.” He nodded toward Karin.

  “Or her.” Another nod at Elsha.

  “Or especially him.” He jabbed a thumb at Ysar, who raised both arms defensively. “Hey!”

  Zafran gave a faint smile. “I’ll try.”

  Kivas clapped him on the shoulder. “You’d better.”

  With nothing more to say, Zafran turned toward the road again.

  Karin fell in beside him, Elsha just behind, and Ysar brought up the rear, still chewing.

  Four sets of footsteps start moving.

  As they walked, Zafran glanced sideways at each of them.

  Karin, half-grinning, eyes alert as ever. Elsha, calm and calculating, always aware of the terrain even when they were just on an imperial road. And Ysar—walking backward now, arms out like wings, whistling an off-key tune he probably made up on the spot.

  It was strange, he thought. Not long ago, he'd always doing things alone, with only his sword and a silence no one dared touch. Now, he wasn’t sure which weighed more—the pack on his shoulders, or the presence of people he couldn’t seem to push away.

  “We lasted what, ten days without a mission?” Elsha murmured.

  “eight,” Karin corrected. “Nine, if you count the half-day of unpacking.”

  “Definitely a record,” Ysar chimed in.

  “This is better than sand,” Karin said.

  Zafran raised an eyebrow.

  “No dunes. No beasts. No hallucinations. I’ll take a gravel road any day.”

  “For now,” Ysar said cheerfully. “I bet we’ll be knee-deep in something stupid by sundown.”

  They followed the western road as the morning mist lifted, their shadows stretching long across the stones.

  Not the same road.

  But somehow, it felt familiar.

  And far ahead, beyond the rail lines and the border hills, Fyonar waited.