The road north from Briarstead wound like a soft ribbon through the countryside, cresting gentle hills and dipping past blue streams that ran alongside the cobbles. Morning light spilled across tall grasses bending in the breeze, the sky washed clean and blue after the night’s rain. The air carried the scent of wet soil and clover.

  The small company settled easily into formation. Ronan led at a steady, unhurried pace; Lira rode beside him, humming tunelessly as her braid bounced on her shoulder. Kael lingered behind them, eyes pacing across the horizon in practiced sweeps. Eis kept to the right flank, her crossbow at her back, her blades at her hips, hood low, letting the calm of the open road soak into her bones.

  Merchant carts passed now and then, drivers greeting the travelers with brief nods. Children chased each other along the grassy ditches, laughter trailing in the wind. Nothing threatened. Nothing stalked. The peaceful normalcy of it felt almost strange after nights marked by violence and rain.

  By noon, they reached an old stone bridge where a wide stream cut beneath the road. They dismounted, letting the horses drink. Lira unpacked dried fruit and half a loaf of bread while Ronan knelt by the water, filling canteens. Kael crouched at the riverbank, watching minnows glint between the reeds.

  Eis sat a short distance away, checking her crossbow string. The sound of water, the chirp of birds, the soft rustle of leaves—each blended into a quiet rhythm that steadied her. The power in her chest lay dormant and calm, its faint pulse almost indistinguishable from the thrum of the world around her.

  Lira wandered over and knelt beside her, smiling.

  “You’re quieter than most mercenaries I’ve met,” she said.

  Eis glanced up briefly.

  “Talking doesn’t make the road shorter.”

  Lira let out a soft laugh. “True. Still… thank you, for staying with us. I think Ronan sleeps easier knowing you’re here.”

  Eis nodded once, acknowledging without adding anything. Lira seemed satisfied and drifted back to the others.

  By sundown, the hills opened into rolling meadows washed in gold. Far ahead, barely visible in the amber haze, stood the faint silhouette of Lumaire’s outer towers—distant but unmistakable. Even Kael, guarded as he was, paused at the sight.

  Ronan pointed toward a thin stand of trees beside the road.

  “We’ll camp there tonight. The city’s half a day past the ridge.”

  The camp was modest: a small fire ring, a scattering of stones, the smell of woodsmoke curling into a violet sky. Fireflies drifted over the meadow in slow arcs. The air was mild—quiet and still.

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  Eis sat beside the fire, eyes on Kael’s steady stirring, though it was the stew that held her full focus. Lira mended a torn strap on her pack. Ronan polished his sword in silence. The moment felt suspended, almost fragile in its normalcy.

  Lira handed Eis a bowl once the stew was ready.

  “Warm food for a quiet night,” she said gently.

  Eis nodded and accepted it. The heat seeped into her hands, grounding her with its familiarity.

  No dangers lurked in the dark.

  Only the fire’s crackle and the breathing of companions who had begun—subtly, cautiously—to trust her.

  The ridge behind them settled into long shadows. Stars emerged sharp and cold above, framed by the soft glow of twin moons. Crickets filled the quiet. The fire burned low, painting their faces in bronze.

  Ronan sat cross-legged near the flames, drawing slow, precise strokes along his blade with a whetstone. Kael leaned back on his pack, chewing jerky and keeping casual watch. Lira hummed softly while tending the pot—a tune that drifted like a half-remembered lullaby.

  Eis sat slightly apart, polishing her crossbow.

  Lira was the first to break the peaceful silence.

  “Eis,” she said warmly, “you always look like you’re thinking about something complicated.”

  She tossed a stick into the fire, sending sparks spiraling upward.

  “You’re so calm all the time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you rattled.”

  Kael smirked without looking up.

  “Maybe she was born calm. Or maybe she’s seen worse than we have.”

  Ronan didn’t lift his eyes from his blade, but his voice joined theirs—low and steady.

  “That kind of composure doesn’t come free. People earn it the hard way.”

  Then, with a glance toward Eis, he asked softly:

  “If you don’t mind me asking… what taught you to stay so steady?”

  Three faces turned to her. Not prying—just curious, gently so.

  Eis met their eyes one at a time.

  “…I think I…was born this way.”

  Lira let out a quiet laugh.

  “Lucky. I still jump at shadows.”

  Kael snorted. “Still do.”

  She tossed a twig at him. He dodged, grinning.

  Ronan’s expression softened with something like respect.

  “A gift, then. And out here—it keeps you alive.”

  The conversation drifted into smaller topics: food back home, rumors of monsters near the capital, a new guild tax everyone hated. Eis listened more than she spoke.

  Gradually, the fire dimmed to embers. Lira curled into her blanket first. Kael took first watch, perched on a fallen log, the firelight catching his bowstring. Ronan settled with his back to a tree, sword resting across his knees.

  Eis remained in the half-light.

  Night folded gently around the camp, cool and dew-scented. Mist crept along the meadow. The stars hung bright above.

  For now, all was still.