"The road provides its own ingredients: the bitterness of a loss, the salt of a shared hardship, the warmth of a new trust. A wise cook learns to waste nothing, transforming even the most meagre rations into a feast of fellowship."

  — The Culinarian's Chronicle

  The maglev train pulled away from the station, its movement a smooth and silent glide that belied the turmoil of their departure. The last image of Yin, her face a mask of resilience as the Krev'an soldiers took her by the arm, was burned into Leo's mind. The shock chilled the luxurious carriage, a brutal silence that swallowed all thought.

  Rix launched into panicked action. "No," she whispered, her face pale as she lunged for the carriage's comms unit, her fingers fumbling at the controls. "We have to go back. We have to stop the train."

  He moved quickly, closing the space between them and pulling her into a firm embrace. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, stilling her movements. "We can’t," he said, his voice a steady anchor in the swirling storm of her panic.

  "What do you mean we can't?" she cried, her voice cracking, her words muffled against his chest. "They have her, Leo! They have Yin!"

  "And they'll have us too if we go back," he said, the abrupt clarity of the soldier eclipsing the man. "That was a targeted move, Rix. They knew: and they were just too late."

  “So, what now then?” She sobbed into his chest.

  “We’re on our own.”

  The truth of his words, stark and brutal, drained the fight out of her all at once. A harsh sob escaped her, and she sagged against him, allowing herself to be held. He stood there, an unmoving sentinel, one hand still cupping the back of her head, the other resting on the small of her back. He let her cry, a small, broken sound in the hushed luxury of the carriage.

  They were no longer representatives of the Academy; they were two fugitives and a giant bird, heading into the heart of enemy territory with no support, no allies, and a stash of Krev'an currency that now felt dangerously small.

  The train traveled for three days, a silent, speeding capsule carrying them across the continent. The suffocating reality of their situation settled on them. They came to the mutual conclusion that their pre-arranged passage across the narrow sea was surely compromised.

  The first day was a blur of Rix’s desperate energy. Hunched over her data-slates, she spent hours hammering at the Highforge Aethernet in a furious search for any news, any public comms from Aethercorp, any word at all about what had happened to Yin. She found nothing. The network was silent.

  In a final, desperate move, she tried to access her private Aethercorp intraweb portal. A cold, sterile message flashed across her screen: ACCESS DENIED. PASSHOLDER CREDENTIALS RECALLED.

  The message was a digital slap in the face. Her search for answers collapsed into a focused hunt for survival, her queries now diving into the shadowed parts of the network as she tried to find an alternative route, a new contact, any plan that didn't involve walking into a trap.

  Leo, in turn, found a steadying purpose in the carriage's small kitchen. He cooked simple meals from the provisions Yin had provided and spent long hours grooming Bocce, the methodical act a meditative ritual for them both.

  His new Lumina skills became his other focus. He practiced the essentials: shields and self-healing. With his anger simmering just beneath the surface, he would draw his knife, pressing small, sharp cuts into his own forearm. The pain was a focusing lance, a brutal clarity in the hushed carriage. He would then hold his hand over the self-inflicted wound, pouring the golden light of Lumina into his flesh until the skin sealed. Barriers were next, shimmering golden shields that flared into existence for a moment before fading, each one a quiet act of defiance.

  That final confirmation plunged the carriage into a new, heavier silence. The opulent furnishings, the plush seating, the complimentary wine—it all felt like a mockery. The first-class cabin was a gilded cage, hurtling them toward a future they couldn't see. Their meals for the first two days were tense affairs, prepared from the carriage's kitchen. The food, though exquisite, tasted like ash. They were living on borrowed time. The thought that Yin was a prisoner was a shared guilt, a poison in the air. It made Rix's rapid keystrokes and Leo's methodical knife-work feel less like preparation and more like hollow distractions.

  On the final night, seeing Rix still spiraling through a vortex of failed plans, her face pale with exhaustion, Leo moved to the small kitchen unit. He worked with a quiet, deliberate purpose, the simple act of creation a bulwark against the rising tide of their uncertainty. He set a pot of water to heat on the rune, its gentle hum a soft intrusion on the train's silent glide. From the carriage's small stock of ingredients, he took some dried mushrooms and a few thin slices of cured harūka sausage. He sliced the rehydrated mushrooms with a rhythmic chop, their earthy scent filling the small space. He added them to a second pot with a rich vegetable stock and let it simmer.

  The sausage went in next, its smoky, salty essence bleeding into the broth. While the soup base simmered, he cooked the dried noodles until they were just tender, then drained them. He assembled the meal with care, dividing the noodles between two simple bowls and ladling the hot, fragrant broth over them. It wasn't a masterpiece, but it was warm and real in a world that had grown very cold.

  Over the steaming bowls, they talked. Rix's panic had channeled into a keen, cold focus. She'd been silently running scenarios, connecting the dots: Yin's status, the targeted arrest, her own credentials being revoked. "They didn't just grab a random," she said, her voice firm, the realisation hardening her resolve. "They grabbed the Archmagister of Highforge in broad daylight. This is bigger than just us. This is the Krev'an making a major move." She looked at Leo, her eyes intense. "We have to get to Lysetta. We need to find out what's happening in Drokthūr."

  Leo's gaze fell to the carved bird Pip had given him. He picked it up from the table, his thumb rubbing over the smooth wood. The innocent object felt impossibly heavy, a relic from a life that already felt a lifetime ago.

  "Leo?" Rix's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the carriage. "What are you thinking?"

  He turned the wooden bird over in his hands, his knuckles white. "I haven't been back to the capital in a very long time," he said, a sadness resting in his eyes, the words heavy with unspoken history.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Rix studied him for a long moment. She decided to offer a piece of her own story.

  "I'm from the Sandlands," she said, her voice losing its usual boisterous edge. "Way out west. My parents... they were researchers. Super brilliant. They were obsessed with aetheric boundary theory. Trying to map the edges of the leylines, where the magic gets all weird and thin. They were killed in a workshop explosion when I was a kid. The official report said it was an accident... just one of their experiments gone wrong." She looked down at her hands, her knuckles white. "I’ve told you before, my uncle took me in. He was... busy. A lot. So I just kinda grew up in the workshops. Machines make sense, you know? They have rules. People... not so much." She finally looked up, her sea-glass eyes intense. "It's why I'm like this. Why I have to poke at things. Why I have to find the truth when things just... don't add up."

  Leo was silent for a long moment, taking in her story. He looked at her, and the pieces of her personality clicked into place. Witnessing the lonely, brilliant child who had grown up in the shadow of busy adults. Finally, Leo understood her restless energy, her constant stream of chatter and questions. It was the survival mechanism of a child who had to be effervescent, had to be bubbly and loud, just to be seen. A fortress of logic and steel, built by a young girl who had learned that machines were the only things that would ever give her their full attention.

  "Your machines," he said, his voice a quiet agreement. "They're like the Shroud. They have rules. They're honest. You trust them for the same reason I trust the forest."

  He paused, his gaze distant. "I grew up in the mountains east of Drokthūr," he began, his voice distant. "My family was Vorosi. When the Krev’an came through... I was taken. I was young, five or so, but strong. They took me and trained me." His gaze became unfocused, his eyes fixed on a memory a thousand miles away. "They trained us all. Indoctrination, combat, discipline. The ones who survived, the ones who excelled... we were sent to the Hertok Skola. The military academy."

  Leo’s gaze fell, his thumb rubbing the small wooden bird. "I graduated. Became an officer. I did my civil service, my warlike service. I thought... I thought if I was the best, if I took the hardest jobs, the ones no one else wanted... I thought I could protect others. Make a difference." His voice grew hollow. "And then... Svordfj?ll. It was all for nothing."

  Leo trailed off, the name of the battle hanging in the air. Staring at the table, lost in the memory, a glimpse of the lost child and the broken soldier. Rix didn't press for more. Instead, she reached out and placed her hand over his, a gesture of understanding that said more than any words could.

  They sat like that for a while, staring out the window at the world rushing by, the only sound the woosh of the train in the cool night air, and Bocce's occasional grunts in his sleep. Rix was the first to move, standing and stretching her arms above her head. "I'm going to get some rest," she said. "We'll be arriving in a few hours."

  The train arrived at the port city of Muroc as the sun was setting, casting long, golden rays across a city that seemed to rise from the very earth itself. A sprawling city of ancient and new. Buildings were sculpted from magically hardened sand into flowing, organic shapes, ancient bazaars and ground-level workshops pressed up against tall, blade-thin apartment complexes made of the same impossible material. Their honey and terracotta walls were adorned with intricate, inlaid mosaics of glass and polished stone, glittering in the dying light. Beyond the city's edge, the northern sea was a flurry of white, bird-like skiffs returning to harbour. The air was a heady perfume of salt and exotic spices from the Sandlands, all mixing with the constant, discordant hum of a dozen different languages. Muroc was an ancient, vibrant place, a labyrinth of narrow, winding streets where fortunes were made and lost on the winds.

  The train hissed to a stop. Rix was already on her feet, grabbing her pack. "Come on, we need to move," she said, her voice low and urgent. "The longer we're on this platform, the more visible we are."

  They stepped out of the luxurious carriage and were hit by a wall of sensory information. The Muroc station was nothing like the pristine, silent halls of Highforge. It was a vast, open-air structure, its soaring arches and high ceilings all sculpted from the same honey-coloured sandstone as the city itself. The air swirled with a dizzying barrage of smells: the sharp tang of ozone from other maglevs, the rich aroma of roasting nuts from a vendor's stall, the underlying musk of unwashed bodies and exotic animals. The noise was a constant roar of bartered deals, shouted greetings, and the clatter of cargo being moved. Sand-skiff sailors with sun-scorched skin and salt-stiffened hair pushed past merchants in elaborate, colourful robes, while Krev'an patrols, their iron-grey armour a jarring note of menace, stalked through the crowd with impunity.

  They moved quickly, an anonymous trio attempting to be swallowed by the sprawling urban disarray. Leo led Bocce from the carriage, the great bird stepping cautiously onto the crowded platform. His sheer size and wildness drew immediate attention. Sailors pointed, merchants recoiled, and the nearest Krev'an patrol turned their helmeted heads to track their progress. They needed to disappear, and fast.

  They exited the station and plunged into the nearest narrow alleyway, eager to get lost in the city's welcoming disarray. The shift from the open platform to the winding streets was abrupt. Here, the sounds were different—closer, more intimate. The roar of the station gave way to the murmur of secret conversations, the clatter of unseen workshops, and the distant, haunting melody of a stringed instrument. They stuck to the shadows, their cloaks pulled up to obscure their faces, trying to find a discreet inn without drawing attention.

  As they paused at the mouth of an alley to get their bearings, a harsh, guttural call of "Spiram!" cut through the market noise. A Krev'an patrol had spotted them; their description, and that of the giant bird, had clearly preceded them. There was no time to think. Leo leaped onto Bocce's back in one fluid motion, then reached down and hauled Rix up.

  "Go," he said, the command given in urgent tones.

  The great bird launched into a gallop, taking off through the streets as the low hum of Krev'an autobikes flared to life hot on their trail. Bocce thundered down the main thoroughfare, his powerful strides eating up the ground, but the Krev'an autobikes were relentless, their engines a high-pitched whine that seemed to come from all directions at once. Exploding into a central bazaar. Bocce scattered a stall of bright spices, the air exploding in a pungent golden cloud. They pushed through a rack of shimmering, sequinned textiles, the crowd screaming and scattering.

  "In there!" Rix yelled, pointing to the open archway of a dyeworks.

  They plunged inside, the air thick with the chemical tang of vats of boiling indigo and carmine. Bocce’s feet splashed in colourful puddles, and they burst out the back door.

  Outside, they were met with a solid wall of raised rifles. Another patrol had anticipated the move. The hum of the autobikes behind them grew to a roar.

  "They're boxing us in!" Leo yelled. He spun Bocce around, shoving back through the dyeworks, the workers inside now screaming in terror. They burst back into the bazaar. A Krev'an soldier grabbed at Bocce's reins, only to be sent flying by a powerful kick from the bird.

  They plunged into the labyrinth of the old city, a maze of narrow, winding alleys where the sand-sculpted buildings leaned in so close they nearly touched overhead. The Krev'an patrols seemed to multiply, appearing out of nowhere, their shouts echoing in the confined spaces. With a final turn, they shot down what looked like a promising escape route: a narrow gap between a granary and an old sandstone temple just wide enough for a Szōcke. The alley twisted, turned... and ended in a high, featureless wall of sandstone. A perfect dead end.

  The sounds of approaching autobikes echoed from the entrance, their engines dropping in pitch as the Krev’an slowed, their searchlights cutting white, sterile slashes against the dark walls. The trio was trapped. "Scrap, scrap, scrap!" Rix whispered, her fists balling on Leo’s jacket.

  Leo swung off Bocce's back and landed silently on the dusty ground. He turned, his hand already reaching out as raw Arcanum, the white-hot energy of unbridled magic, began to coalesce around his fists. They would not be taken. He would bring the whole alley down on top of them first.

  Just as the first Krev'an soldiers appeared at the mouth of the alley, a section of the blank wall beside them shimmered and dissolved, opening into a swirling, silent portal of purple and black energy. A hooded figure, their face completely obscured by shadow, stepped halfway through.

  "Quickly," the figure said, their voice a distorted, synthesised whisper. "If you want to live, come with me."

  These really help with my exposure and will help continue the story forward into the future!

  Discord and give your guesses on who the mysterious portaller is that would be great.

  If you can't wait and need to know immediately the is 12 chapters ahead!