The journey to the capital was a long, dusty affair, the battered truck groaning under the strain of the uneven road. For the first few days, a heavy silence hung in the cab, thick with unspoken regret. Chinakah’s hands were clamped tight on the steering wheel, her gaze fixed on the endless stretch of ochre-colored dirt ahead.

  Finally, she spoke, her voice low and tight. “It feels wrong, Gethii. Leaving him in a place like that.”

  From the open truck bed where he sat, his back against the cab, Gethii let out a slow breath. “I know it does. But that orphanage, as grim as it is, is safer than this road. Safer than being with us while we walk into the King’s den.” He ran a hand through his locs, the wind whipping stray strands across his face. “We don’t know what we’re facing. Leonotis is better off there, for now.”

  “For now?” Chinakah’s voice was sharp. “And what if this audience with the King isn’t the simple meeting you expect? What if we can't come back for him?” The fear she’d been suppressing since they drove away from Stylwater was a raw, palpable thing in the cramped cab.

  “Hey, don’t worry. We’ll grab the kid again,” Gethii said, his voice a low, firm promise, as much for himself as for her. “This is just a pit stop, not the end of the road. A problem we have to solve before we can truly keep him safe.”

  His words, meant to be reassuring, hung in the air, offering little comfort against the vast, indifferent landscape. The sun beat down, turning the world into a shimmering, hazy mirage. The quiet was broken by a sound, faint at first, then growing closer, a strange, chittering laughter.

  Gethii was on his feet instantly, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Chinakah, speed up."

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Her foot slammed down on the accelerator, and the old truck lurched forward with a protesting roar. But they weren't fast enough. A pack of hyenas, their bodies lean and mangy, emerged from the tall grass alongside the road. They moved with an unnatural speed, their powerful legs eating up the ground, easily keeping pace with the rattling truck. But it was the sight of their backs that made Gethii’s blood run cold. Sprouting from their matted fur were the same sickly purple mushrooms he'd seen on the fox demon.

  “By the Orisha. And here I thought the road trip was getting boring,” Gethii muttered, drawing his sword. The blade hissed as it left its scabbard.

  “How many?” Chinakah yelled, her eyes glued to the road ahead, her hands wrestling with the wheel.

  “Too many! Six, maybe seven!”

  One of the hyenas, its eyes glowing with a feverish, unnatural light, leaped. It sailed through the air, its jaws wide, aiming for the tailgate. Gethii moved, planting his feet on the unstable, vibrating truck bed. He met the creature mid-air, not with his sword, but with a powerful, kick that sent it tumbling back onto the road with a pained yelp.

  "Heads up, left flank incoming!" he roared.

  Chinakah wrenched the wheel hard to the left. The truck swerved violently, its tires spitting gravel. One of the hyenas, caught off guard, was clipped by the rear bumper and sent rolling into a shallow ditch. The others, however, were undeterred, their chittering laughter growing more frenzied. Another one lunged, its claws scrabbling for purchase on the metal tailgate. Gethii’s sword flashed, a blur of silver in the harsh sunlight. The hyena’s head fell from its body before it even had a chance to complete its leap.

  The fight was a chaotic, desperate dance on a moving stage. Chinakah drove with a focused fury, swerving and braking, trying to throw the creatures off balance, to give Gethii an opening. Gethii, in turn, moved with a deadly grace, his powerful form against the snapping jaws and grasping claws. He was a whirlwind of steel, each strike precise, each parry perfectly timed. But for every beast he struck down, another seemed to take its place, their mushroom-addled minds impervious to fear or pain.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last of the creatures fell back, its leg broken by a well-aimed swerve from Chinakah. They watched its limping form disappear into the grass, its mad laughter fading on the wind.

  The truck slowed, the engine sputtering. Gethii stood panting in the truck bed, his tunic splattered with dark, viscous blood. Chinakah slumped over the steering wheel, her entire body trembling with adrenaline and fear. They exchanged a long look, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. What was that?

  Gethii leaped from the truck and approached one of the fallen hyenas. With the tip of his sword, he nudged the fungi on its back. They were identical to the ones that had corrupted the fox. This wasn't a random blight. It was spreading. And its presence here, so far from their village, was a deeply unsettling omen. He looked up at Chinakah, his expression grim. Their trip to the capital had just become even more urgent.

  The shuddering silence that followed the frenzied hyena attack felt louder than the battle itself. Gethii stood in the truck bed, wiping viscous black blood from his blade with a practiced efficiency, his chest still heaving. Chinakah slumped against the steering wheel for a moment, her knuckles white, before taking a deep, steadying breath and putting the truck back in gear. The engine coughed, but it caught.

  "What was that?" Chinakah asked, turning the key in the ignition again. The only response was a sad, clicking sound.

  "Relax, I’ve got this. Just a little core hiccup!" Gethii announced, hopping down from the truck bed with a confidence he didn't feel.

  He unlatched the heavy hood, peering into the engine bay. There was no steam, only the fading, high-pitched whine of a dying magnetic field. The Ase-core, usually a pulsing heart of warm blue light, sat grey and lifeless in its copper cradle. He slammed the metal cover shut.

  He walked to the side of the truck and twisted the brass lock on the intake port, pulling out the cylindrical glass fuel canister. He held it up to the sun and tapped the thick glass. It rang with a hollow, mocking finality—not a single drop of energy remained inside.

  Chinakah leaned out of the window, an eyebrow raised. "Well?"

  Gethii cleared his throat, carefully sliding the empty canister back into the slot. "It appears we have a… spiritual supply deficiency."

  "We're out of fuel," Chinakah translated flatly. "Right. So we walk." She started to open her door.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "Nonsense," Gethii said, puffing out his chest slightly. "The capital can't be more than a few more miles. We'll push it."

  Chinakah stopped, her hand on the door latch. She didn't say a word. She simply turned in her seat and fixed him with a look.

  The legendary Kingsguard, the man who had single-handedly fought off a pack of demon-crazed hyenas on a moving vehicle, withered under that gaze. A long, defeated sigh escaped his lips.

  "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll push. You steer."

  The rhythmic groan of protesting axles accompanied Gethii’s strained grunts as he heaved against the back of their battered transport. Chinakah peered out from the driver’s seat, a wry smile playing on her lips. “You know, for someone who boasts about their legendary strength, this doesn’t look particularly effortless.”

  Gethii’s face, slick with sweat, contorted in mock offense. “Effortless? Of course, it is! I’m merely… pacing myself. Admiring the scenic route at a leisurely speed.” He pushed harder, his muscles bulging. “Though, I must admit, the ‘scenic route’ seems to be perpetually uphill.”

  Finally, the imposing gates of the capital’s checkpoint loomed into view. Dusting themselves off as best they could, Gethii and Chinakah approached the stern-faced guards. They presented their identification scrolls. “We are here to request an audience with the King,” Chinakah announced, her voice polite but firm. “We have an important incident to report.”

  One of the guards let out a dry chuckle. “Good luck with that. You’ll be here a while.” He gestured with his halberd towards a sprawling encampment of tents and makeshift shelters stretching beyond the gate. “Ever since the new King decided to hear reports in person, the queue has been… substantial. Current wait time for an audience is approximately two weeks.”

  Gethii and Chinakah exchanged a weary groan. “Two weeks?” Gethii echoed, running a hand through his disheveled locs.

  Chinakah, however, offered a more optimistic perspective. “Well,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “we did say we wanted to spend some quality alone time together. Think of it as an extended vacation! We could visit the Swordcrafters’ Guild, perhaps even the Grand Water Temple. You might even have enough time to get a proper sword forged for Leonotis.”

  “Hmm,” Gethii mused, the prospect of a new blade for his young student momentarily eclipsing his frustration. “Y’know what? You’re onto something. Swordcrafters’ Guild, Grand Water Temple, Leonotis gets his blade… Sounds like a pretty solid vacation package, if you ask me.”

  After pushing their ailing vehicle to a nearby mechanic, they made their way to the palace and officially registered their request for an audience, receiving a small, numbered token. The following days unfolded with a blend of mundane tasks and sightseeing. They shared simple meals at bustling street stalls, watched a surprisingly engaging street play about heroic goblins, and wandered through the capital’s vibrant markets. Chinakah spent a considerable amount of time in the serene halls of the Water Temple, lost in meditative contemplation. Gethii, meanwhile, sought out the renowned forge masters, only to be met with apologetic shrugs and the disheartening reality of overflowing commissions. A custom-forged sword within two weeks was an impossibility.

  Thinking on his feet, Gethii then approached a skilled carpenter. Explaining his need for a training replica of his own uniquely designed blade, he managed to secure an agreement for a wooden version, albeit with a week-long crafting time. With that settled, he decided to visit an old acquaintance, Simone, who owned a well-respected armor shop.

  The reunion was warm, filled with laughter and reminiscing about shared adventures from years past. Eventually, Gethii’s expression turned serious. “So, Simone,” he began, leaning against a rack of gleaming breastplates, “what’s the capital really like now? After the coup?”

  Simone’s smile faded slightly. “Bloody. It was bloody, Gethii. A lot of people in the palace… well, they died. But honestly? Most of them were terrible people anyway. Corrupt, cruel… they aren’t missed by anyone honest.” She sighed. “The new King… he’s been implementing changes. Policies that actually make sense. He stopped the child brides, for one. And he’s created a new school, opened up more opportunities for women in the workforce.”

  “Heh, sounds like you’re painting him as the kingdom’s saint,” Gethii countered, a skeptical edge to his voice. “But I’ve heard the rumors.”

  Simone shrugged. “I didn’t say he was all good. Just that anyone who’s honest and hardworking seems to be doing just fine under his rule. The ones who thrived on the old corruption? They’re the ones whispering in the shadows.”

  “And these audiences with him?” Gethii pressed.

  “You state your report,” Simone said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Speak truthfully about what happened. Most times, he’ll either tell you how to get back on track or direct you to someone who can. And if your report is positive… well, there are even rewards.”

  “And what happens if you disagree with his suggestions?” Gethii asked, his gaze intent.

  Simone paused, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Then… you are asking for trouble. His suggestions are… reasonable.”

  “What aren’t you saying, Simone?” Gethii prompted gently.

  She hesitated again, then sighed. “I mean… he placed a large order for armor. For the war effort. And when I inquired about payment, he said it was for the good of the kingdom. Don’t get me wrong, Gethii, I want to do my part. But I still have bills to pay, raw materials to buy for my regular clients. Now… I’m stretched thin.”

  “And there’s the fine print. Knew it was too shiny to be all good.,” Gethii murmured, understanding dawning.

  “He didn’t start these wars,” Simone defended, though her voice lacked conviction. “And I’ve even heard rumors… he’s trying to find a way to end it, before more troops are sent to the battlefield.”

  “Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself,” Gethii observed quietly. He reached into his pack and pulled out his spare warrior’s toga, a sturdy, practical garment. “Simone, I was wondering… how long would it take to make some alterations to this? Reinforce the seams, maybe add some extra padding? It needs to be resized to fit a boy.”

  Simone looked at the toga, then back at Gethii, a wry smile returning. “Gethii, you know I’m swamped with backlog. At least two weeks.”

  “Perfect,” Gethii said, a strange sense of grim satisfaction settling over him.

  The day of their audience arrived, and Chinakah and Gethii retrieved the resized toga and the wooden replica sword for Leonotis. They loaded them into their now-functional truck, with Gethii making a point of asking Simone to hold onto the truck in the back of her shop until their return.