The city of Arnathe was just waking. Pale sunlight spread over the rooftops, glinting off the copper tiles and wet cobblestones. Market stalls were only beginning to open, the smell of baked bread and horse feed drifting together in uneven patches.

  Maruzan walked alone toward the Tower Gate, the large stone arch that marked the city’s western edge. His boots struck the street in slow, steady rhythm. He’d left before the bells rang, hoping to slip out quietly and meet his warband beyond the walls before the city stirred too much.

  He was ready to leave, pack loaded, map folded in his coat pocket, mind already on the road ahead. The mission felt simple enough when spoken aloud: track the missing noble’s daughter, Azandra, last seen near the Green Hills. But something in his gut told him it wouldn’t stay simple for long.

  He was less than a hundred paces from the gate when a hand caught his arm.

  “Maruzan.”

  He turned, half expecting a guard or a messenger. Instead, it was Nethira.

  Her hair was unbound and brushed her shoulders, and she wore a traveling cloak over her green robes. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept.

  “Nethira?” he asked, surprised. “What are you doing out here?”

  She didn’t waste time. “There’s no choice,” she said, her tone steady but low. “After yesterday… I have to come with you.”

  He stared at her for a moment, trying to understand. “You mean to join the mission?”

  “I’ve already taken leave from the college,” she said. “The Magisters will manage without me for a while. This isn’t about the bounty or the coin. You know that.”

  He did. The look in her eyes said enough, not duty, but conviction.

  Maruzan sighed quietly. “You’re certain?”

  “Certain enough to leave behind what I’ve built,” she said. “The dreams haven’t stopped. They’ve only grown stronger. Something’s waiting in those hills. Something that knows I’m watching.”

  He studied her face, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But stay close. We don’t know what’s out there.”

  Her lips lifted slightly in a tired smile. “You say that like I ever do otherwise.”

  They started walking together toward the gate, their footsteps in sync. The city was busier now, merchants calling out to early buyers, a pair of children chasing each other around a fountain, guards changing shifts. The great arch of the Tower Gate rose before them, its stones dark and pitted with age.

  Maruzan could already see his warband gathered beyond the arch, waiting in the morning light.

  Bram stood with his arms folded across his chest, a stout figure of confidence. He wore his travel cloak loose over a thick leather vest, his beard freshly oiled. Beside him was Farrin, her expression as composed as ever, her braid neat and her posture straight.

  Ennett was there too, adjusting the straps on her basilisk-scale armor. The plates shimmered faintly in the morning sun, a reminder of her discipline and the years of training she carried behind every motion.

  Xonya stood off to one side, her bow unstrung but close at hand. Her sharp eyes tracked everything, guards, wagons, passing travelers, with the same quiet vigilance she always carried.

  And then there was a fifth figure, standing apart from the rest.

  He wore simple monk’s robes in faded brown, his hood pulled low. When he looked up, Maruzan recognized him, though it took a moment to place the face.

  Before he could ask, Xonya stepped forward. “I brought a healer,” she said. “He’s coming with us.”

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  Maruzan frowned slightly. “Without notice?”

  Xonya didn’t back down. “He’s kin,” she said. “And he’s not just any healer. He’s trained, disciplined, and quiet. We’ll need someone like that if this goes south.”

  Maruzan crossed his arms. “You’ve thought this through.”

  “I have,” she said simply.

  He looked back at the man. The name came to him suddenly, Winnum. The monk who had once belonged to the Order of the Sojourning Servants. Xonya had mentioned him months ago, after a long night of trading stories. A healer who had lost his faith but still carried his vows in silence.

  Winnum gave a small nod of greeting but said nothing. His eyes were tired, but steady.

  Maruzan didn’t like last-minute changes. But Xonya’s word carried weight, and he knew she wouldn’t have brought the man if she didn’t trust him.

  “Fine,” Maruzan said at last. “He comes. But you’re responsible for him.”

  He looked to the group as a whole. “We move now if we want to reach Sewen by dusk. It’s a long march, and the sun’s already climbing.”

  Bram grinned. “Aye, and my legs are already complaining.”

  “You’d complain if the road were paved in gold,” Farrin said.

  Bram shrugged, still smiling. “Gold’s slippery. Makes for bad footing.”

  Even Ennett cracked a faint smirk at that, though she tried to hide it.

  Maruzan allowed the moment to linger before setting his tone again. “Let’s stay sharp. We’ll keep to the trade road until the fork near the marshlands. From there, we’ll take the ridge path. It’ll be slower but safer.”

  “Safer for who?” Xonya muttered, adjusting her bow. “Bandits love that ridge.”

  “Then we’ll make them regret it,” Ennett said dryly.

  Maruzan led the way, and the others followed in two lines as they passed beneath the Tower Gate. The heavy shadow of the arch stretched over them, cool and long, before fading into sunlight on the other side.

  The city noise fell away quickly. The road wound down between low hills and scattered farms, then out toward open country where the horizon rolled like waves of green and gold.

  They didn’t speak much for the first few miles. The morning was crisp, the only sound their boots on gravel and the soft creak of leather straps. But soon, conversation began to trickle in, first Bram and Farrin, arguing about whether dwarves or humans made better bread, then Xonya scolding them for scaring off the crows she used to gauge the weather.

  Maruzan walked near the front, keeping his thoughts to himself. He glanced back once.

  Nethira walked beside Farrin, her staff slung across her shoulder, the morning sun catching on the green threads of her robe. She looked out of place among the armor and crossbows, but there was strength in her stride, quiet, deliberate strength that came from someone who had already seen too much.

  Winnum walked alone near the rear. His hands were folded loosely, his pace unhurried. He seemed calm, though Maruzan noticed how his gaze lingered on every crossroad shrine they passed. Old habits, maybe. Or a man searching for something to believe in again.

  They stopped at midday near a small stream. Bram set up a fire to boil water while Farrin unpacked hard bread and smoked meat. Xonya crouched by the bank, testing the water with a fingertip before filling the flasks.

  Nethira sat on a flat stone nearby, her gaze distant again. Maruzan joined her, handing her a share of bread.

  “Are you still seeing things?” he asked.

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Not clearly. Just flashes. Sometimes voices in the wind, sometimes shapes behind my eyes. It’s like something’s calling, not words, but a feeling.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Both,” she said quietly. “That’s what frightens me.”

  Maruzan looked toward the hills. “If Nezzarod’s work still lingers, then maybe that’s what you’re feeling. The earth doesn’t forget so easily.”

  Nethira turned to him. “And you?”

  He frowned. “What about me?”

  “You carry your own ghosts,” she said. “You think hiding behind duty makes them lighter, but it doesn’t. You just carry them longer.”

  He met her eyes, then looked away. “Maybe. But carrying something’s better than letting it drop.”

  Nethira gave a small, sad smile. “Until it breaks you.”

  Before he could respond, Bram’s voice called out, “Soup’s on! Or whatever passes for it!”

  The group gathered, and the brief heaviness faded into chatter again. The sound of laughter, quiet and real, filled the clearing.

  When they set off once more, the sun was past its peak, and the long road ahead shimmered faintly in the heat.

  Maruzan looked at his companions one by one, Nethira, Xonya, Ennett, Bram, Farrin, and Winnum, and felt a strange mix of pride and dread settle in his chest.

  They were stronger together, he knew that much. But strength didn’t mean safety.

  And as the horizon stretched wider and the first dark shapes of the Green Hills came into view, he felt the uneasy truth stirring in the back of his mind.

  The path ahead wasn’t just a mission. It was the start of something larger, something that had been moving beneath their feet long before they’d chosen to follow it.

  And now, there was no turning back.