Metal clattered off stone as men checked saddles, tightened straps, and sharpened blades. It was a ceaseless, practical rhythm.
Among them, Alex stood still in his new, unfamiliar armor. His eyes did not dart. They measured. The smith’s hammer, the farrier’s nail, the thousand small motions building towards a single, vast violence.
Women and children stood with pale faces, offering no waves, only a silent, staring farewell. The courtyard held no cheers. No heroic speeches.
Only the heavy, suffocating weight of goodbye.
Alex knew exactly what this was. A funeral procession before the bodies were even cold.
Through the sea of grim faces, Lady Elenora walked.
Her stride was not regal. It was a verdict. Each step toward her carriage was the turn of a key, locking the hope from her people's eyes.
Alex watched from the crowd. The cold knot in his gut, like the one he felt on the battlement, tightened. This wasn't anxiety. It was the precise, familiar ache of a mistake being made, and him standing still, letting it happen.
“Why am I like this?” he whispered, staring down at his trembling hands. “What’s wrong with me?”
“What’s wrong with who?”
A voice, too close.
A light tap on the back snapped Alex out of his spiral.
“Oh… uh, Roric,” Alex managed, his voice shaky. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the tremors. “Where were you?”
Roric held a frown for a moment before returning to his usual easy-going self.
“Strap up, lad. We have a long and dangerous path ahead of us.”
He offered Alex a simple leather belt holding a scabbard and a sword.
“Lady Elenora personally had this retrieved from the vault,” Roric said with a grin. “I must say, she really has taken a liking to you. Makes one wonder… are you her type?”
“Wh… what?” Alex stuttered, blinking frantically.
“I'm just messing with you,” Roric laughed, tapping him on the shoulder. “Even if she did have feelings for you, her circumstances wouldn’t allow it.”
The laughter died in Roric’s throat. He watched the carriage door close behind Lady Elenora. For a moment, the usual mischief was gone from his face, replaced by something Alex had never seen there before, a kind of weary respect.
Alex's heart raced. ‘I should be in there,’ he thought. The impulse was stupid, immediate, and completely useless.
“Right then!” Roric boomed, his voice suddenly a cannon shot in the quiet yard. He clapped Alex on the back hard enough to stagger him. “Enough gawping at tragedy. The Shard-Maiden awaits! Can’t keep a lady waiting, can we?”
“No, we can’t… Wait. What do you mean, waiting… for us?”
“Oh… were you not informed? We are to ride with the Maiden and drop off somewhere along the way,” Roric said, already walking toward the carriage. “Quickly now!”
*****
They made it to the carriage just as the final preparations were being made.
It wasn’t a fancy, decorative thing. It was built for hard travel, constructed of dark, solid wood reinforced with black iron bands. The windows were small, yet supplier the interior with enough air.
Two large, calm warhorses stood at the front, their breath misting in the cold air. It looked less like a noble’s transport and more like a mobile bunker.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Inside, four seats of worn black leather faced each other in the close, wood-paneled dark.
The seating arrangement placed Alex directly opposite Lady Elenora. Her serene, moon-pale features were a stark contrast to the carriage’s rugged interior.
Roric dropped into the seat beside him, a faint smirk gracing his lips, looking thoroughly amused by the setup.
And there, beside Elenora, sat a figure.
Alex’s gaze locked onto her.
She was draped in a long, hooded brown cloak that swallowed her form completely. The hood was pulled so far forward that her face was cast in deep shadow, revealing nothing but the faint line of a chin and her hands, folded still in her lap.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. She simply was.
The door shut with a solid thud, sealing them in.
With a lurch, the carriage began to roll forward. The sound of the crowd grew fainter as they passed through the giant iron gates of the fortress and began their descent.
The air in the cabin grew still, broken only by the creak of wood and the rumble of wheels. The silence between the four was a physical weight. Alex could hear his own blood rushing in his ears.
His eyes kept drifting to the cloaked woman. ‘Who is she? A guard? A servant? Why hide her face?’
Roric was the one to break the quiet. Leaning back, he crossed his ankles and let out a contented sigh that seemed too loud for the small space.
“Well,” he said, his gaze sliding from the hooded figure to Alex. “Cozy, isn’t it? Nothing like a long ride with good company to really get to know one another.”
At his words, the Shard-Maiden turned her head slightly. A soft, lovely smile touched her lips as she looked at the figure beside her.
“This,” Lady Elenora said, her voice warm with affection, “is Iris. My handmaiden, my shadow, and my dearest friend.”
The hooded figure gave a single, slow nod. It was the only movement she made, but it felt heavy with acknowledgment.
Roric watched the exchange, his smirk softening into something more genuine.
“A friend in the shadows is worth ten in the light,” he said quietly. Then he winked at Alex. “See? Told you the company was good.”
“Yeah… I see that.”
Alex smiled softly. His eyes shifted back to Elenora. The way she spoke, her graceful posture, the kindness in her voice. It was mesmerizing. For a moment, his mind went blank. The sounds of the carriage faded away.
Sensing the gaze, Elenora looked at him. “Lost in thought?”
Alex blinked, snapping back to reality. “Uh… well.”
Elenora laughed softly. Even Iris turned her hooded head slightly toward him. For a brief moment, the carriage was filled with a sense of normalcy.
However, Alex knew it wouldn't last.
He had so many questions. Where were the Sunken Archives? When would Elenora return from Stoneheart? Would they ever see each other again?
But asking them would only ruin the peace.
‘It’s just a dream,’ he reminded himself. ‘Elenora, Roric, even Iris… they are just fragments of my imagination.’
After a while, the conversation died down. The carriage fell into a comfortable quiet, the only sounds the steady clop of hooves and the march of boots outside. Dawns’ Bastion was far behind them now, a grey smudge against the misty valley sky.
Alex watched the world pass by the small window, but his mind was somewhere else.
‘I’ve been telling myself it’s just a dream,’ he thought. The carriage’s rhythm matched the beat of his realization.
He had tried to fit this world into a box. A fantasy constructed from movies and games. A manifestation of his longing for the girl on the rooftop.
But it didn't feel like a dream.
The cold air flowing through the window felt real. The ache in his muscles felt real. The fear of death felt real.
‘Constructs of the mind… or windows to other worlds?’
He had initially dismissed the "Alternate Reality" theory as sci-fi nonsense. But the complexity of this world, the history, the politics, exceeded his brain's ability to process on the fly. Could his subconscious really invent an entire war, a magic ability called Dawn’s Light, and a character like Roric in real-time?
No.
“Windows to alternate realities,” Alex whispered into the dim carriage air.
The realization didn't just spark in his mind, it ignited something deeper.
‘This is an alternate reality.’
The truth resonated through the fabric of his mind, his soul, his entire being. The world outside the window seemed to sharpen, the colors becoming more vivid, the sounds more distinct.
He was dreaming, yes. But he was walking in a reality that existed beyond the boundaries of his own mind.
And as the truth settled into his bones, a resonant echo chimed in the silence of his perception.
[Dream Resonance: +20]
[Dream Resonance: 115/100]
[NOTICE: DREAM RESONANCE THRESHOLD REACHED]
Ask. The archive might answer back.
What to Expect:
- Sci-fi mystery
- Character-driven plot
- Slow-burn investigation
- Brothers on opposite sides
- Cool powers!
- Optional meta layers
- Multi-POV cast
- Emotional gut punches & sarcasm
Hear from Lev below. These artifacts are your first clue!
[Lev’s Note]: Am I a terrible person for being relieved this tabloid is about Isi and not me?