The knock came soft at first. Gentle. Careful.
"Koda?" Maia's voice, low and hesitant, filtered through the crack beneath the door.
He was already awake—had never really fallen back to sleep since the nightmare. He sat slouched on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, hands dangling limply. The room was still dim with morning; the shutters were cracked, letting in a sliver of pale light that painted a diagonal line across the floorboards. The sweat on his skin had gone cold hours ago. The tears had dried. But the tremble in his chest lingered.
"Koda," she knocked again, a little louder. "I… I heard something last night. You—were crying out. Are you okay?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't. The words were trapped somewhere behind his teeth, somewhere deep where fear still festered and clawed. He stared at the floor. The knock didn't come again.
But then—
The door creaked open, slowly. Light from the hallway poured in just enough to paint the silhouette of Maia as she stepped inside. She was wrapped in a soft woolen shawl over her sleepwear, hair still tousled from her pillow, eyes wide and red-rimmed with worry.
Her gaze swept the room. No danger. No blood. Just him, sitting there like the shell of a man.
"Koda…" she said, much softer now.
He finally looked up.
And she was moving. In three quiet steps, she was at the bed. She didn't ask for permission. Didn't need to. She sat beside him and looked at him with a pain that mirrored his own. Then, slowly, wordlessly, she pushed him—just enough to make him shift back onto the mattress.
Koda allowed himself to fall, not resisting, just watching her as she climbed in beside him. She curled into his side, tugging the blanket over them both, her head resting beneath his chin, one hand pressed against his chest as if to remind him that his heart still beat.
They didn't speak. Didn't move.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
The warmth of her body against his slowly began to undo the cold that had settled into his bones. Her presence was a balm he hadn't known he needed—no words of comfort, no promises, just being there. Just not letting him be alone.
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, his fingers gently resting against her ribs. She sighed into him, a soft sound that filled the silence more completely than any words could. Her fingertips moved in slow circles on his chest, grounding him in that moment, in now.
Eventually, in a low voice, still hoarse, he spoke. "The Order sent me a letter."
She looked up at him, brow furrowing, but didn't interrupt.
"They've been following us since Oria. Watching," he continued. "They know what happened with the undead. What I did. And now…" He paused. "Now they want me to head west. There's a city. Callestan. A sanctuary. It's in danger. The dead are rising again—rot and bone, both. But the scar… the rift… they think it's near. A day north of there."
Maia said nothing. But her hand on his chest stilled.
"I don't know what's waiting for us," he said, barely above a whisper. "But I know it's worse. And I know they think I'm the only one who can stop it."
His voice broke slightly.
"I'm tired, Maia."
She pressed her face closer into his chest.
"I know," she said softly. And there was sorrow in it. Not pity. Sorrow. The kind that came from knowing you couldn't take someone's burden, no matter how much you wanted to.
Then she lifted her face and kissed his collarbone. Just once. Just a brush of her lips.
And they lay there.
Two souls battered by war and wonder. Bodies wrapped around each other like driftwood in a tide neither of them had chosen.
The silence that settled wasn't heavy anymore. It was safe. It was home.
Time passed in the hush of creaking floorboards, distant city bells, and the slow, steady rhythm of two people breathing together.
And still they did not rise, not yet.
They stayed in bed until nearly noon.
There was no sense of urgency between them, only the quiet comfort of shared warmth beneath the covers and the silence that spoke in soft exhales and unspoken thoughts. The morning passed slowly, lazily. Maia drifted in and out of sleep against his side, and Koda, for once, let himself simply be. No sword. No mission. No world to save. Just the feeling of her breath on his neck and the weight of her hand across his chest.
When the sun had long since risen and the city's heartbeat thudded through the walls, Maia finally sat up and stretched with a contented groan, hair a mess of curls and sleep. "We should probably check in with the others before they think we've been kidnapped."
Koda gave a small grunt, still half-buried in the blanket. "If they think that, they're welcome to come rescue me. In a few more hours."
Maia smiled, leaned down, and kissed his forehead. "Come on, you battle-worn lump."
They dressed slowly, still not in any rush, pulling on layers with the lazy rhythm of people who'd earned this kind of morning. By the time they stepped out into the main room of the inn, the scent of stewed meats and fresh bread hung thick in the air. The bar was already active, several patrons chatting over tankards or steaming plates, the buzz of midday conversation echoing beneath the timber beams.
Koda scanned the room for any sign of the others, but before he could take a step farther in, the innkeeper—an older man with a leather apron and a shrewd eye—beckoned him over.
"Letter came for you just a bit ago," the man said, reaching beneath the counter and producing an envelope sealed with a simple wax stamp. "From the record hall, by the look of it."
Koda took it with a nod, fingers already working the wax seal as Maia leaned in beside him.
Inside was a brief but formal message. His eyes skimmed the parchment. Then again, more slowly.
"Well?" Maia asked.
"They verified everything we reported," Koda said slowly, holding the letter so she could read along. "And apparently… they've issued an information bounty. For our 'material contribution to public defense.'" He turned the envelope over and pulled free a folded slip—an issued promissory note, with a figure that made his brow raise. "It's a lot."
"How much is a lot?" Maia asked, arching a brow.
"Enough to feed and restock us twice over. More than fair." Koda's voice was thoughtful, but he wasn't smiling. "Too generous, maybe."
Maia caught the unspoken tension and tilted her head. "You think this is from the Order?"
He nodded slowly. "I don't know. Maybe it's just gratitude. Or maybe they're trying to push us forward without making it an order."
"Either way," she said, bumping his shoulder gently, "it's a rare thing to be given help without strings. We should use it."
Koda exhaled, folding the note and tucking it back into the envelope.
"Yeah," he said softly. "We'll use it. But we won't waste it."
With that, they turned toward a table near the hearth, eyes scanning again for their companions—ready, finally, to face the day.
—-
It was nearly an hour before the full group managed to converge. Word had trickled through the inn—Koda and Maia were spotted downstairs, the barmaid had seen Elise near the market square, and Terron had reportedly been helping a wheelwright lift barrels just to pass time. One by one, they gathered around a table in the common room, drinks in hand, scattered plates of midday food between them.
The reunion was easy, the banter light. But after a few minutes, Koda steered the conversation into more grounded territory.
"We need to talk travel," he said, setting his cup down. "Supplies, routes, restocks."
The shift was subtle but immediate. Plates were nudged aside. Eyes sharpened.
Koda produced the folded letter and note. "The records hall paid us for the information. Fairly. Maybe too fairly."
Seta leaned in. "That an issue?"
"Not exactly," Koda said. "Just… telling. I've also heard rumors that Callestan's in trouble. A lot of it. I don't know if it's from the Order or just word on the street, but it's real."
That got a reaction. Terron's brow furrowed. Elise drummed fingers against the table. Eno sat forward, arms crossed, but listening close.
"Callestan's our next stop," Elise said flatly.
"Yeah," Koda confirmed. "High plains city. Farther west than any of us have been. If it's really under threat, we need to be ready."
Silence settled for a few heartbeats. Then Maia broke it. "We leave tomorrow."
Koda glanced at her, then nodded. "We've had rest. And we'll have more, once we're on the road again. We leave in the morning."
The others didn't argue.
Instead, they spent the next stretch of time dividing the hours left in the day. Who would gather supplies. Who would check local bulletin boards. Who would handle cart repairs and bartering. Little tasks—mundane, methodical—but each important. Each one a step forward.
By the time they broke from the meeting, the sun had begun to lower past the taller buildings of Blount, gilding the edges of windows and casting long shadows down the narrow, stone-paved streets.
Tomorrow they'd leave.
But today, they had work to do.
By late afternoon, the plan was laid out and agreed upon with the ease of a group that had bled together.
Terron and Eno took the food list without complaint. Between the two of them, they had the muscle to haul preserved goods and the eyes to avoid price gouging. Eno slung his bow across his back and muttered something about spotting "shady meat" a mile off. Terron just grunted and started scribbling down quantities.
Elise and Seta were already coordinating, their tones clipped and efficient. They'd handle gear—oil, sharpening stones, medical kits, waxed thread, bedroll patches. Anything that had frayed or broken since their last haul would be replaced. Elise had a list before they even stood up, and Seta was already editing it.
Renn stretched, long and lazy, and accepted her role with a grin. "Map. Bulletin boards. Maybe an ale or two. Someone's gotta ask the right drunkards the right questions, yeah?"
"Just make sure you're back by nightfall," Maia said, half-serious.
"Sure, sure," Renn waved. "Nightfall….ish."
And then there were two.
Koda glanced at Maia as she stood from the table, brushing invisible crumbs from her lap. She smiled.
"Stables?"
He nodded, rising to join her. The air outside was cooler now, the last stretch of sunlight slanting low across the city streets. Shadows stretched long, the voices of merchants and street performers growing faint as they passed into a quieter part of town, the stables near the eastern gate.
They didn't speak at first, just walked. Boots tapping lightly on stone. Her hand brushed his once, then stayed.
And up ahead, the smell of hay and sweat and old wood thickened in the air.
The stables were quieter than the rest of the city. Not silent—never truly silent with horses around—but hushed in that warm, musky way of places built from aged timber and well-worn routine. The smell of sweat, leather, and hay met them just beyond the gates, mingled with the earthy scent of mules and oxen, and a hint of iron from the forge nearby.
A grizzled man behind the main post leaned back in his chair, tipping his hat back as he saw them approach. "Cart repair or animal trade?" he asked without standing.
"Both," Maia answered, stepping lightly past Koda.
The man grunted. "Figures." He motioned toward a sun-bleached corral. "Yours is out there?"
They followed him around, and the moment they saw their cart, the truth settled heavy on Koda's shoulders.
What had once been a simple two-wheeled wagon had become a wounded beast. One axle had cracked and been mended three times with splints and rope. The wheels were warped slightly from the weight, and the frame sagged in places no longer straight. One of the reins still had dried blood on it—one of the mules had bled out along the way, he remembered suddenly.
The stable master crouched low, ran a hand beneath one wheel, then stood with a grimace. "You've been dragging this through hell, haven't you?"
"East to west," Koda said simply.
"Well, if you want it to make it all the way west, you're talking a full rebuild. New axles, wheel replacement, maybe reinforce the base. Labor, parts…" he squinted toward the city walls, considering. "Could get you there, maybe. But I'd charge the same as a new one. Maybe more."
Koda ran a hand along the splintered rail of the cart, eyes distant. There were roads heading west now. Not like the wilds they'd just crossed. Actual roads. With distance, yes—but also a chance to travel with some damn dignity. They'd earned that, hadn't they?
"Show me the larger stock," he said.
The stable master raised an eyebrow but didn't question it.
Half an hour later, Koda stood at the side of a polished, dark-stained house carriage with thick-spoked wheels and iron-rimmed supports. The cabin was deep and wide, designed for cargo but modified with a low-ceilinged passenger interior—canvas bunks could be rolled out if needed. A reinforced roof for hauling, and space beneath for supplies. Built for endurance, not speed. Two good horses were tied nearby, sleek and alert.
Koda exhaled slowly. The cost stung, even with the reward from the records hall—but it wouldn't empty them out. Not entirely. And the thought of moving as a group, not strung out and exhausted every day, was worth more than gold.
"We'll take it," he said.
Maia turned to him, eyebrows raised. "We will?"
He nodded. "It's time we moved like we meant to arrive."
She smiled. "I won't argue with that."
And for the first time in weeks, they'd leave a town stronger than they came in—not barely patched, but prepared. Ready for what waited beyond the western edge.
Ready for Callestan.
——
The carriage gleamed faintly in the moonlight as the team made their final checks. Supplies were stowed, wheels tested, and harnesses laid out in neat coils. A few half-hearted jokes passed between them—exhausted, but in good spirits. It was a hard-earned luxury, and even with their coinpurse feeling hollow again, there was an unspoken agreement: it was worth it.
That evening, as the sun finally gave way to starlight, they shared a meal together in the dim, familiar glow of the inn's bar. Renn arrived sometime past night-ish, as she put it, dragging in the scent of three taverns and twice as many stories. No one asked too hard. She slumped into a chair, grinned, and pulled out the marked map she'd bartered for. It was good enough.
Later, the group peeled off one by one. The mood had shifted to a quieter warmth, a calm before the next long march.
Koda and Maia were the last two at the table, their drinks mostly forgotten, the candle between them burning low.
Maia leaned in with a half-lidded smile, tapping his hand. "Shall we go to our room?"
Koda blinked. "Our?"
She grinned wider, mischievous and matter-of-fact. "The horses weren't cheap, so why pay for an extra room? I checked out hours ago."
For a beat, Koda just stared at her, half-stunned, a little speechless.
Then he nodded. "Yeah… yeah, okay."
They left the barroom quietly, stepping over one of the snoring patrons still slumped over a table. The hallway creaked beneath their boots. The world felt slower here, wrapped in a breath of peace. Outside the wind whispered down the street; inside only their steps filled the quiet.
They reached the door.
Koda pushed it open, and the two of them slipped inside—
Their room.