The grass beneath our boots felt wrong.
Too soft. Too open. Too exposed.
After days of gnarled roots, damp leaves, and creeping silence, the open fields felt like a different world altogether. The sun was warm now, not filtered through branches or warped by magic. Just warm. Honest.
Nyssa still didn't trust it.
She walked ahead of me in silence, her shoulders tense, eyes scanning every hill crest like she expected a blade to rise from it.
"So…" I started, breaking the quiet, "you going to tell me what's got your cloak in a twist, or are we just pretending the forest didn't spit us out like a bad meal?"
Her jaw clenched. But she didn't snap at me. Progress.
"It's not supposed to be that easy," she muttered. "The wards. The sigils. The traps. They don't just stop working." She repeated the same thing she had been saying since the past hour.
"Maybe we're lucky."
She shot me a glance. "There's no such thing as luck. Just debt you haven't been asked to pay yet."
"Cheery."
I kicked a stone off the path and shoved my hands in my pockets. "You ever consider that maybe you're the one the forest didn't want? That you're too scary even for the cursed trees?"
That earned me a small smirk. Almost imperceptible. But it was there.
I've been getting good at discerning her emotions.
"I'm not the scary one," she said under her breath.
We walked a bit longer before she spoke again, softer this time. "Something changed. I don't know what. But we'll find out soon enough."
I glanced up toward the distant smudge of smoke on the horizon.
"So what's the plan? We make for the town, knock on the first door, and ask if they've got a room for two paranoid drifters?"
"Something like that," she said. "But don't expect open arms."
"I wasn't."
She slowed slightly, enough for me to fall into step beside her.
"There's a village by the hills," she continued. "Old trade route hub. Might still be active. If it is, we can get food, supplies. News."
"And if it's not?"
"Then we take what we can and keep moving."
Always moving. Always looking over her shoulder.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "You ever stay anywhere longer than a week?"
"Once," she said. "Didn't end well."
I didn't ask.
The wind carried the scent of smoke again. Woodsmoke. Cookfires. Something about it smelled real. Grounding.
"Guess we'll find out if they like strangers."
Nyssa grunted. "They like gold. That's good enough."
We crested a small hill, and the rooftops came into view—old stone and timber, clustered together like teeth in a crooked smile.
A village. Alive. People moved about in the distance, tiny figures near carts and wells.
For the first time in days, the world didn't feel like it was actively trying to kill us.
But as Nyssa's hand drifted back toward the hilt of her sword, I knew one thing for sure:
She didn't think the danger was over.
But me?
I had better things to worry about.
For instance, the dreamy aroma of fried meat that had found me like a beacon of hope.
***
"Damn! These are some good chicken!" I said with a mouth full of greasy, peppered skin.
Nyssa shot me a side-eye, arms crossed as she leaned against a post near the open-air vendor stall. She hadn't touched anything yet—too busy scanning every face, every shadow, like someone was about to leap out and stab her over poultry.
I held up another drumstick. "You sure you don't want one? I'm pretty sure this is the most blessed thing we've come across since leaving that haunted jungle."
She didn't answer right away. Just kept watching the crowd as if she'd catch them in the act of plotting.
"You trust food from strangers?" she finally muttered.
I shrugged. "Guy has an apron and a grease-stained forehead. That's the universal sign of a man who's too tired to poison his customers."
Nyssa didn't laugh. But she did finally accept a drumstick when I offered it again, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest second. Her hand was warm. Calloused. Grounded.
She took a small bite—cautious, like it might explode.
Then paused. Chewed. Swallowed.
"…Not terrible," she said.
"Oh come on," I grinned, "you mean to tell me this isn't at least top five in your lifetime?"
She didn't answer. But she took another bite.
I'd take that as a win.
Around us, the village buzzed with early afternoon movement. Traders hauling sacks of grain. Children darting between alleys with sticks and whistles. The creak of wooden signs and carts on cobbled streets.
It was the most normal place I'd seen since waking up in this world.
Too normal, maybe.
Nyssa hadn't moved her hand far from her blade.
"Alright," I said between mouthfuls, "so what's the play now? We going to rent a room? Ask around? Shake down the local gossip?"
Nyssa wiped her fingers on a cloth, her gaze narrowing on a small, slate-roofed inn down the lane.
"We stay the night," she said. "Quiet. No names. Then tomorrow, we find someone who knows the roads out."
"Just like that?"
"For now."
I stuffed the last of the chicken into my mouth and tossed the bone into a nearby barrel. "Sounds easy. Which means it's not going to be."
Nyssa gave me a long look. "You're learning."
And just like that, she was moving again—slipping into the crowd like she'd never stopped.