The morning sun had already reached noon when Regulus felt Nyx's weight settle onto his back like a particularly lazy barnacle.
"You're literally holding a perfectly good bag of pillows," he grunted, adjusting the straps of their overstuffed pack.
Nyx hooked her chin over his shoulder, her breath warm against his ear. "And you're literally trying to improve your Endurance stat. Think of this as... motivational training."
Regulus opened his mouth to argue—then closed it. She wasn't wrong.
Day 1
By noon, Regulus' calves burned like they'd been stuffed with hot coals. Nyx, meanwhile, had somehow produced a bag of candied almonds from somewhere and was eating them one by one, letting the crumbs fall onto his head.
"Payment," he wheezed as they made camp that evening. "I want the pillows tonight."
Nyx paused mid-fluff. "All of them?"
"Half."
She considered this, then tossed him a single goose-down pillow. "Interest rates are steep, little mule."
Night 2
Regulus woke to something sharp pressing against his ribs.
He cracked one eye open. Nyx had somehow migrated across their makeshift bedroll, her back pressed to his chest, one arm flung possessively over the pillow pile—and her dagger tucked snugly against his side.
He sighed. Progress.
Day 5
The bandits never stood a chance.
Fifteen against one might've been fair odds—if that one hadn't spent the last week hauling a sulky shadow-witch across half a kingdom. Regulus moved like water, his body anticipating strikes before they came. A twist here, a sidestep there—Numquam Itineris humming under his skin.
The last thug went down with a comically exaggerated whimper.
Nyx clapped slowly from her perch on a nearby rock. "Adequate." She hopped down and immediately claimed the bandit leader's neon-purple cloak. "Ours now."
Regulus eyed the carriage. "That's got a crest on it."
"And you've got a grimoire that can rewrite reality." Nyx flounced onto the driver's bench. "Get in, little moth. We're committing tax fraud."
Day 6
The carriage rattled along the dusty southern road when they spotted the merchant caravan. A dozen curious eyes tracked their approach—lingering on the unfamiliar emblem emblazoned across the carriage doors: a crown veiled in shadows, courtesy of Nyx's midnight artistry.
"Ho there!" called the lead merchant, a stout man with oiled mustaches. "That's no Familia crest I've seen. You new gods, then?"
Nyx leaned out the window, her smile all teeth. "Oh, we're very old."
Regulus kicked her ankle under the seat.
The merchant's gaze flicked between them—the mortal boy with ink-stained fingers and the woman who moved like a bad omen. "Well," he said slowly, edging his horse away, "safe travels to you... whoever you are."
Nyx waved farewell as they passed.
Night 8
Moonlight pooled in the carriage as Nyx pressed her nail between Regulus' shoulder blades. The Falna script glowing silver against his skin:
Regulus Nihil
Level 1
Strength: I-18 → I-28
Endurance: I-24 → I-35
Dexterity: I-35 → I-46
Agility: I-23 → I-37
Magic: I-10 → I-19
Nyx whistled. "Not bad for a pack mule." She tapped the Magic line. "You know... As I've Written could probably manifest another magic for you. Like pulling teeth, but with more existential risk."
Regulus stared at the grimoire. "You're joking."
"Obviously."
He opened the book anyway.
The chant spilled out clear and faster than last time. The air thickened. The quill materialized—
—And shattered while writing mid-word.
Regulus collapsed forward, blood streaming from his nose. The world swam in and out of focus as Nyx cursed and rolled him onto his back.
"Idiot," she hissed, pressing a stolen silk handkerchief to his face. "I said could, not should!"
But the grimoire's page, now stained red, bore three jagged letters where the quill had struck:
L-O-L
The rest was illegible.
Nyx snapped the book shut.
Day 10
By the tenth morning, Regulus moved through camp chores with eerie precision.
Shirts folded at exactly 45-degree angles before discomfort faded
Carriage wheels greased in perfect clockwise motions
Even their stolen cutlery now gleamed mirror-bright
Nyx watched from her nest of blankets, chin propped on one hand. "You know," she mused as he shook out a particularly lacy black garment, "most adventurers train by slaying monsters."
Regulus didn't look up. "Most adventurers don't travel with you."
The garment vanished mid-air, snatched by a tendril of shadow.
Day 12
"I spy is stupid," Nyx declared after three rounds.
Regulus gripped the reins tighter as she flopped sideways onto the driver's bench, her head landing in his lap. "Then stop cheating by using your shadow to peek."
She grinned up at him, unrepentant. "Make me."
That night, he woke to find her curled against his back, one arm slung possessively over his waist. When he stiffened, she sleep-mumbled, "Bolster..." and yanked him closer.
Regulus stared at the ceiling of their tent and very deliberately did not think about warmth, or how her hair smelled like stolen rose soap, or—
Nyx kneed him in the thigh. "Stop thinking so loud."
Day 15
The southern port stank of salt and fish guts. Nyx wrinkled her nose as Regulus handed over their forged papers—flawless parchment bearing the Shrouded Crown sigil, courtesy of nightly magic drills.
The customs officer squinted. "Says here you're a... luxury pillow merchant?"
Nyx leaned in. "Do you doubt my wares?" Her shadow loomed.
They sold the carriage within the hour.
That evening, aboard a ship bound for Babelonia, Nyx sprawled across their newly purchased feather mattress (bribed from the captain's own quarters) and sighed. "Remind me why we didn't just steal a ship?"
Regulus, busy anchoring their trunk to the floor with precise knots, didn't dignify that with a response.
Her shadow kicked his ankle.
-----
The port bells tolled dusk—a deep, brassy sound that shuddered through the docks. Somewhere in the waters, something answered with a low, harmonic hum.
A cloaked figure stood at the ship's railing, gloved fingers tightening around an expensive looking locket. The last of the passengers had boarded, the crew had cast off, and the lanterns of Andromeda were shrinking behind them.
"This better be worth my time," the figure whispered, voice lost beneath the creak of ropes and the snap of sails.
The locket clicked open. Inside, a portrait of a woman with a wreath adorning her head stared back—her eyes a bright violet.