Reed sat by the fire, turning the flask slowly in his hands. His gaze kept drifting to the girl on the bedroll, her face pale but calm in sleep—or maybe unconsciousness. The makeshift bandage on her arm still held, though the stump beneath it worried him. Infection was always a risk out here, but she’d made it through the night. That was something.

His eyes wandered to the severed arm, wrapped neatly in a strip of cloth and lying beside the bedroll. Reed shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

Why the hell did I wrap it? he thought, the question bouncing in his head like a mosquito he couldn’t swat. It wasn’t like she’d need it back. Hell, no one would. But it didn’t feel right, just tossing it into the dirt like garbage.

It was weird. He knew it was weird. But here he was.

His eyes flicked back to the girl. Her skin was too clean, too smooth. No scars, no calluses. Even passed out, she looked... untouched.

“Definitely not local,” he muttered.

No one in the wasteland had hands like that. Hands that hadn’t shoveled dirt, swung tools, or gripped a blade long enough to leave the marks of survival. Whoever she was, wherever she came from, she wasn’t from here.

----------------------------------------

Reed leaned back, staring up at the dark sky as his thoughts turned to his group. Not friends. They weren’t that. More like... people who tolerated him.

Denzel would want a piece of her, no question about it. The big ginger bastard had a way of turning every situation into an opportunity for himself. Reed could almost hear him now: "If she’s weak, she’s dead weight. If she’s strong, why shouldn’t I get something out of it?”

Laura was a whole other beast. She wouldn’t waste time. She’d shoot the girl without blinking, just to spare her the misery. That was Laura’s logic—clean, simple, brutal. If an animal couldn’t survive, it wasn’t worth keeping alive. And people were no different. Reed chuckled, shaking his head. At least she was consistent. If he ever lost a limb, she’d shoot him too.

Comforting thought. Or maybe not.

Then there was Chan. Reed grinned faintly. Chan wouldn’t kill the girl. Oh no, Chan would love her. Not like that. He’d love the puzzle. A stranger with skin so clean she might’ve never seen dirt? A lost little mystery dumped right in their lap? He’d grill her until she begged for the cannibals to come back.

Reed snorted. No, bringing her to the group was out of the question. Too many opinions. Too many questions. And too many ways for her to get screwed over, one way or another.

----------------------------------------

He stood, sliding the flask into his pack. The gang could wait. For now, they’d get the story—the parts of it, anyway.

The cannibals. The rescue. The heroic bits.

And the arm? Well, no one had to know about that.

Reed saddled up, pulling himself onto the back of his horse with a grunt. The mare shifted beneath him, snorting faintly as he adjusted the reins. He cast one last glance at the blonde girl on the bedroll.

She’ll be fine, he thought, nudging the horse into motion. Or she won’t. Not much I can do about it now.

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By the time he reached the gang’s camp, the sun was high, baking the ruins they called home in a blistering heat. Denzel was the first to spot him, his broad frame outlined against the rubble as he waved Reed in.

“Well, look who’s back,” Denzel called, grinning. “Where’ve you been? Hiding from Laura again?”

“Scouting,” Reed said, sliding off the horse.

“Scouting my ass,” Laura muttered, stepping out from behind a crumbling wall. Her sharp eyes pinned him immediately. “What’s the blood on your sleeve, Reed?”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Cannibals,” he said, slinging the reins over a post.

That got their attention.

“You tangled with cannibals?” Chan asked, stepping closer, his dark eyes narrowing.

Reed smirked, playing it cool. “Did more than tangle. Took out three of ’em. There was a camp nearby. Not anymore.”

Denzel whistled low. “Damn. And you came back in one piece?”

“Mostly,” Reed said, brushing past them to grab a bottle from the stash.

Laura wasn’t convinced. “And?” she asked, her tone flat. “What’d you find?”

“Nothing worth bringing back,” Reed lied smoothly. “Just some ruins. Busted weapons. Same old story.”

Chan frowned, his expression thoughtful, but he didn’t press.

Reed downed a quick swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned back to the group, about to make his usual exit, when a thought struck him.

“Hey, Chan,” he said casually, pointing at the smaller man. “You ever hear of anyone who can... sew back an arm?”

Denzel blinked. “What?”

Laura frowned, her sharp gaze locking onto Reed like a predator. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Reed shrugged, turning his focus to Chan. “You know, like... fix it. Put it back on. The whole thing.” He twirled a finger in the air, his tone light and nonchalant. “Figure there’s gotta be someone out there who can pull that off, right? Maybe someone with a flair for the weird?”

Chan’s eyes narrowed, his mind clearly working through Reed’s question. He didn’t ask why—not yet. He’d learned long ago that Reed’s brain worked in leaps and bounds, chasing threads faster than most could follow.

“Well,” Chan said slowly, folding his arms, “if anyone could do something like that, it’d be the Magician.”

Reed tilted his head, intrigued. “Magician?”

“Lives south of here,” Chan said, his voice clipped and precise. “Old guy. Weird as hell. People say he knows things—magic, tech, both, who knows? Shows up in random places, bartering for scrap or stories. And then he’s gone.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Reed said with a grin.

Chan frowned, clearly suspicious. “Why are you asking?”

“No reason,” Reed said quickly, waving him off. “Just a thought. You know how my brain works. Something popped in there.”

Laura’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re full of shit.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Reed said, giving her a mock salute as he grabbed another bottle. “Anyway, I’m heading back out. Don’t wait up.”

Chan didn’t press further, though his sharp eyes lingered on Reed for a moment longer.

----------------------------------------

By the time he returned to his camp, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The fire was still smoldering, the girl still lying on the bedroll, her breathing slow but steady.

He dismounted, leading the horse to a small patch of scrub for grazing before dropping into a crouch beside the fire. He was just reaching for his flask when a faint sound stopped him.

A whisper. Hoarse and broken.

“I’m not done yet.”

Reed froze, his gaze snapping to the girl. Her eyes were half-open now, her lips cracked but twitching faintly into something that might’ve been a smirk.

“Welcome back, princess,” he said, leaning back on his heels. “You look like hell.”

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Jenny blinked, her vision blurry as the world slowly came into focus. The fire crackled nearby, its warm light casting jagged shadows across the camp. Reed crouched by the flames, his smirk as cocky as it was infuriating.

Jenny groaned softly, her mouth dry, her head pounding. “What... happened?”

Reed didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his pack, pulling out his flask for another swig. “You tell me. Last I checked, you were busy making friends with cannibals.”

Jenny tried to sit up, her body protesting every movement. Her eyes darted around the camp, her brain struggling to piece together fragments of memory. Then she saw it.

Standing just beyond the firelight was Reed’s horse.

Or at least, what he called a horse.

Its muscular body was unmistakably equine—strong legs, a powerful chest, a thick neck—but everything else was... wrong. Its skin gleamed faintly in the firelight, more like scales than fur, each plate catching the glow with an iridescent shimmer. Its long, tapering face was framed by sharp ridges, and its eyes... its eyes burned like embers, a fiery orange-red that seemed to flicker as it blinked lazily at her.

Jenny froze, her heart skipping a beat.

“What the hell is that?” she croaked, pointing a trembling finger.

Reed followed her gaze, then glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow. “That? That’s Ember.”

“Ember?” Jenny’s voice cracked. “You named it?!”

Reed chuckled, taking another drink. “Of course I named her. She’s a horse, not a rock.”

“That’s not a horse!” Jenny’s voice rose, her words tumbling over each other. “That’s... that’s some kind of lizard... demon... dragon thing!”

Ember snorted, her fiery eyes narrowing slightly as if she understood the insult.

“Hey, hey,” Reed said, raising a hand toward the creature. “She’s sensitive, alright? She doesn’t like the D-word.”

Jenny stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find words. None came.

Reed just grinned, leaning back against the rock behind him. “Get used to her, princess. She’s the only ride you’re getting out here.”

Jenny sank back onto the bedroll, closing her eyes. “I’m definitely dead,” she muttered. “This is hell.”

Reed chuckled softly, stroking Ember’s scaled neck as she stepped closer to the fire, her long tail flicking behind her. “Nah. If this were hell, I’d be a lot nicer.”