The night stretched endlessly ahead, the moonlight casting faint glimmers on the uneven trail as Ember’s claws clicked softly against the cracked earth. Reed leaned forward in the saddle, the rhythm of the dragonhorse’s stride lulling the world into a quiet hum. The maps sat securely in his pack, their weight a tangible reminder of everything left unsaid and undone.
Did he have feelings for Jenny? The thought gnawed at him as Ember carried him forward. It was easier to scoff, to push the question away with a wry smirk, but it kept creeping back. She’d lied, dragged them all across the Danger Zone on a fabricated mission. They’d faced lost daylight, voidspinners, split the group—all for what?
And yet, hadn’t he lied too? Betrayal was always on the table, an unspoken Plan B. If there was no reward, no payday, he’d improvise. That was how he’d survived this long. The maps in his pack—Jenny’s clean and methodical one, Vigdis’s rough and storied one—were proof enough of that.
But did that absolve her? Or him? The guilt twisted in his chest, even as relief settled alongside it. Her lie had made his betrayal easier to justify, hadn’t it? The weight of moral ambiguity was lighter when you weren’t the only one in the wrong.
The kiss in the campfire’s glow burned in his memory. That had been real, hadn’t it? The way she looked at him, the way her breath hitched. He hadn’t planned for that. He hadn’t planned to care for her, to feel the instinct to protect her—not just as a job or a partner, but as someone who mattered.
Now she was back there, trapped in whatever hellhole Bunker 4 turned out to be. He’d told himself their lies canceled each other out, but the thought didn’t bring comfort. Instead, it left a sour taste in his mouth.
The trail shifted, the faint outline of the caravan’s tracks weaving ahead. He gripped the reins, Ember snorting in response. This wasn’t about Jenny anymore—or maybe it was. But Laura’s decision to stay with Elias was wrong. He’d known Laura long enough to see through her actions, to know that whatever was happening wasn’t her choice alone.
Reed adjusted his rifle slung across his back, his jaw tightening. If Elias thought he could twist people for his own gain, he was dead wrong.
“Alright, girl,” Reed muttered to Ember, patting her neck. “Let’s see what that slimeball is up to.”
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Ember picked up her pace, her claws clicking with renewed purpose. Reed leaned forward in the saddle, his thoughts sharp and his resolve sharper. Whatever was waiting for him with the caravan, he’d be ready.
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The rhythm of hooves against the earth was a steady counterpoint to Denzel’s thoughts. He leaned slightly forward in the saddle, his broad shoulders shifting with the dragonhorse’s movements. Mewlissa, tucked securely in her saddle sack, purred softly, her presence grounding him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. The Trial key hung from his neck, swaying slightly with each step of the mount, its faint glow visible even in the midday light.
Denzel wasn’t used to thinking this much. He was the muscle, the guy who got things done. Back when they were kids, he’d been the bully, strong enough to take what he wanted and too dumb to care about the consequences. That all changed when he tried stealing from Drennavar. The man could’ve ended him right there, but instead, Drennavar had recruited him, shaped him into something better—part of a gang, part of a family. Still, Denzel had always known he wasn’t the brains of the outfit.
Chan? If this key had chosen Chan, he’d probably have dissected it by now, figuring out its secrets like one of his old-world gadgets. He’d have answers, plans, and half a dozen backup plans just in case.
Reed? Yeah, Reed would’ve sold the thing the moment he realized its worth, probably working out some angle to double the profit.
Laura? She wouldn’t have cared. She was practical, grounded. Gods, bombs, history—they didn’t matter if they didn’t help her survive today.
But him? Denzel looked down at the key. It still felt strange around his neck, hanging from a ring that hadn’t been there when he found it. He remembered holding the key in his hands, wondering how to carry it safely, only for the ring to appear as if in answer. It wasn’t the first time the key seemed to anticipate his needs, and it left him both awed and unnerved.
At first, the key had pulled him in all directions, spinning him around like a compass gone mad. But now it hung steady. The path was clear, straight ahead. He squinted at the horizon, his breath catching slightly. Shapes loomed in the distance—buildings, maybe towers. But they weren’t ruins, and they weren’t the slapped-together survival settlements he was used to seeing. Even from this distance, they felt... older. Much older. The sight sent a shiver down his spine.
He adjusted his grip on the reins, his jaw tightening. Why him? Why had something so clearly divine, so clearly important, chosen someone like him? It didn’t make sense. But he’d been chosen, and he wasn’t about to let that go to waste. Whatever lay ahead, whatever this key wanted from him, he’d see it through.
He reached up, briefly touching the key where it rested against his chest. “I don’t know why you picked me,” he murmured under his breath. “But I’ll make it count.”
Mewlissa shifted in her sack, her tail flicking against his arm, as if in silent agreement. The dragonhorse snorted, its pace steady and unwavering. And so, Denzel rode on, the distant towers growing sharper, more real, with every step.