Preparations for the journey took the better part of the next day. The capital was weeks away, and the road would be dangerous. High-level zones lay between here and our destination—regions where monsters roamed unchecked, where unprepared travelers vanished without a trace. Even well-equipped merchant caravans hired full squads of mercenaries for protection.

We wouldn’t have that luxury.

Lord Veyren provided what he could—provisions, weapons, and cold-weather gear for the mountain passes we would have to cross. He even supplied horses, though he warned us that certain regions wouldn’t be safe for mounted travel. Weslan gave us each a sealed letter bearing House Veyren’s seal, meant to smooth over any issues at border checkpoints. It wouldn’t get us through military blockades, but it would keep most patrols from giving us trouble.

By late afternoon, everything was ready. The stable hands finished loading the pack animals, tightening the straps on their saddlebags, while the horses pawed impatiently at the ground. The estate’s main courtyard, which had always felt so imposing, suddenly seemed small compared to the journey ahead of us.

Lord Veyren stood at the front steps, arms crossed as he watched his son. Garvin adjusted the straps on his saddle, not looking up, as if waiting for his father to offer nothing more than his usual cold nod of approval.

Instead, his father spoke.

"I always thought mercenaries were nothing but sellswords," he said, his voice even, but not unkind. "Drifters looking for coin, fighting only for those who could afford them. It was why I was disappointed when you chose to leave the Phoenix Dawn. We help people. We protect the Empire." He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I thought you were wasting what we gave you, throwing away years of training for the sake of rebellion."

Garvin finally looked up, jaw tight but silent.

Lord Veyren continued. "But now, I see that you’ve built something on your own. This isn’t just some band of mercenaries. They trust you. You trust them." He let his gaze sweep over the rest of us. "You’ve surrounded yourself with people who would risk their lives for you. I may not agree with your choices, but I see now that you are not wasting your talents. You are simply using them in your own way."

Garvin swallowed, shifting his weight slightly. "So… what? That’s your way of saying you’re proud of me?"

Lord Veyren exhaled through his nose. "Don’t push it."

For a moment, I thought Garvin might joke, might throw out some remark to lighten the moment, but he didn’t. He just gave a small nod. "Thanks, Dad."

His father stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Garvin’s shoulder. It was not an embrace, but it meant something.

Lady Veyren approached next, regarding Garvin with her usual unreadable expression. Then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"Be careful," she said simply.

Garvin hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. You too."

The moment passed quickly, and before long, we were in the saddle, turning toward the gates. I took one last look at the estate, the towering stone walls bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon.

When we had first arrived, we had been running. Seeking shelter. Buying time. But now, we had a purpose. The truth was waiting for us in the capital. I spurred my horse forward, and we rode out into the unknown.

The road stretched long before us, winding through golden fields and dense woodlands, the last remnants of autumn clinging to the trees before winter would strip them bare. The further we traveled from House Veyren’s estate, the more the landscape shifted, the well-maintained roads giving way to rougher paths, less traveled but not yet wild.

For the first day, we moved in relative silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The weight of what we were walking into was heavier than any quest we had taken before. It wasn’t a contract for gold or experience. It wasn’t even about survival.

We were headed toward the heart of the Empire, toward answers we weren’t sure we wanted.

By the second evening, the tension had settled enough that camp felt almost normal. Garvin had started talking again—nothing particularly useful, mostly stories from when he was younger, dumb things he had done at the estate that made Drea roll her eyes. Malric remained quiet as always, tending to his bow with the same precise focus he gave to every task. Drea sharpened her axe by the fire, the rhythmic scraping filling the silence between conversations.

I sat slightly apart from them, absently turning my summoned dagger between my fingers. I had been trying to push my abilities lately, testing the limits of how much I could summon before the strain set in. Shadowform had gotten easier to call upon, but it still drained me faster than I liked. The corruption hadn’t spread, but it hadn’t left me either.

I still didn’t know what it meant.

Garvin nudged me with his boot from across the fire. "You’re thinking too much again."

I glanced up. "It’s a long road."

"That it is," he agreed, stretching his arms over his head. "And we’ve got time to talk about anything other than the impending doom waiting for us in the capital."

Drea gave him a look. "Impending doom?"

"You know, secret royal assassins, political conspiracies, potential execution," Garvin said. "I’m just saying, a little optimism wouldn’t kill us."

Drea snorted. "I’ll be optimistic when we’re not walking straight into a city where the Ashen Court could be waiting behind every damn corner."

"Fair point." Garvin sighed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the stars. "Alright then, topic shift. You never told us how you ended up here, Sig."

I hesitated.

They had known I was an Outlander for a while now, and I had told them pieces of the truth—but I had never gone into the details. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them. I just wasn’t sure if I was ready to say it out loud.

But maybe it was time.

I leaned forward, resting my arms on my knees. "I was married," I started, my voice quieter than I intended. "Her name was Alicia."

That got their attention. Drea straightened slightly, Malric actually looked up, and Garvin tilted his head toward me, listening.

I exhaled slowly. "We fought. A lot, toward the end. About money. About how we saw the future. I don’t even remember how it started, that last time. Just that it was bad." My hands clenched into fists, the memory pressing against me. "She stabbed me."

The fire crackled. No one spoke.

I swallowed hard. "And then I woke up here."

Garvin sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn," he muttered. "I wasn’t expecting that."

Drea’s expression had shifted, something unreadable in her gaze. Malric simply nodded, as if that somehow made sense.

Garvin leaned forward, studying me carefully. "So what do you think? You died back home, and the System pulled you here?"

I shrugged. "That’s what I thought at first. That I was chosen. That there was a reason." I let out a dry laugh. "But now, I don’t know. Sid was an Outlander too. And from what we’ve heard, others have come before him. Maybe the System isn’t picking us because we’re special. Maybe it’s just… trying. And if we fail, it just tries again."

Garvin frowned. "That’s a hell of a thought."

Drea exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "And the Ashen Court kills every Outlander they find. If that’s true, why? What does the King know that we don’t?"

I stared into the fire, the weight of the question settling over me.

That was what we were going to the capital to find out.

The night passed without incident, but when I finally fell asleep, the dreams came. The Darkness lurked at the edges of my mind, shifting, watching, waiting. It had always been silent before. But this time, I thought I heard a voice.

Low. Amused.

"You belong to me."

I woke up before dawn, my hands clenched into fists, the fire burned down to embers.

The mountain air was sharp and biting, the wind cutting through our cloaks like thin paper. Even with the thick furs Lord Veyren had provided, the cold settled into our bones. The road was little more than a narrow, winding path carved into the side of the cliffs, the kind of trail where one wrong step could send you tumbling into the abyss below.

It was easy to see why most travelers avoided this route. The valleys below were longer but safer. We didn’t have that luxury. If we wanted to reach the capital before the Ashen Court caught up to us, we had to keep moving forward.

Malric reined in his horse as we rounded a bend, scanning the ridge above us. "Something’s there," he muttered.

Drea’s hand went to her axe. "How big?"

Malric didn’t answer right away. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, notching it loosely. "Big."

That was all he had to say.

I followed his gaze and spotted movement—a hulking shape shifting between the rocks, keeping just out of view. It was fast, faster than something that size should have been.

Then the sound hit me. A deep, guttural breathing.

A bear.

Not just any bear. A dire bear.

It stepped into view, towering over the rocky path, thick fur rippling as it shifted its weight. Its claws were as long as my forearm, its deep-set eyes locked onto us with calculated hunger. This wasn’t a startled animal defending its territory.

This was a predator that had just found its next meal.

The moment its gaze locked onto us, it charged.

Malric’s arrow flew first, striking just below its shoulder, but it barely even reacted. Drea was already dismounting, bracing for the fight, while Garvin pulled his shield free, spurring his horse forward to intercept.

I jumped down just as the bear swiped, the force of the strike sending Malric’s horse reeling backward. The beast reared up on its hind legs, its shadow swallowing the path in darkness, then came down with a roar.

Garvin took the full brunt of it. His shield splintered, the impact sending him crashing into the rocks.

I barely had time to react before the bear lunged again, its sheer size making dodging difficult on the narrow trail. I rolled sideways, barely avoiding the clawed swipe meant to take my head off. Drea’s axe slammed into its flank, staggering it just long enough for Garvin to push himself back up.

"It’s too strong for direct hits!" Garvin shouted, spitting out blood. "We need to slow it down!"

Malric loosed another arrow, this one hitting its leg. The beast snarled, shifting its weight, its movements just a little less steady.

I gripped my steel sword tighter. A bear this size would take too many direct hits to bring down. But if we could weaken its footing, force it closer to the ledge…

"Drea!" I called. "Push it left!"

She didn’t question me. With a roar of her own, she swung her axe again, not to wound but to force the creature back. Garvin took the cue, slamming his shoulder into its side with all the strength his armor allowed.

The bear reared back, swiping wildly—and that was the opening I needed.

I darted in low, driving my sword into the back of its knee. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, but it was enough.

The bear stumbled.

Its balance wavered.

And then, with a final arrow from Malric, it tumbled backward over the cliff’s edge.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garvin let out a slow, shaky breath. "I am never taking the mountain route again."

Drea wiped blood from her cheek. "Next time, we take the valley."

Malric knelt to retrieve his arrows, his usual stoic expression unreadable. "It was level sixty. That thing could’ve wiped us if we weren’t careful."

I exhaled, shaking the tension from my hands. We had fought monsters before, but this was different. This wasn’t a dungeon or a contract. It was the wild. Out here, we weren’t the strongest things in the world.

We needed to remember that.

I glanced down at the jagged drop below, the distant shape of the bear lying still on the rocks far below.

One wrong step, and it could’ve been us.

The work started immediately. We couldn’t afford to waste time arguing about alternate routes, not when every delay meant giving the Ashen Court more time to close in on us. The gap was too wide to jump outright, and even if one of us managed to cross, the horses wouldn’t. The only option was to fix the bridge—or at least make something that could hold long enough for us to get across.

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First, we assessed what was still usable.

The main stone supports of the bridge were intact, which was a small mercy. The wooden beams that had once reinforced it were rotted or missing entirely, and the thick rope railings on either side had snapped and frayed over time. The real problem was that the planks leading to the far side had collapsed, leaving a fifteen-foot gap.

Garvin knelt near the edge, running a hand along one of the thick, broken ropes still anchored into the stone. "If we reinforce the base and string new ropes across, we might be able to make something stable enough to walk on."

Drea kicked at the ground, sighing. "I don’t love the idea of putting my life on a bunch of old ropes."

"It’s either that or we turn back," I pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. What’s the plan?"

Malric had already moved toward the treeline, scanning for what we needed. "We cut logs for planks and beams. Secure new rope for support. Build a suspension bridge."

Drea frowned. "That sounds… complicated."

Garvin stood, stretching. "It is. But it’s doable."

And so, we got to work.

The first step was reinforcing what was already there. The original bridge had been built with thick rope, much of which had frayed but not fully snapped. We used those anchor points to secure fresh lengths of rope, reinforcing them with iron spikes from our supplies—a gift from Lord Veyren we hadn’t thought we’d need so soon.

Next came the support beams.

We cut long, straight logs from the treeline, stripping them of bark and smoothing them as best we could. These would serve as the new walkway, spanning the gap where the planks had fallen away. To hold them in place, we lashed secondary support ropes beneath the main bridge ropes, giving the planks something to rest on so that the entire weight of whoever crossed wouldn’t be on a single piece of wood.

The most time-consuming part was twisting and braiding the new rope. The vines and raw rope we had weren’t long enough individually, so we had to twist multiple strands together, reinforcing them with pitch from the trees to keep them from fraying under pressure.

We tested the strength of every length before we used it. Drea nearly punched Garvin when he decided to jump on one to see if it would hold.

Finally, we laid the new planks across, securing them with tightly wound rope knots. The result wasn’t pretty, but it held.

On the third morning, we tested it.

Drea went first, stepping cautiously onto the new section, gripping the rope railing. The bridge creaked under her weight, but it didn’t sway or shift. She took another step. Then another. After a long, tense moment, she made it across.

Malric followed next, then me.

Garvin went last, leading the horses one at a time. The animals hesitated at first, their ears twitching at the unfamiliar surface, but with a bit of coaxing, they followed. Their hooves thudded against the wooden planks, and for a brief, agonizing moment, I thought one of the ropes might snap.

But it didn’t.

The last of us crossed, and we stepped onto solid ground once more.

Garvin exhaled, stretching his arms. "You know, I think we’re getting pretty good at this whole ‘not dying’ thing."

Drea scoffed, rolling her shoulders. "I still say we should have just found a way around."

Malric pulled his hood up. "Too late now."

I glanced back at the bridge. It wouldn’t last forever. A strong storm or enough weight in the wrong place would send it tumbling into the gorge. But we had done what we needed to do.

The road wound down from the mountain pass, flattening into a wide, rocky trail. The trees here were tall and ancient, their branches forming a natural canopy that softened the harsh light of the afternoon sun. After the bitter cold of the high roads, the lower altitude was a relief, though the air still held a sharp edge.

We hadn’t seen another traveler in days, so when we spotted the merchant’s wagon ahead, it was a welcome sight.

It was an old, sturdy cart, pulled by a pair of thick-coated horses that looked as well-fed as they were well-used. The wagon itself was covered in a patched but reinforced canvas, its wooden frame etched with warding runes meant to deter bandits and beasts alike. A middle-aged man stood at the front, inspecting one of the wheels while a woman and a young girl—his wife and daughter, most likely—sorted through the supplies in the back.

The girl was the first to spot us. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve, pointing, and the woman glanced up, eyeing us warily but not fearfully. A lone merchant family wouldn’t have made it this far if they didn’t know how to protect themselves, and I didn’t doubt there was a crossbow or a blade hidden somewhere within reach.

"Afternoon, travelers," the merchant called as we approached. His voice was friendly but measured, the kind of tone a man used when he wasn’t sure if he should be reaching for a coin purse or a dagger.

Garvin raised a hand in greeting. "Afternoon. Just passing through."

"Same as us," the merchant replied, wiping his hands on his tunic. "Heading east before the snows make the mountain roads impassable." He nodded toward his wagon. "If you’ve got coin, we’ve got goods. Nothing too fancy, but we’re stocked on the basics."

Malric glanced toward the cart, his sharp eyes scanning the merchandise. "Fresh food?"

The merchant grinned. "As fresh as it gets."

We stepped closer to inspect what he had. Most of it was practical supplies—dried meats, travel rations, spare bedrolls, and bundles of herbs that could be used for everything from seasoning to medicine. But what caught my eye was the basket of apples.

They weren’t perfect. A little bruised, a little dull, but real apples. I hadn’t had fresh fruit in months.

Drea nudged me. "You’re staring."

I sighed. "It’s been a while since I had one, alright?"

Garvin chuckled, already pulling out a few coins. "Get him some apples before he starts crying."

The merchant counted the coins and handed us a small cloth bag of fruit. "Pleasure doing business."

We didn’t linger. There was no reason to. Lingering travelers made merchants nervous. We took our apples and continued down the road, the sound of the wagon creaking behind us as the family resumed their journey.

I bit into one as we walked, the crisp texture jolting something in my memory.

For the first time in months, I thought about Earth.

Not just in passing—not just in comparison to this world’s strange rules—but really thought about it.

The small things.

Apples weren’t rare back home. I could walk into a grocery store and buy a dozen without thinking twice. Here, I hadn’t seen one since I arrived. How many other things were like that?

I hadn’t seen a single board game. No chess, no checkers, nothing like that. Did they exist here? If they did, they weren’t common.

I thought about card games, dice games, even something as simple as tic-tac-toe. I had spent so much time fighting, surviving, figuring out what the hell I was supposed to be doing, that I had never really considered the fact that I had knowledge this world didn’t.

I could introduce things.

Maybe not anything that would change history, but simple things. Games. Techniques. Even small inventions.

I took another bite of the apple, staring down at the dirt path beneath my boots.

I didn’t know if I’d ever find a way back home. Maybe I never would.

But if I was going to be here, I might as well make something of it.

The road stretched before us, winding through rolling foothills and scattered forests, the mountains shrinking behind us with each passing day. The encounter with the merchant had broken up the monotony of the journey, but now we had settled back into comfortable silence. The only sounds were the soft clinking of gear, the rustle of the wind, and the steady rhythm of our boots against dirt.

I walked beside Drea, glancing over at her. I realized, for all the time we had traveled together, I didn’t know much about her before this. She and Malric had always been quiet about their pasts, more focused on the present.

So, I decided to ask.

"Where’s home for you?" I said.

Drea didn’t answer right away. She adjusted the strap on her axe, staring straight ahead. Then, with a small sigh, she spoke.

"My family holds land in the western lowlands," she said. "Not much of it. Just enough to call ourselves nobility, though we don’t hold any real power."

"Lesser nobility?" I guessed.

She nodded. "A house of warriors, not politicians. My father trained as a knight, fought in border skirmishes, but never rose high in rank. My mother runs the estate. Not that there’s much to run."

I frowned. "So how did you end up with Garvin?"

Drea glanced toward Malric, who was walking a few paces ahead, always watching. Then she exhaled.

"It wasn’t a choice," she said simply.

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She adjusted her cloak, rolling her shoulders. "Malric and I were assigned to him. Our families made an arrangement with House Veyren. In return for status, resources, and training, we became Garvin’s guards."

I frowned. "So you didn’t get a say?"

Drea let out a dry chuckle. "Neither did Garvin. It’s an honor to serve his family. The Veyrens are powerful. Tied to the Phoenix Dawn, wealthy, well-connected. Being in their service means a better life." She shrugged. "It was a good deal for our families. And in the end, it worked out. Garvin’s not a bad person to be assigned to."

I glanced toward Garvin, who was currently muttering to his horse as if in deep conversation.

"Yeah," I said. "Could’ve been worse."

Drea smirked. "Could’ve been a lot worse."

I thought about that for a moment. About the way she and Malric moved with Garvin, how effortless their teamwork had become. It was more than just duty. There was real trust there.

"You don’t regret it?" I asked.

Drea shook her head. "I don’t love the fact that my path was chosen for me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love the people in it."

Her gaze softened, just for a second, as she glanced toward Malric. The way he moved—always slightly ahead, always watching—was proof enough of the bond they all shared.

"Garvin didn’t have a choice either," she continued. "But he’s never treated us like we were beneath him. Even when we were still training, still figuring out how to protect him, he trusted us. That’s more than I can say for a lot of nobles."

I nodded, thinking back to Garvin’s family. His father’s pride, hidden behind stiff words. His mother’s quiet concern. Even in a world of wealth and power, Garvin hadn’t been given freedom.

And yet, here we were.

"He may be an idiot," I said, "but he’s, our idiot."

Drea chuckled. "Exactly."

We kept walking, the road stretching before us, the wind carrying the scent of autumn. The capital was still far away, but for the first time in a while, the journey didn’t seem quite so long.

We continued down the road as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the path. The conversation with Drea stuck with me. The idea of being assigned a life, of having your future decided for you before you were even old enough to understand it, felt… strange. Foreign.

I hadn’t exactly done much with my life before coming here, but at least my choices had been my own.

That thought sat heavy in my mind as we made camp for the night.

Malric scouted ahead, finding a clearing just off the main road, hidden enough to avoid unwanted attention but still close enough that we could break camp quickly if needed.

We set up our tents, got a fire going, and divided tasks without a word. It had become second nature by now—Drea gathered firewood, Garvin handled the cooking, Malric kept watch, and I… well, I did whatever needed doing.

The smell of roasting meat filled the air as Garvin stirred the pan over the fire. "Alright, tonight’s feast includes dried venison, some questionable root vegetables, and a handful of those apples we got earlier."

Drea sat on a log, sharpening her axe. "You’re not just throwing everything into the pot again, are you?"

Garvin scoffed. "Of course I am. That’s how you make stew."

Malric, from where he was perched on a rock, barely looked up. "That’s how you make garbage."

Garvin pointed his spoon at him. "Then you can cook next time."

Malric said nothing.

Garvin turned back to the fire, muttering, "That’s what I thought."

I sat across from Drea, watching the fire flicker, lost in thought. Eventually, she noticed.

"You’re quiet."

I blinked, pulling myself back to the moment. "Just thinking."

"About?"

I hesitated, then shrugged. "The capital."

That was true, but not the whole truth. I had been thinking about the Ashen Court, about the questions we still didn’t have answers to. But I had also been thinking about Earth. About the things I had taken for granted. Choice. Freedom.

Drea tilted her head slightly. "You’re worried."

I exhaled. "Aren’t you?"

"Of course I am," she said. "But we’ve come this far. We’ll figure it out."

Garvin sat down beside me, handing me a bowl of what could only generously be called stew. "She’s right, you know. Worrying isn’t going to make the trip shorter."

I took the bowl, poking at the contents with a spoon. "It might make it feel longer."

Garvin grinned. "That’s the spirit."

The night stretched on, the fire crackling, the air growing colder. We spoke in quiet voices, trading stories and half-hearted jokes, trying to push back the weight of what was ahead.

We were getting closer to the capital. Closer to the truth.

And something told me we weren’t going to like what we found.

The road curved along the edge of the massive cliffside, the sheer drop to our left plummeting into the valley below. The wind howled through the pass, carrying the scent of distant rain and earth, tugging at our cloaks as we pressed forward. Loose stones crunched beneath the hooves of our horses, and every so often, I caught Malric casting wary glances down the edge, as if half-expecting something to come crawling up from the abyss.

Then, as we rounded the final bend, the capital came into view.

It was a sight that stole the breath from my lungs.

The city sprawled across the horizon, a monument to stone, steel, and time. Unlike the scattered towns and villages we had passed through, this was a place that had stood for centuries, maybe longer. Massive outer walls, high enough to rival mountains, enclosed the entire capital, stretching so far in either direction that the curvature of the land swallowed the ends from view. The stone was dark, almost black in some places, reinforced with thick veins of iron and lined with warding runes that shimmered faintly in the evening light.

Beyond the walls, the city itself cascaded in layers, built into the landscape as if it had grown naturally from the very rock. Bridges of white marble arched over rivers that wound through the streets, carrying trade ships deeper into the city’s heart. Towering spires and domed rooftops gleamed under the late afternoon sun, their gilded edges catching the light in flashes of gold and crimson.

The lower districts were a dense labyrinth of stone and timber buildings, packed closely together, their rooftops forming a sea of dark shingles and narrow alleyways. This was where the workers lived, where merchants, blacksmiths, and traders plied their craft. Smoke curled from countless chimneys, the scent of industry mixing with the rich aromas of fresh bread, roasting meats, and the unmistakable tang of the river docks.

Further up, the middle districts rose in wide terraces, their streets broader, their homes larger and more ornate. Here, the merchant lords and lesser nobles resided, their manors adorned with banners, carved stone facades, and lush gardens that spilled over the edges of terraces in vibrant green cascades.

At the very heart of the city, the royal district loomed, towering over everything else. The Imperial Palace, an impossibly vast structure of marble, steel, and glass, stood like a beacon of authority. Its central tower stretched so high into the sky that it seemed to touch the clouds. The architecture was impossibly smooth, almost too perfect, as if shaped by something beyond mortal hands. The palace grounds were surrounded by high inner walls, guarded by soldiers in gleaming silver armor, their banners fluttering in the wind.

The entire city was alive.

Even from this distance, I could see thousands of people moving through the streets, the hum of their voices carried on the wind. Carriages rumbled over cobblestone roads, street vendors shouted their wares, and banners of deep crimson and gold hung from every major thoroughfare.

Garvin pulled his horse to a stop beside me, exhaling slowly. "Well," he muttered, his voice laced with something between awe and exhaustion. "That’s a lot of city."

Drea gave a low whistle. "I’ve seen paintings, but this… this is something else."

Malric remained silent, his sharp eyes scanning the distant gates. Even from here, I could see hundreds of guards stationed along the entrance, inspecting every traveler, merchant, and cart that passed through.

I tightened my grip on the reins.

The Ashen Court was here somewhere. Waiting. Watching.

The capital was a place of power, of secrets, of danger.

And we had just arrived.