The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the landscape as the cart creaked along the road. Paola leaned back, letting the gentle rhythm of the journey soothe her restless thoughts. Emberfall was just a day away, but that didn’t ease the weight on her mind. Ayla and Ta’huka were still out there somewhere, but she had no way of finding them—no way other than to keep moving forward. The only certainty she had was the growing bond with Oso, the feeling that their connection was strengthening with every passing mile, like a tether pulling them closer together.
As she settled into the back of the cart, Paola glanced around at her traveling companions. Poca was sitting beside her, the ever-present smile on her face as she gazed out at the open landscape. Abraham was on the other side, quiet as always, but there was something different about him today—he didn’t seem as sullen, his gaze occasionally flicking up to meet Paola’s before quickly darting away. And then there was Carter, the puppet who had unnerved Paola at first but now, somehow, seemed to blend into the background, his eerie smile almost comforting in its consistency.
Poca turned to Paola, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m glad I took zis journey,” she said, her voice warm and full of life. “I was hesitant, you know. I ‘ave my farm, my puppets, my routine… but I forget sometimes ‘ow much I love ze open air, ze traveling, meeting new people.” She gestured to Paola with a grin. “Like you, Paola. You are a pleasant surprise.”
Paola smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. It was nice to hear that, especially after everything that had happened. “I’m glad you took the journey too, Poca,” she replied, her voice soft but genuine. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when we met, but you’ve made this whole crazy experience a little easier to handle.”
Poca’s smile widened, and she nodded toward Abraham. “And look at zis little one. He’s been so quiet, but I think he’s starting to come around, non?”
Abraham didn’t say anything, but there was a faint hint of a smile on his lips, and he seemed to relax a bit more in the back of the cart. Paola noticed the change and decided to try to keep the mood light. “Yeah, I think he’s warming up to us,” she said with a wink at Abraham. “We’re not so bad, right?”
Abraham didn’t respond verbally, but he gave a small nod, his eyes meeting Paola’s briefly before looking away again. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.
Poca chuckled, her laughter light and infectious. “You know, I ‘ave to warn you, Paola,” she said in a conspiratorial tone, leaning in closer. “I zink Carter ‘as a crush on you.”
Paola blinked, taken aback by the comment. She glanced at Carter, who was sitting at the front of the cart, his wooden face turned slightly toward her with that ever-present grin. “Carter? Really?” she asked, feigning shock. “You think so?”
Poca nodded solemnly, though her eyes were dancing with mischief. “Oh, oui. I saw ze way ‘e looked at you when you played ze guitar. Zat smile of ‘is was even wider zan usual.”
Paola laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Well, I guess I have to watch out then, don’t I?” She turned to Carter, giving him a playful look. “Carter, if you’ve got a crush on me, you better say something now, or forever hold your peace.”
Carter, of course, remained silent, his smile unchanged. But there was something almost playful in the way his head tilted slightly, as if he was acknowledging the joke. Paola couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all.
Poca leaned back, clearly enjoying the lighthearted banter. “Carter’s always ‘ad a way wiz people,” she said, her tone teasing. “’E may not talk much, but ‘e knows ‘ow to make an impression.”
Paola nodded, still smiling. “I think he’s got some competition, though. You’re pretty good at making an impression yourself, Poca.”
Poca’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Merci, Paola. I do try.” She paused, then added, “You know, I wasn’t always zis outgoing. My father, ‘e was ze one who taught me to be confident, to be myself no matter what. ‘E showed me ze beauty in ze world, in people… and in puppets.”
Paola’s curiosity was piqued. “Your father? He taught you about puppetry?”
Poca nodded, her expression softening as she remembered. “Oui, ‘e did. ‘E was a master puppeteer. ‘E brought puppets to life in ways zat were… magical. When I was little, ‘e would show me ‘ow to create ze strings, ‘ow to infuse zem wiz life. I was fascinated. I started making my own puppets, little by little, and eventually, I made Carter ‘ere.”
Paola looked at Carter again, this time with a new appreciation. “So, Carter’s one of your creations? That’s amazing.”
Poca beamed with pride. “Oui, Carter is special. ‘E’s been wiz me for a long time. But I ‘ave other puppets too, back at my farm. Zey help me wiz ze work, keep me company… zey are like family to me.”
Paola nodded, genuinely impressed. “That sounds wonderful, Poca. You’ve created something really special.”
Poca smiled, but there was a hint of melancholy in her eyes. “It is, but… sometimes I get lonely. Ze puppets are great, but zey are not like real people. Zat’s why I enjoy traveling, meeting new friends… like you, Paola.”
Paola felt a pang of empathy for Poca. She reached out and placed a hand on Poca’s arm, offering a reassuring squeeze. “Well, I’m glad we met, Poca. And I’m glad we’re on this journey together.”
Poca’s smile returned, brighter this time. “So am I, Paola. So am I.”
As the cart continued its journey along the winding path, the atmosphere between Paola and Poca grew increasingly relaxed. They had spent the better part of the morning exchanging stories and jokes, each tale more colorful and lively than the last. Paola found herself laughing more than she had in days, the weight of her recent experiences lifting slightly as she immersed herself in the lighthearted banter.
Poca, leaning back into the wagon with a contented sigh, began to recount a particularly amusing story. “You know, zere was zis one time,” she started, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “when I ‘ad a batch of fruits zat spoiled. I was so upset—thought I ‘ad ruined zem completely.”
Paola tilted her head, intrigued. “What did you do? Try to salvage them?”
Poca grinned, nodding. “Oui, I tried everything. I thought maybe I could still make something out of zem. So, I started experimenting.”
Paola raised an eyebrow, playfully skeptical. “Experimenting with spoiled fruit? Sounds like you were really desperate, Poca.”
Poca chuckled, unfazed. “Desperate? Maybe. But I was determined too. I mashed zem up, boiled zem down, mixed zem wiz ‘erbs... I tried everyzing I could think of. It was a mess—zey looked terrible, smelled even worse. But I kept going.”
Paola laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You didn’t give up, even when they smelled awful?”
“Non!” Poca replied with exaggerated determination. “I was convinced I could make somezing useful out of zem. And you know what? I was right.”
Paola leaned in, her interest piqued. “Really? What did you end up with?”
Poca’s grin widened, clearly pleased with herself. “Turns out, ze spoiling released some kind of potent healing agent. When I tested it on a small cut, it healed faster zan anyzing I ‘ad used before. I couldn’t believe it!”
Paola’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s incredible! From spoiled fruit? You really are a genius, Poca.”
Poca waved a hand dismissively, though she was clearly delighted by the compliment. “Ah, it was just luck, really. But I learned a valuable lesson—sometimes, ze most unexpected zings can turn out to be ze most useful.”
Paola smirked, unable to resist teasing her. “So, you’re saying I should start keeping all my spoiled food? Maybe I’ll discover the next big healing breakthrough.”
Poca laughed, the sound light and infectious, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Only if you’re willing to endure ze smell, Paola. It was... quite something, I assure you.”
Paola wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust, leaning back slightly as if to escape the imaginary stench. “I think I’ll pass on that, thanks. I’m not sure I’m ready to become a mad scientist like you.”
Poca’s playful grin widened, and as she shifted in the wagon, her foot casually brushed against Paola’s. The touch was light at first, almost incidental, but then it settled, her toes curling slightly as they rested atop Paola’s foot. The contact sent a small, unexpected jolt through Paola, catching her off guard. The warmth of Poca’s foot against hers was oddly comforting, a subtle reminder of their growing connection.
“Mad scientist, eh? I like ze sound of zat,” Poca teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief as her foot lingered, pressing just a bit more firmly against Paola’s.
Paola couldn’t help but grin, feeling a mix of amusement and something else—something she couldn’t quite name—at the continued touch. “Well, you certainly have the determination for it. Just don’t drag me into any of your crazy experiments, okay?”
Poca chuckled, the sound soft and melodic. She didn’t move her foot away immediately; instead, she let it linger for a moment longer, as if savoring the simple connection. Paola felt a strange flutter in her chest, a mix of comfort and a hint of tension. The touch was casual, innocent even, but there was something intimate about it, the way their feet remained connected longer than necessary.
“I promise, no crazy experiments... for now,” Poca finally said, her tone playful as she moved her foot away, the loss of warmth leaving a slight emptiness in its wake.
Paola exhaled softly, realizing she had been holding her breath. She wasn’t sure why the touch had affected her so much, but as she looked at Poca, still grinning and completely unaware of the effect she had, Paola couldn’t help but feel that their connection was deepening in unexpected ways.
Throughout the exchange, Paola noticed Abraham watching them with a small smile on his face. It was the first time she had seen him so relaxed, and the sight made her heart swell with warmth. She caught his eye and gave him a wink. “See, Abraham? This is what happens when you hang out with mad scientists. You get to hear all sorts of wild stories.”
Abraham’s smile widened slightly, and he nodded, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Poca, noticing the boy’s lighter mood, leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “And who knows, maybe you’ll even get to be part of ze next experiment.”
Abraham shook his head quickly, his smile turning into a grin as he playfully recoiled. “No way,” he seemed to say without words.
Paola laughed, ruffling his hair gently. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her turn you into a lab rat.”
Poca pretended to pout, crossing her arms in mock disappointment. “Aw, come on, Paola. You’re no fun.”
Paola leaned back, still chuckling. “You’ll have to find someone else to be your guinea pig. I can be the cheerleader, though. Go Poca, go Poca, goooo Poca...”
Poca dissolved into giggles, her eyes twinkling with mirth. As she settled back into the cart, she sighed contentedly, her gaze shifting to the landscape outside. Eventually, Poca began talking about her garden, describing the different herbs and plants she grew, the way she traded and sold them to travelers and locals alike. “I ‘ave ze most beautiful garden,” Poca said, her voice filled with pride. “I grow all kinds of medicinal herbs and roots, as well as fruits and vegetables. But, of course, ze puppetry is my true passion.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Paola listened intently, fascinated by the way Poca spoke about her work. “It sounds like you’ve created something really special,” she said, her voice sincere. “I’d love to see your garden someday.”
Poca’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you must! I would be ‘appy to show you. Ze garden is my pride and joy. And who knows? Maybe you’ll get to meet some of my other puppets as well.”
Paola smiled, genuinely excited by the prospect. “I’d like that, Poca. I really would.”
As the sun continued its descent, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape, Paola felt a sense of peace settle over her. The sandy terrain, dotted with patches of grass and clusters of trees, was beautiful in its own unique way. It was as if the Southwest and Pacific Northwest had collided, creating a landscape that was both familiar and strange, comforting and surreal.
For the first time in a long time, Paola felt a sense of contentment. The road ahead was still uncertain, and there were still so many questions left unanswered, but for now, she was happy to be in the company of Poca and Abraham, to be part of this strange, wonderful journey.
As they continued toward Emberfall, the conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and warmth. Paola felt herself beginning to relax, to let go of some of the tension that had been weighing her down. She was grateful for Poca’s company, for the way she had pulled her out of her own head and reminded her that there was still joy to be found in the world, even in the midst of all the chaos.
Eventually they fell into a companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the only sound the gentle creaking of the cart as it traveled along the dirt road. For everyone but Paola, the silence was peaceful. For Paola, however, it was an opportunity to reflect on the events that had led her here, to wonder about the choices she had made, and to question where her path might lead next.
Paola's thoughts twisted in a web of guilt and confusion. She was alive, but that very fact felt like a burden she couldn’t shake. The stark contrast between the situation she found herself in now and the life she had left behind on Earth gnawed at her. How did she go from being a paraeducator to sitting in a wagon with a blue-skinned woman who created magical puppets? And more than that, how was she feeling guilty about it?
Poca's presence was oddly comforting yet disconcerting. The way her touches lingered, the casual intimacy of it all—it was new and confusing for Paola. It wasn’t overtly romantic or sexual, but it was enough to make Paola’s thoughts spin. She noticed that Poca wasn’t like this with Abraham; she was gentle and understanding with the boy, never overstepping his boundaries. But with Paola, it was different. There was something in the way Poca's fingers brushed hers, the way her foot rested a little too long against Paola’s. It made her heart flutter, and that only added to her guilt.
They had fallen into a comfortable silence after Poca had finished talking about her garden, and Paola found herself once again lost in her thoughts. Her mind kept drifting back to Ayla. Ayla, who was out there somewhere, possibly struggling for her life. Ayla, her Sword Maiden girlfriend, who might have been killed in the Beaststorm. Paola should be out there looking for her, fighting for her, not sitting in a cart with a woman who seemed oblivious to personal boundaries.
Paola stared out at the dunes, where patches of grass and trees clung stubbornly to life. It was a bizarre landscape, as if the Southwest and Pacific Northwest had collided and merged into something both beautiful and surreal. But even the beauty of the world around her couldn’t distract her from the gnawing guilt. How was she feeling bad about something so ridiculous? She hadn’t done anything wrong, had she?
She sighed, trying to shake the thoughts from her mind. Poca was her ride to Emberfall, and more than that, she was a friend. A friend who had been nothing but kind and welcoming, even if a bit too touchy at times. Ayla was her girlfriend. Paola would tell her everything when they were reunited, and she would face whatever consequences came. After all, all she had really done was check out a naked girl and touch feet. It wasn’t like she had betrayed Ayla. But still... why did she feel so guilty?
Paola’s mind spiraled further, the uncertainty gnawing at her. She remembered the night before, the drinks with Poca, the hazy memories. She was sure she had gone to bed alone, and she was positive she had woken up alone. But doubt still lingered. Had she already ruined things with Ayla?
As if to answer her chaotic thoughts, she felt the tug of her familiar bond snap tight. It was an odd sensation, like an invisible leash pulling taut, and she knew without a doubt that Oso was near—within visual sight, even. Her heart raced as she quickly jumped up, scanning the horizon.
And there, cresting a sand dune, were Selene and Oso.
Oso, her sandy-colored bear cub, bounded towards her with an excited energy. His fur was a soft, earthy hue, but as he moved, the purple cosmic glow on his back shimmered under the sunlight, making him look almost otherworldly. His eyes sparkled with joy as he caught sight of Paola, his little paws kicking up sand as he ran to her. Despite everything, seeing Oso brought a rush of relief to Paola. She crouched down, arms open wide as he leaped into them, nuzzling against her with a happy growl.
"Oso," she whispered, hugging him close, the familiar warmth of his fur grounding her in the moment.
But her relief was short-lived. Paola looked up from Oso and saw Selene slowly making her way down the dune. Her white hair, usually so striking, seemed dull under the harsh light of the sun. Her ash-grey skin looked even more ashen than usual, and her purple eyes, once filled with a fierce determination, were now heavy with defeat. Her Mithralite prosthetic arm, a testament to her resilience, hung at her side, her entire posture slumped as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Selene looked... broken. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, avoiding Paola’s eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to meet them. She clutched Paola’s bag tightly in her hand, the same bag she had taken from her after thinking she was dead. Now, the sight of it felt like a bitter reminder of all that had transpired.
Paola’s heart twisted with conflicting emotions. She had been so angry, so hurt by Selene’s betrayal, but seeing her now, so defeated and lost, softened something inside her. She could feel Poca’s presence beside her, could sense the tension radiating from her as she realized who had arrived.
Poca stood up, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Selene. There was no hostility in her gaze, but there was an unmistakable wariness. Poca had every reason to be on guard after what had happened, and Paola didn’t blame her. The air between them crackled with unspoken words, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them all.
Selene finally stopped a few paces away from them, her eyes still downcast. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. It was as if she was waiting for some sort of judgment, as if she expected them to cast her aside.
For a moment, no one said anything. The only sound was the wind rustling through the sparse trees and the soft hum of the sand beneath their feet.
Paola took a deep breath, breaking the silence. “Selene,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “You found Oso.”
Selene nodded slowly, still not looking up. “He... he found me,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Paola glanced down at Oso, who was now sitting calmly at her feet, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. The bond between them was as strong as ever, and she could feel the pull that had led them back together.
Poca, still wary, took a step closer to Paola, her gaze never leaving Selene. “You ‘ave Paola’s bag,” she said pointedly, her accent thick with the tension in the air.
Selene finally lifted her head, her eyes meeting Paola’s for the first time. There was a world of pain in those purple eyes, a depth of regret that was almost palpable. She held out the bag, her hand trembling slightly. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. “I... I thought you were dead.”
Paola reached out, taking the bag from Selene’s outstretched hand. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Paola felt a jolt of something—she wasn’t sure if it was anger, sadness, or something else entirely. “I was,” she admitted quietly. “But I’m not now.”
Selene swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, the words heavy with remorse.
Poca, standing close to Paola, watched the exchange with a mixture of concern and confusion. She could sense the gravity of the situation, but she didn’t fully understand the depth of the emotions swirling around them.
Paola glanced at Poca, then back at Selene. “We’re heading to Emberfall,” she said, her tone neutral. “You can come with us... if you want.”
Selene hesitated, her eyes flicking between Paola and Poca. “I... I don’t know if I should,” she admitted, her voice small and uncertain.
Poca, despite her earlier wariness, stepped forward, her expression softening. “If you want to make zings right, Selene,” she said gently, “you should come wiz us. Running away won’t change anyzing.”
Selene looked at Poca, her eyes wide with surprise. For a moment, it seemed like she might refuse, might turn and walk away. But then she nodded, the fight in her eyes dimming. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll come.”
Paola, Poca, and Selene stood there in a tense silence, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavily in the air. Eventually, Paola gestured to the cart. “Let’s go, then.”
Carter, who had been silently watching the entire exchange, took the reins of the oxen, guiding them forward. Paola, Poca, Selene, and Abraham climbed into the back of the cart, settling into an uneasy but necessary alliance. Paola’s mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead, of the difficult conversations that would have to happen, of the fragile bond that had to be rebuilt. But for now, they were together, and that was a start.
As the cart began to move, Paola looked up at the blue sky, her heart heavy with the knowledge of how far they all had to go—not just to Emberfall, but to find peace with themselves and each other.
***
Ayla slowly blinked, her eyes fluttering open as the first light of dawn crept into the small shelter. She stretched, the stiffness in her limbs reminding her of the previous day’s ordeal. As she sat up, she was shocked to see Thrix already awake, sitting against the wall. His gaze was weary, his once-vibrant form now a shadow of what it had been. The sun was just breaking the horizon, painting the sky in shades of red and orange. The quiet of the early morning was almost surreal after the chaos they had endured.
Thrix turned his head slowly to look at Ayla. His remaining functional eyes, four in total, seemed to take her in with a mix of gratitude and resignation. His mustache, oddly enough, was the only part of him that seemed unchanged, still neatly curled at the ends. They stared at each other for a long time, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Thrix spoke, his voice a low, raspy whisper.
"I assume it was you who brought me here?" he asked, his mandibles clicking softly.
Ayla nodded, her expression unreadable.
"Thank you," he said simply, his eyes searching hers for a moment before he turned his gaze back to the horizon.
Another long silence stretched between them. Ayla studied Thrix, her red and blue eyes seeming to pierce through him, searching for something she couldn’t quite define. But Thrix didn’t return the gaze; he seemed intent on staring into the sky, lost in his thoughts. Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Ayla asked the question that had been gnawing at her.
“What were you doing out here, Thrix? How did you get caught in the storm?”
Thrix’s mandibles clicked weakly, a faint echo of their usual briskness. “I’m a merchant,” he replied, the simplicity of his answer almost dismissive.
Ayla’s eyes narrowed. She knew there was more to it than that, but she also knew better than to press him too hard. Silence fell again, the tension between them growing thicker by the second. Thrix sighed deeply, his gaze still fixed on the distant horizon, before he broke the silence himself.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asked, his voice tinged with a bitterness that caught Ayla off guard.
Ayla’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I have done that, after everything I went through to keep you alive?”
This time, Thrix turned to look at her directly, the movement causing him to wince in pain. But despite the discomfort, he held her gaze, as if searching her soul for some hidden truth. After a long pause, he finally spoke.
“Because Lady Marcelline put a hit out on my head,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “I was fleeing Valarian when…” He gestured weakly over his damaged body with one of his good arms. “Well, you can guess the rest.”
Ayla’s mind raced at the implications of his words. Marcelline had placed a bounty on his head? Or had she sent personal assassins? The realization hit her like a blow to the chest. Was this because… because she knew that Thrix knew about Paola being a fallen star? The possibilities swirled in her mind, each one more unsettling than the last.
She swallowed hard, trying to process everything. “And you’re… up and alive now?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Thrix chuckled softly, though the sound was laced with exhaustion. “I woke up in the middle of the night, and I knew I only had a moment of clarity. I remembered that I’m one of the richest men in Valarian, after all.” His mandibles clicked in what could almost be interpreted as a wry smile. “I had a miracle potion in my bag. I just needed to be conscious long enough to drink it.”
Ayla’s eyes widened. A miracle potion—an item of incredible rarity, capable of full health regeneration and even reviving someone if taken in the right time frame. No wonder Thrix was up and talking, despite his grievous injuries. She glanced over his body, noticing the signs of recovery. The wounds were closing, and the color had returned to his skin, but the missing limbs and shattered exoskeleton remained.
“Why didn’t you use it earlier?” she asked, still puzzled.
“There was no time,” Thrix replied, his voice growing somber. “As soon as my holy shield went out, the beasts were on me. I couldn’t even reach for the potion.” He paused, his eyes clouded with the memory of the attack. “They did everything they could to stop me, just as they did with you.”
Ayla nodded in understanding. The storm had been relentless, the beasts merciless. She had barely made it to him in time, fighting tooth and nail to get through the onslaught. They both fell silent, the weight of their shared experience hanging between them.
After what felt like an eternity, Ayla sighed, her resolve hardening. “I’m going to continue to Emberfall,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see you.”
Thrix let out a soft laugh, a sound that seemed to bring a flicker of life back into his weary form. “Maybe,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone, “you can not see me the whole time? I think I’d rather enjoy the company.”
Ayla looked at him, her expression softening slightly. Despite everything, despite the doubts and the secrets that still lingered between them, Thrix was still Thrix—wily, resourceful, and surprisingly resilient. She couldn’t help but smile, just a little.
“Alright,” she said, nodding slowly. “But you’ll have to keep up.”
Thrix managed another small, pained smile. “I’ll do my best.”
With that, they both turned their gazes back to the horizon, the red and orange glow of the morning sun painting the sky with the promise of a new day. Or the promise of something darker, neither could say.
As the light of the sun slowly began to creep over the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand, Ayla couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. She had survived the Beaststorm, but the price had been steep. Now, she was faced with a new challenge—one that would require every ounce of her strength, cunning, and willpower. And she wasn't sure she was ready.
Ayla stood, gathering her things, and turned to Thrix. "Come on, old man," she said, a hint of playfulness in her voice. "Let's see if you can keep up."