Winds of Change

The morning is alive with movement.

Velia stirs with the rhythm of daily life—fishermen hauling in their nets, merchants setting up stalls, the scent of fresh bread and sea salt drifting through the air. The sky is clear, but the wind is fierce, pulling at loose fabrics, rattling wooden signs, sending waves crashing harder against the docks.

It is a day for travel.

A day for change.

Elias and I make our way toward Islin Bartali's storage house (Velia's Storage Keeper) to withdraw some of our funds before setting off.

"Morning," Islin grunts as we approach, barely glancing up from the wooden ledger he's flipping through.

"Morning," Elias greets, leaning casually against the counter. "We're withdrawing some coin."

Islin raises an eyebrow. "Off somewhere?"

"Western Guard Camp," I answer. "Looking into the Imp problem."

The older man pauses, his gaze flicking toward us with subtle interest. "That so?"

Elias hums. "Figured we'd make ourselves useful."

Islin's eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing as he moves to unlock one of the storage chests. A moment later, he places a small pouch of coin on the counter, pushing it toward Elias.

"Take what you need," he says. "And watch yourselves. The road's safe enough, but things have been… shifting lately."

I frown. "Shifting how?"

Islin exhales, tapping a finger against the wood. "Fewer merchants are taking the main road east. Some have reported strange movements in the forests—figures watching from the trees, noises at night. Could be just paranoia, but…"

He trails off.

I exchange a glance with Elias.

"Imps?" I ask.

Islin shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, keep your wits about you."

Elias smirks, tying the coin pouch to his belt. "Always do."

Islin grunts but doesn't argue.

As we step away, I glance back. "Thanks."

Islin just nods, already returning to his work.

The wind howls as we step outside.

And with it—we begin our journey.

——

The road east stretches wide and open, flanked by rolling fields and scattered farms, the occasional stone marker standing as a silent guide for travellers.

The wind rushes through the tall grass, bending golden stalks in waves, rippling through the branches of the sparse trees lining the path.

Elias shields his eyes, exhaling. "Wind's a damn menace today."

I pull my cloak tighter. "Could be worse."

He snorts. "Could it?"

"Rain would be worse," I point out.

Elias groans dramatically. "Fair point."

——

The trade route leading toward Western Guard Camp is well-travelled, though today, few merchants seem to be on the move.

A single wooden cart creaks ahead of us, pulled by a sturdy brown horse, its driver—a lean man with graying hair—adjusting his grip on the reins as the wind tugs at his hat.

Elias raises a hand in greeting. "Morning!"

The man glances over, squinting against the wind. "Travelers?"

"Something like that," Elias grins. "Heading to the Guard Camp."

The man nods, pulling his horse to a slower pace, allowing us to walk alongside him. "Not much traffic that way lately," he muses. "Imps have been a bigger nuisance than usual."

I nod. "That's why we're going."

The man raises an eyebrow, glancing between us. "You two mercenaries?"

Elias chuckles. "Something like that."

The man hums, adjusting his hat. "Name's Hagen (Traveling Merchant). I run trade between Velia and Heidel. Less often these days, though. Roads aren't as safe as they used to be."

I frown. "Fewer guards?"

"Not just that," Hagen says, voice thoughtful. "Imps usually keep to their own, but lately, they've been pushing further, causing more problems. They're not just stealing—they're coordinated."

I exchange a glance with Elias.

"We've heard something similar," I admit. "Do you think they have a leader?"

Hagen sighs. "Maybe. Or maybe they're just desperate. Hard to say."

The wind picks up again, rattling the wooden frame of Hagen's cart.

"Either way," he continues, "the Western Guard Camp's been working double shifts trying to keep things under control. If you're offering help, they'll take it."

Elias smirks. "That's what we're hoping."

Hagen chuckles, adjusting his seat. "Well, best of luck. And if you ever get into trade, remember—there's always coin to be made moving goods between towns."

Elias's eyes flicker with interest, but before he can latch onto the idea of business, I tug him forward.

"We'll keep that in mind," I say, before he starts scheming.

Hagen laughs, waving as his cart rolls ahead.

——

We continue walking, the landscape shifting as we move further from Velia's coastline.

The scent of the sea fades, replaced by the earthier aroma of dry grass, sun-warmed soil, and the faint tang of distant pine.

Small side paths branch off from the main road—some leading to isolated farmhouses, others disappearing into dense patches of trees.

Elias gestures toward one of them. "Shortcut?"

I shake my head. "We don't know where it leads."

"That's what makes it fun," he muses.

I glare. "No."

He grins, but doesn't argue.

For once.

——

As the sun begins its slow descent, the outline of Western Guard Camp finally comes into view.

The wooden watchtowers stand tall against the horizon, banners flapping wildly in the wind, torches already lit along the perimeter despite the fading daylight.

Beyond the gates, I can see armoured figures moving with purpose—guards sharpening blades, tending to horses, speaking in hushed tones.

Even from here, there is a weight to the air.

A sense of unease.

Elias exhales, rolling his shoulders. "Well. Here we go."

I nod.

Because whatever awaits us beyond those gates—

It is only the beginning.