Chapter 25 - Journey to the Capital

The cart wheels groaned as the first of the merchants began to pull away. A few chickens clucked from cages overhead.

Amanda stepped up onto the back of the carts, the worn wooden slats creaking beneath her boots. She didn't look back—just offered her hand behind her, steady and waiting.

Leo reached for it instinctively, but didn't take it.

Not yet.

Instead, he turned.

Ranna was standing just off the road, her coat flapping softly in the morning breeze, one hand resting casually on the hilt of her shortblade. She hadn't moved. Not an inch.

Leo stepped toward her, boots crunching against the gravel.

"Hey," he said, voice quiet, but not uncertain.

Ranna didn't answer. Just shifted her weight and raised an eyebrow, as if to say: Get on with it.

He extended his hand.

No flourish. No words.

Just a rough, open palm.

She looked at it for a moment. Then she took it—grip firm, callused. Not a handshake.

An exchange.

Of something unspoken. Heavy as blood. Light as breath.

When they let go, the space between them felt changed. Not larger. Not smaller.

Just more defined.

Leo turned to go.

Then paused, hand halfway to the cart rail.

"Wait," he said. "Where's Cris?"

Ranna didn't blink. Just jerked her chin toward the tail end of the caravan.

"Back there," she said.

Leo squinted down the road—and sure enough, in the furthest cart, half-hidden behind fabric sacks and stacked crates of grain, a familiar mop of wild hair stuck out from beneath a too-big hood.

Cris.

Perched cross-legged on a crate. His eyes were fixed on the steel at his side, like he was trying to remember who he was supposed to be when he wore it.

Ranna followed Leo's gaze. "Said he wants to be an adventurer," she murmured. "He's different from before. Real this time."

Her tone wasn't proud. Wasn't worried.

Just accepting.

"I'm not taking that away," she added, "not from someone whose eyes are like that."

Leo said nothing.

Just stared a moment longer.

Cris hadn't seen him. Or maybe he had, and just didn't want to break whatever fragile thread he was walking along.

Either way—it felt right.

Leo's lips tugged upward, slow and honest.

"Good," he said. "It's about time."

Then he turned and vaulted up beside Amanda.

The cart jolted beneath them.

The merchant at the reins gave a sharp whistle, and with a clatter of hooves and a low grunt from the oxen, the caravan began to roll.

The village receded behind them in soft, golden light.

No one said goodbye this time.

Because they already had.

The wind picked up as they left the last fencepost behind. Amanda leaned back against a sack and closed her eyes, the wind tangling through her hair. Leo sat beside her in silence, hands resting loosely on his knees, eyes scanning the long stretch of road ahead.

And for a while, that was all there was.

Just the road.

And the feeling that it wasn't pulling them forward—

—it was unfolding beneath them.

Like it had been waiting for them to start walking again.

The road stretched on, a winding thread of dust and stone pulled taut between forest and city.

They pressed forward over the uneven terrain, the cart wheels clunking in steady rhythm, jostling with every tree root and loose rock. The breeze carried the scent of pine bark and sun-warmed grass, brushing against Leo's skin like a fading memory.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

Then he inhaled.

Slow.

Deeper than he needed to. A breath drawn from somewhere beneath his ribs, as if trying to absorb the landscape through his lungs.

And when he exhaled—it came out longer. Like something was leaving with it. The trees. The quiet. The comfort of something small and known.

He didn't look back. Not because he didn't want to.

But because he already had.

Instead, he looked to Amanda.

She'd tucked herself into the corner of the cart, head tilted back, arms folded loosely across her midsection, chin nudged toward her collar. One leg bent, the other stretched out. The steady rise and fall of her chest matched the rhythm of the cart's wheels. Her expression was peaceful in a way Leo rarely saw it—unguarded, lips parted just slightly, the edge of her tied hair slipping loose.

And then—

He saw it.

Not on purpose. Not something he searched for.

But there it was. A detail that insisted on being noticed.

Each jolt of the cart, each rumble over rough stone, sent a soft motion through her body, particularly where her worn shirt clung too closely, too openly. No layers beneath. No bindings. Just fabric and skin and the quiet consequence of motion.

Leo looked away fast, jaw tightening.

Then rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

He leaned his head back, closing his eyes just for a moment.

But even in the dark behind his eyelids, the road kept moving.

Nearly two hours passed, marked by nothing but the occasional grunt from the oxen, the low murmur of merchant chatter from further up the caravan. The sun had risen higher, stretching shadows thin beneath the trees until, gradually, the forest began to pull away.

The air changed.

Subtle at first.

Then all at once.

The rocky, root-strangled path gave way to smoother stone—paved and worn from years of travel. The trees thinned, replaced by fence posts and split rails, and soon those too faded, giving way to wide stretches of open land carved by crisscrossing roads. Cart after cart trundled past—some filled with livestock, others gleaming with polished goods.

And Leo's eyes lit up.

Wide-eyed wonder. Like a childish glee.

Like someone finally stepping into a room they'd only seen through a locked door.

Amanda stirred beside him, a soft grunt leaving her throat as she blinked herself awake. Her hand drifted lazily to brush away the hair stuck to her cheek, her eyes squinting into the sun.

She followed his gaze.

Saw the smile starting to grow on his face.

"Don't start drooling," she said, voice still half-dream. "You'll embarrass both of us."

Leo chuckled, dragging his eyes away from the view. "I'm just looking."

Amanda stretched, slow and loose, shoulders rolling back with a pop. "Be careful doing that, too. Some people don't like being stared at. Especially adventurers."

Leo turned that over in his head, gaze drifting to a pair of travelers nearby—a noblewoman with a veiled hat and a towering mercenary beside her, neither sparing their cart a second glance.

"Huh," he muttered. "People like that exist anywhere, huh?"

Amanda smirked, not answering.

They passed guards at intervals—stationed in pairs near mile-markers, dressed in the city's white-and-blue tabards, spears resting against their shoulders. Some gave polite nods. Others barely looked up.

The world had grown louder.

Wider.

More layered.

The fresh air of the forest was gone now, swallowed by a swirl of aromas—roasted meat, spiced grains, cured leather, and something bitter beneath it all like city smoke. Inns loomed at the roadside, flanked by outdoor kitchens and rows of merchant stalls already barking their prices to early customers.

Leo shifted in place, trying to take it all in without looking too much like a tourist.

Ahead, over the rise, the shape of the capital began to take form.

Walls. Towers. Spires.

The stone gleamed in the sun, light tracing across it like polished bone. From a distance, it didn't feel like a city. It felt like a force.

A kind of living monument.

Leo leaned forward, one hand bracing against the side of the cart.

Amanda watched him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her gaze.

"You ready for this?" she asked finally.

Leo didn't answer right away.

He was staring at the rising gate—at the open maw of the city that had swallowed so many stories before his.

Then he nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I think I am."