Kyrie’s gaze wandered across the cluttered surface of the little wagon, drawn from one curious item to the next. Bundles of dried herbs hung in neat clusters, their scents mingling in the air, while small tools and stoppered jars filled every available space. The jars held liquids of varying colors and thicknesses; tinctures, oils, and extracts that smelled sharply of alcohol and something far more organic beneath.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Phillip had already claimed a quiver from among the wares. The small boglan merchant seemed more than happy to trade for nearly anything they offered; so long as it came from their world.

Nearby, Alicia, Jennifer, and Amanda had shifted their attention to the donkey tethered beside the wagon. They laughed softly as they fed it a carrot, their hands brushing over its coarse fur. The animal leaned into the attention contentedly, ears flicking but otherwise unbothered.

Kyrie turned her focus back to the wagon, lifting one of the small jars and giving it a cautious sniff. Most were unfamiliar, sharp or medicinal; but one made her pause.

The scent was earthy and mellow, layered with something warm and faintly spiced. Cinnamon, perhaps. Beneath that, a deeper note: tobacco, softened by a hint of vanilla. The oil itself was a rich orange, thick enough that it moved sluggishly when she tilted the vial, almost like softened wax.

Recognition clicked a moment later. Nikolaus.

Zippidee noticed her interest immediately and nodded with eager enthusiasm. “Fire oil, for magic. Fresh and potent.”

Kyrie raised an eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder just as Nikolaus stepped up beside her. Their eyes met briefly. He studied her expression with quiet curiosity before shifting his attention to the merchant.

Without a word, he produced a few smaller coins, different from the ones used earlier, and handed them over. In exchange, he took a vial of the same orange oil and tucked it neatly into a pouch at his belt.

“Well… that explains why I was smelling this before…” Kyrie said, trailing off. She hesitated, then added, “So… does that mean you can use magic? Like, actual spells?”

Nikolaus looked at her, almost as if weighing the question, then gave a small nod. “Yes. I was forced to cast a fire spell yesterday. I likely still had some of the oil on my sleeve.”

A subtle shift passed through the group. A few exchanged uncertain glances. It was fascinating, undeniably, but also unsettling. The idea that someone could simply conjure fire, wield it like a weapon… it made David’s firearm suddenly feel less impressive by comparison.

Kyrie lingered on the thought for a moment, curiosity sparking; but this wasn’t the time to press further. Instead, she set the oil back and reached for something else that had caught her eye: a delicate bracelet strung with beads of varying colors.

“Oh!” Zippidee perked up again. “That is made from pressed flowers and resins. When worn against warm skin, it creates a perfume.”

Kyrie lifted it closer, inhaling gently. Beneath the heavier scents of the wagon, she caught a soft floral fragrance: sweet and airy, reminiscent of mimosa or hyacinth.

She considered it for a moment, then brightened slightly. “I’ll be right back!”

She darted off toward her bag, rummaging briefly before pulling out a small throw blanket. It was soft and well-worn, patterned with butterflies in an array of cheerful colors. She had used it often back home, draped over her legs while reading, but with the cloak she wore now, it had become unnecessary.

Returning to the wagon, she held it out. “It’s soft, and it’s kept me warm for a long time.”

Zippidee’s reaction was immediate and dramatic. The boglan’s eyes widened as they touched the fabric, fingers pressing into it with clear delight.

“Zippidee loves this soft blanket! This fabric is so strange… and it is even Zippidee’s size!” He beamed, then abruptly hesitated. “But this is not a fair trade…”

He turned quickly, rummaging through the wagon before pulling down a small hanging pouch and offering it to Kyrie. “Flash-cracks. Rocks with crystals inside that are bright. When broken, it flashes, then fades. This makes trade fair?”

Kyrie tilted her head, peering into the pouch as she accepted it. Inside were small, rough spheres, like clumps of dirty gravel.

She considered for a moment, then nodded. “These would be good for those Nightstalker things. Thank you, that sounds fair.”

Zippidee nodded vigorously. “Yes! Very good for Nightstalkers. Anything with eyes, too.” He paused, then added seriously, “Do not look at them when they crack.”

Kyrie gave a small, acknowledging nod. “I’ll remember that.”

She tied the pouch closed and glanced away from the wagon, just in time to notice the soldiers already beginning to pack up. The moment of calm, of casual trade and curiosity, was ending. It was time to move again.

As the group began preparing to move, Nikolaus stepped over and handed Kyrie her cup. “Better finish that now,” he said simply.

Around them, the soldiers were already shifting into motion, guiding the cart aside to clear space for the boglan’s wagon once they departed. The brief sense of rest was dissolving quickly into practiced efficiency.

Kyrie nodded and drained the last of her tea. She poured a small splash of water into the metal camping cup, swirled it, and emptied it before hooking it back onto her belt by its handle. The familiar motion steadied her.

She slipped her backpack back onto her shoulders with a small shuffle, adjusting the straps before tugging her hat down slightly as the light shifted overhead. The clouds were thickening, darkening just enough to be noticeable.

The fire was left burning for those who remained, a quiet courtesy, and goodbyes were exchanged with the easy assumption that their paths would cross again soon in Nucorvus. After all, they were heading the same direction.

The road stretched on beneath their feet as the afternoon wore forward.

It was sometime later when the sound came. A long, echoing call drifted through the trees, low and resonant, almost mournful. It carried strangely, bending through the forest in a way that made it hard to place.

Alicia’s head snapped up, her gaze darting between the trees. “What is that?”

David gave a small, dismissive chuckle, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ but a deer, dear. Big one, by the sound of it.”

One of the soldiers walking nearby spoke without breaking stride. “Cornes d’Orage.” He gestured upward toward the sky.

Nikolaus gave a slight nod, his gaze lifting briefly to the darkening clouds. “Storm horns,” he translated. “The storm is coming.”

He glanced back to the group, then continued, his tone calm but edged with quiet seriousness. “They are born from deer, mighty stags with bladed antlers. During storms, lightning gathers in their horns.” His eyes moved briefly across the treeline, watchful. “We see a few each season.”

He paused, then added, “The King reserves the right to hunt one each decade. Otherwise, they are protected.” A faint shift of his expression followed. “That does not stop poachers. Their antlers do not shed… and they are worth a great deal.”

Another distant call echoed through the forest, closer this time.

Nikolaus’s attention sharpened. He studied the road ahead, then the sky again, weighing something silently before making a decision.

“We need to move faster if we are to avoid this storm,” he said, his voice firm now. “Put your gear into the cart. We will go two to a pole.”

There was a brief hesitation, uncertainty flickering through the group, but practicality won out. One by one, they began setting their packs into the cart, shedding weight to gain speed.

All except Casey. She kept her bag slung over her shoulder, stubbornly maintaining her pace even in the unfamiliar leather armor. If anything, she walked a little faster.

Kyrie pulled her cloak tighter around herself as the wind began to stir more aggressively through the trees. Leaves whispered and branches creaked overhead, the forest shifting restlessly.

The air had changed. It hadn’t started raining yet, but it would. Thunder rolled faintly in the distance, low and heavy, carrying through the sky like a warning. Even over the strange, haunting calls echoing through the woods, it was impossible to miss now. Something was coming.