“All clear,” Jelena said, strutting down the dusty plains towards their getaway caravan.

  The group of four walked. Jelena in her eyepatch and roguish traveler’s gear, as usual. Enkidu in his plain and ragged clothes with little thought into style or even cleanliness. Zilara’s disguise was subdued but fashionable; she’d taken a surprising interest in foreign garb from overseas. Calaf wore a full set of Desert Silken Mail, supreme maneuverability for his class more than making up for a hit to all defensive-based stats. Desert robes partially covered the metal armor, providing some modicum of camouflage as well. It wasn’t flashy, but it shielded him without slowing him down.

  Edit the spoofing rings to refresh Calaf and Zilara’s disguises, don a shawl and a cloak so that the unbranded Jelena and Enkidu would not be recognized, and away the group went aboard one of many intercity caravans that connected the lands along the holy pilgrimage route. Priceless relics were safe in Calaf’s inventory (or occasionally Zilara’s, when an even less conspicuous mule was required) and they were as good as home-free.

  As always, the group disembarked from the caravan along the road and continued off the beaten path until it was time to make camp.

  Camp, too, was an item. Calaf was responsible for holding onto those as well. He selected it in his interface and mentally pressed [Use]. Three tents, a fire, and an accompanying cookpot were summoned forth from the unnaturally glowing blue hue of his Interface and built themselves. Many manhours were saved in an instant. Watching it all unfurl automatically was the greatest testament to the appeal of the Menu. Indeed, demonstrations were among the first things missionaries abroad performed to the unconverted.

  Three tents – one for Enkidu, one for Zilara, with the third shared by Jelena and Calaf.

  Night fell in short order. Enkidu was the team cook. He hunted, skewered, and rotated a dire-lizard of the northern plains without a Menu. Calaf, meanwhile, sat at the provided rustic log and gazed into the fire in deep contemplation.

  “Hey there, Hot Shot.”

  Jelena sauntered up beside him and scooted onto the log. She wrapped her hand around his midsection.

  “Another flawless job. Should be over the border early tomorrow morning, after which the traveling emporium should be somewhere along the northern bypass ‘twix here and Autumn’s Redoubt.”

  “Mmm.” Calaf nodded, pensive.

  Jelena sensed his apprehension. “Noticed you were delayed on the exfiltration there.”

  “Got stopped by a Stalwart. In the alley.”

  “A Stalwart?” Jelena leaned closer. “Hardly a match for a Squire, surely.”

  Calaf nodded. “I killed him in one blow. Not even with a crit. I was delayed because I consecrated his corpse.”

  “Ah.” Jelena rested her head against Calaf’s padded shoulder pauldron. “Well, that was noble of you.”

  Calaf cracked a smile. “Guess I’ve still got it.”

  “And so humble,” Jelena said and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

  The pair stayed there at the fire while Enkidu gazed, smoldering, over the cliffs at the edge of camp.

  “Hey, honey, still have that Rare Fellmarsh brandy we exfiltrated from that vault outside Granite Pass?”

  “Well, I’m not about to give it to Zillara…”

  Calaf sorted through his Menu and reproduced a Rare Spiced Fellmarsh Brandy (x2).

  “Description says it’s been aged four pilgrimage seasons and attended to by a team of monks in a Fellmarsh priory.”

  “Dangerous place for a winery. Still, bring her here. Bit of booze should loosen that Paladin stick up your keister.”

  The eyepatch-wearing bandit nudged the Squire in the rib, playful. Calaf handed over a bottle.

  “Supper will not be ready for another hour,” mentioned Enkidu, looking over his filleted dire-lizard like an expert chef.

  Together, Calaf and Jelena dug into their wine as an appetizer.

  Seven months had passed since noble Paladin-aspirant Calaf of Riverglen had shared an evening (and night, and the next morning into the afternoon) of passion with heretical former-nun, current-relic thief Jelena Turandot of the Firefield deserts. In the intervening time, he hadn’t been in a rush to return home. Too many bad memories, too many burned bridges. The tent’s bunk was far too comfy, and the company too inviting.

  Stolen story; please report.

  The group had spent the inter-pilgrimage season bouncing around the area between Twelfthnight and Firefield in varying capacities. They’d visit all regions, but there were two areas in particular they shied away from: Riverglen, not that Calaf wanted to stick around there long, and Port Town, infested with arbiters such that it was.

  Jelena sipped her brandy bottle in measured, mechanical gulps. Calaf did the same via Interface, of course. Selecting [Items], then mentally envisioning the [Food] subsection, scrolling to the recently-acquired Rare Spiced Fellmarsh Brandy (x1), and selecting ‘Use’. It had the same effect as manually imbibed spirits, and with inhibitions loosened the pair soon found themselves dancing about the fire. Zilara tried to follow along over in her private corner of the campsite but got self-conscious and swiftly retreated into her tent.

  All the while, Enkidu continued to observe his roast of the dire-lizard. Calaf snuck a glance at the mountain of a man as his face was bathed in the orangish firelight.

  The formerly godly Squire knew that Enkidu was Jelena’s longest-running partner in crime. She’d recruited/adopted Zilara, the holy brat, not long after Calaf had been tasked with pursuing infamous relic thief Jelena Turandot as part of a church-sanctioned quest to bring her to justice. A quest that had ended in failure, clearly. Calaf was nominally the novice of the group, courtesy of having fallen into bed with the posse’s leader and just never leaving.

  Calaf knew that Enkidu and Jelena had, as they say, ‘done it’ approximately once (long story). In a brothel (again, long story). Still, the unbranded wild man did not hold a grudge or experience jealousy, so far as Calaf could tell. Indeed, Enkidu considered Calaf with the same bored indifference as he did every other person and thing that wasn’t martial combat.

  “Ah, need to head back to the Battletower one day,” Jelena said, interrupting her reverie. “Have to find more shot and cartridges for the ol’ pew pews.”

  Over by the dire-lizard, Enkidu grumbled. It was his way of saying he’d remember and keep it on their to-do list. He cut a strip of medium-well meat off the creature.

  “Dinner is served.” He growled.

  The posse of four ate their grilled dino meal. Calaf and Jelena washed it down with the remains of their brandy. Enkidu was never observed drinking any liquids. Zilara fished River Delta Passionfruit Juice (x1) out of her Inventory and ate a modest portion befitting her size.

  When supper was done Calaf was suitably buzzed.

  “Go on, brave sir knight.” Jelena helped Calaf stumble into their tent. “I’ll be right there.”

  Once Calaf was in, Jelena returned to the fire as it gradually wound down.

  “This fire was made with your bunkmate’s Menu,” Enkidu said with a faint hint of annoyance. “It lasts a set amount of time and then wanes on a schedule. No amount of smoking will rekindle it, not without a new fuel source, but then it’s a different fire altogether.”

  Jelena chuckled. “The System comes with strings attached. Anyway, figured we’d head up north a ways, hit some smaller reliquaries off the path, and then head down around Firefield or the Delta to sell it all. Avoid the usual Arbiter hot spots and we’ll be home free.”

  “That’s quite the haul,” Enkidu grumbled.

  “We’ve got two Menu-compatible members who can carry it for us.” Jelena shrugged. “Praise be the Interface.”

  The last of the fire died down to embers.

  “Hey,” Jelena continued. “If you need anything, say it now. Our newest recruit will be tied up for the rest of the night.”

  Enkidu only scowled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Enkidu rose. “I shall patrol the perimeter.”

  It was what he did every night. Come morning, Jelena and company always found him in his tent, though how much actual sleep Enkidu needed remained ambiguous.

  “As you wish. Can’t imagine getting ambushed this far out.” Jelena moseyed over to the tent. “Still, I’ll try to be quiet.”

  The one-eyed relic thief ducked into the tent for the night.

  They weren’t that quiet.

  Calaf rubbed along his wrists, nuzzled deep in the pair’s shared bunk. Jelena, dashing relic thief (and the Squire’s former bounty), lay nuzzled against his shoulder.

  “Ah.” She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to ground herself. “You, whew~ got something on your mind, dear?”

  “How can you tell?” Calaf let his head rest on a plushy dire-goose pillow.

  “Usually, I have to drop a reminder about how I killed that pryor to get you that worked up.” Jelena closed her eye as her lips curved upwards.

  She often kept the eyepatch on, after retiring to bed but before going to sleep. In truth, Calaf preferred gazing back at her full unobstructed face even with the scarring and the shattered imprint of the System Brand on her clouded pupil. But it felt impolite to pry. Jelena was hardly self-conscious about her scoured Brand; she often let the wound air out sans eyepatch on the trail.

  Losing the Brand though. Even if he were somewhat lapsed and hardly a devout thrice-weekly devotee of the Church of the Menu, Calaf couldn’t help but wince at the thought. He found himself rubbing his arm again. His Brand tingled, a bit below the wrist.

  “You leveled up, didn’t you?” Jelena said, repositioning in preparation for her nightly doze.

  Calaf nodded. “From that Stalwart. Didn’t know the next level was so close.”

  “I could tell. You get this gleam in your eye for an hour or two after leveling up. Think it’s some background experience bonus.”

  The pair lay still for a time. So late was it that not even dire-crickets were chirping. The world outside their warm tent had entered a still, twilight calm.

  “Let’s see. Your level was… forty-seven now?” Jelena guessed. She sleepily reached up to pull her eyepatch off and placed it gently on the bedroll beside her. Still, both eyes were closed.

  “Keeping count?” Calaf stroked along her forehead with a feather touch.

  “Mmm.” She nodded. “Forty-eight.”

  Calaf craned his neck over to look at her. “What was that?”

  “I was level forty-eight. Cleric.”

  Calaf had almost surpassed her. Leveling had slowed since reaching the forties. Each rank from here on out would require ever more experience. Rising the last twenty or so levels to Paladin was not feasible via these early and middle-grade stops on the pilgrimage path alone.

  “Did it hurt?” he asked. “Removing the brand?”

  The only response was a soft snoring. Jelena was asleep. She tended to sprawl out every which way while asleep. But for now, she remained curled up on his shoulder. A faint scar ran just underneath her closed left eye.

  Calaf rested back against the pillow once more. Just on the edge of sleep, he overheard his paramour murmuring in hers.

  “Mmm. Gotta remember to forage. Refresh our supplies of silphium next time we’re around Firefield." Jelena nestled further into the crook of his neck. "Don’t want another scare like last month.”