Chapter 74: A World Unbroken

  The rhythmic clatter of wooden wheels over cobblestone seeped into the dark, pulling Aeor slowly from sleep.

  He awoke to a city already in motion. The warmth of the rising sun settled over his skin before he even opened his eyes. Instinctively, he raised a hand to shield his face from the morning glare, only for his knuckles to brush the cold, hard rims of the smoked glasses Kalvaxus had given him. He lowered his arm, finally opening his eyes. The dark, tinted lenses spared him the light, casting the world in a muted, shadowed hue as his vision adjusted.

  He hadn't realized when he had drifted off, but he was still sitting on the same wooden bench overlooking the crescent harbor.

  Sar'Vareth breathed around him, entirely ignorant of the apocalypse he carried in his memories. Humans and orcs moved past with routine purpose, their voices blending into a comfortable, low hum. Vendors wheeled their heavy carts toward the markets, the faint scent of spiced flatbread trailing behind them, while down by the water, fishermen called out to one another, untying heavy rigging ropes for the morning catch. Even the gulls wheeling overhead seemed entirely lost in the mundane, unbroken rhythm of the city.

  Aeor watched them, the heavy silence of his own mind pressing against the bustling noise.

  The only thought that settled in his mind was how agonizingly peaceful it all seemed.

  His heavy reverie was broken by a soft, insistent pressure against his knuckles. Something warm and furred brushed his hand.

  Aeor turned his head, his breath catching in his throat.

  Sitting perfectly still on the marble slats beside him was a painfully familiar figure.

  Baron.

  Disbelief rooted him in place for a second before his hands moved on their own. He scooped the Dusktail up in a swift, sudden motion, holding her at eye level to inspect her. Baron didn't so much as flinch. On the contrary, she looked entirely unbothered by the abrupt handling, her long tail swaying lazily in the morning air.

  But it wasn't just her familiar presence that caught his breath. It was what rested around her neck.

  A slender collar worked in soft leather, etched with a sun-mark and fitted with a small bronze charm.

  Aeor stared at it. It was the exact collar Zoey had bought for her in the Inner Ring of Sar'Vareth. This wasn't just a Dusktail from this timeline. It was Baron.

  "What is your deal?" Aeor whispered, his voice laced with a heavy, bewildered awe.

  How is she here? Did Kalvaxus somehow managed this, or is this something else entirely?

  Baron offered no answers. Instead, she stretched her neck and let out a wide, dismissive yawn, flashing a row of tiny, needle-sharp fangs.

  "Can you at least nod if you understand me?" Aeor pleaded.

  A soft, reedy giggle broke his focus. Aeor snapped his head around. An elderly woman carrying a basket of woven reeds was walking past the bench, watching his interrogation of the small animal with deep amusement.

  Heat prickled at the back of Aeor's neck. Feeling a sudden flush of embarrassment, he cleared his throat, turned away, and gently set Baron back down on the bench.

  He barely had time to withdraw his hands before the Dusktail launched herself upward in a fluid blur, landing squarely on his shoulder. She circled once, kneading her paws into the thick fabric of his tunic, and settled in.

  Aeor let out a long, defeated sigh, but a tiny fraction of the crushing weight on his chest lifted.

  "I suppose you are tagging along, then," he murmured, reaching up to gently scratch behind her ears. Baron leaned into the touch, a low purr vibrating against his collarbone.

  Aeor gathered his bag and slung the heavy, wrapped shape of his Lance across his back. He had barely taken a step when a sharp, savory aroma cut through the morning air.

  Spiced meat sizzling over hot coals.

  His stomach clenched in immediate response, a hollow, aching pang that reminded him just how long it had been since he had eaten a real meal. Aeor glanced toward the eastern horizon. The first bright sliver of the sun was already breaching the rooftops.

  Kalvaxus did say sunrise, he thought.

  His gaze drifted from the sun to a small wooden cart parked near the edge of the plaza, smoke curling lazily from its grill.

  A few minutes won't hurt. He can wait.

  Yielding to his mortal limits, Aeor changed direction and approached the cart, Baron shifting comfortably on his shoulder to catch the scent.

  "Two, please," Aeor said.

  The vendor, a burly human lost in the practiced rhythm of his work, gave a brisk nod. He flipped a row of skewers, sending a brief hiss of fat and smoke into the air, before looking up. His eyes flicked over Aeor's heavily tinted glasses and the massive cloth-wrapped weapon strapped to his back.

  "You look ready for a war," the vendor said, a good-natured, amused chuckle rumbling in his chest.

  Aeor offered a faint, dry smile. The bitter irony of the statement wasn't lost on him. "Not exactly," he replied softly.

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  "Passing through, then?" the vendor asked. "Can't say I've seen you around Sar'Vareth before. The glasses tend to stand out."

  "Just a brief stop," Aeor said, "I'm heading toward Thar'Ezun."

  The vendor paused, his hand hovering over the grill as he raised a thick eyebrow.

  For a second, Aeor stared back, confused by the sudden shift in demeanor. Then the reality of his current timeline caught up to him. He was in Sar'Vareth, a city fiercely loyal to Princess Serenya. Thar'Ezun was under the governance of Sovereign Vaireth. Right now, in this reality, their factions were locked in a bitter conflict. Casually mentioning travel to the enemy's territory was an easy way to invite suspicion.

  "Well, not Thar'Ezun exactly," Aeor amended smoothly. "I am heading near the Vaelkar range, keeping strictly to the Princess's borders."

  The vendor's expression remained skeptical, his gaze narrowing slightly.

  "A pilgrimage," Aeor added, leaning into the reverence he knew anchored this world. "My parents always wanted me to visit the sacred lands at least once."

  The suspicion bled from the vendor's face, softening into something older and heavier. He shifted his gaze back to the hot coals, turning the meat with a slower, more deliberate rhythm.

  "It is a breathtaking place, Vaelkarreth," the vendor murmured, a note of deep longing in his rough voice. "I have never felt closer to the warmth of Sol than I did walking those lands. But tread carefully. The lands there are unforgiving, and the border patrols are restless."

  "You have been there before?" Aeor asked.

  The vendor nodded. "Every cycle, like most of us did before the dispute over the ascension tore us apart. Now, all I carry are the memories." He lifted the two steaming skewers from the grill, wrapping them in thick paper before holding them out to Aeor. "I pray a day will come when we can all visit again, unshackled by our allegiances."

  A sharp ache settled in Aeor's chest. The man was hoping for a peaceful future that Aeor knew might never arrive.

  "I am sure that day will come," Aeor lied softly, offering a warm smile as he reached for his pouch. "How much do I owe you?"

  The vendor simply shook his head and pushed Aeor's hand away. "I cannot accept payment from someone walking a pilgrimage. Aiding those on a sacred journey is the least we can do."

  "Are you certain?" Aeor asked.

  The vendor nodded with finality. "May your flame endure."

  Aeor took the wrapped food, the heat of it seeping into his palms. "And may your light be remembered."

  With a final nod to the vendor, Aeor turned away, eating the spiced meat as he navigated the winding streets toward the outer gates.

  He had lived in Sar'Vareth, walked these very avenues, and fought alongside its people. Yet, stepping through the pristine morning light, it felt like a completely different city. The desperate, heavy air he remembered was gone, replaced by the blissful, agonizing ignorance of routine.

  By the time the massive stone arch of the outer gates came into view, the morning traffic had already gathered. Trading wagons rattled over the cobblestones, merchants raising their voices to sort out their entry logs. The guards stood by with bored expressions, their morning unbroken by any real threat. Having already rehearsed his story, Aeor navigated their questions with ease. He offered the same simple pilgrimage excuse he had used at the food cart, and they waved him through without a second glance.

  Beyond the city walls, the coastal plains opened up beneath the clear sky. Aeor scanned the area and spotted a wooden wagon parked beneath the sprawling shade of an old tree. Harnessed to it was a massive equine creature, though it bore little resemblance to the horses of his home world. Its coat looked less like fur and flesh and more like smoothed, dark stone, standing with a silent, imposing stillness.

  Resting in the back of the wagon, with his eyes closed and his hands folded behind his head, was Kalvaxus. The ancient prince looked entirely at peace, lacking even a fraction of urgency.

  As Aeor approached the wagon, his curiosity drifted to the stone-coated beast. He focused his vision and called upon Threadgaze, expecting the familiar, cold whisper of the Archives to categorize the creature.

  Nothing answered. The air remained completely silent.

  Aeor frowned. It was a brief, jarring anomaly. His Essence and his traits had worked perfectly since he woke up, but the Archives simply refused to acknowledge the beast. Knowing he would not get an answer just by staring at it, he let the thought slide and closed the remaining distance.

  "You seem rather relaxed," Aeor said, stopping beside the wooden wheel, "considering what we are supposed to do."

  Kalvaxus cracked one golden eye open, the corner of his mouth tipping into a lazy smirk.

  "Bold words from someone who was supposed to be here at sunrise," Kalvaxus said.

  "I lost track of time," Aeor replied quietly, adjusting his lance.

  Kalvaxus let out a slow sigh and sat upright, the wooden boards of the wagon creaking as he stretched his neck and shoulders.

  Aeor shifted his gaze to the heavy, wingless beast harnessed to the front. "Are we not traveling by air?"

  "Not initially," Kalvaxus replied, brushing a speck of dust from his pristine vest. "We are heading to a minor settlement about a day and a half from here. Once there, we will secure passage with a crew of smugglers who deal in aerial transport."

  "Smugglers?" Aeor asked, his brow furrowing. "That is your grand strategy?"

  "It is either this, or we carve a bloody path through every border patrol between here and Vaelkarreth."

  "Forget I asked," Aeor muttered, climbing up and settling onto the wooden bench opposite the ancient prince.

  As Aeor shifted, Baron adjusted her grip on his shoulder, letting out a soft, inquisitive chirr. Kalvaxus paused, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the small creature.

  "Is this Dusktail accompanying us?" Kalvaxus asked.

  Aeor glanced at Baron, then back at Kalvaxus. "I think so," Aeor replied, his voice dropping. "Do you not know who she is?"

  For the first time since they had met, Kalvaxus looked genuinely caught off guard. His brow furrowed in mild confusion. "I do not. Should I?"

  Aeor stared at the ancient prince. If Kalvaxus had not pulled Baron across reality, then what did?

  "I will explain on the way," Aeor said, leaning back against the wooden frame of the wagon. "It is a long story."

  The journey stretched across the next day and a half, carried by the tireless, rhythmic strides of the stone-coated beast. It pulled the heavy wooden wagon along impeccably maintained trade routes, the wheels rattling a steady, grounding cadence against the ground.

  As they traveled further from the coast, the landscape unfolded in a display of beauty. They climbed over long, sweeping ridges and crested vibrant green hills that dipped into sprawling valleys. Rows of lush vineyards clung to the terraced slopes, their leaves bright and heavy with fruit. Beyond them lay golden fields of wheat, swaying gently beneath the clear, unbroken light of Sol.

  Aeor watched farmers tending their crops and merchants guiding their loaded carts, their faces entirely unburdened.

  Kalvaxus also seemed entirely at ease. He took the reins when necessary but spent most of the journey lounging in the back of the wagon. His golden eyes watched the passing vineyards and golden fields with a detached appreciation.

  After their initial talks regarding Baron and some nuances of the Aspects, they spoke little during the long stretch of the road. The silence between them was filled only by the wind and the steady turning of the wagon wheels.

  By the eve of the following day, the stone-coated beast crested a long, gently sloping hill. The steady rattle of the wagon wheels slowed to a halt as the landscape opened up before them.

  Nestled in the sprawling valley below lay a bustling settlement, standing against the darkening sky like a soft, golden beacon.

  It was not a rigid fortress like Aurel'Tharan, nor a sprawling capital like Sar'Vareth. It was a place of vibrant, rustic warmth. A low stone wall encircled the city's heart, anchoring a dense network of pale stone buildings and heavy timber halls, but its life spilled far beyond those modest borders. A sea of colorful pavilions and merchant tents dotted the surrounding meadows, their canvases snapping faintly in the evening breeze.

  Strings of amber lanterns were draped between the rooftops and the temporary camps, casting a rich, honeyed glow over the entire valley. Even from the top of the hill, the faint, rhythmic pulse of music and the overlapping hum of a lively celebration drifted up to meet them on the cool night wind.

  Aeor looked toward Kalvaxus, his gaze shifting from the distant lights.

  "Do the people of this world ever stop celebrating and conducting rituals?" Aeor asked.

  Kalvaxus just shrugged. "Rarely."

  He gave the reins a light flick, and the wagon rolled towards the heart of the settlement.

  The streets were a vibrant tangle of motion. Performers wore ribbons of brightly colored fabrics, drawing loud cheers from the gathered crowds. Merchants called out over the din, selling spiced wine and roasted meats from open stalls. Laughter spilled from every corner, warm and entirely careless.

  Eventually, Kalvaxus steered them toward a sprawling, heavy-timbered building near the edge of the festival grounds. Dozens of wagons and supply carts were already parked outside, their beasts resting at long wooden troughs. A cacophony of stomping feet, shouted choruses, and the frantic, driving rhythm of stringed instruments bled straight through the thick walls of the tavern.

  They dismounted in silence. Kalvaxus secured the reins to a sturdy post and led the way to the heavy double doors, pushing them open.

  The interior was a sprawling, chaotic cavern of bodies and spilled ale. Long wooden tables had been shoved together to accommodate the sheer mass of patrons. Mercenaries, merchants, and locals stood shoulder to shoulder, slamming sloshing tankards against the wood as they roared along to a bawdy, off-key song. In the corner, a trio of musicians played with frantic energy, their instruments nearly drowned out by the sheer volume of the stomping crowd. The air was thick with the smell of roasting fat, spilled drinks, and dense pipe smoke. It was loud, rowdy, and unapologetically alive.

  Aeor leaned closer to Kalvaxus, forcing his voice over the roar of the tavern.

  "What does this smuggler look like again?" Aeor asked. "He is an orc, right?"

  Kalvaxus did not reply immediately. His golden eyes swept slowly over the chaotic, half-drunk crowd, searching the dense press of bodies until they locked onto the center of the room, where the music was loudest.

  "Like him," Kalvaxus said, pointing casually toward a figure in the thick of the celebration.

  Aeor followed the gesture.

  He had only known the man for a brief, violent window of time. Yet the memory of his grief-shattered face was burned permanently into Aeor's mind.

  But the orc before him was not grieving. He was in the middle of a lively, stomping dance, a heavy wooden tankard sloshing in his grip as he threw his head back in a booming, carefree laugh, entirely ignorant of the tragedy that had once broken him.

  Gurz.

  Chapter 75 releases Monday at 6 PM EST.

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