A pale dawn broke over Blackstone's eastern gate as the Iron Wolves set out on the road to Silverkeep. The fortress-town's stout walls, still wreathed in morning mist, stood solemnly behind them. Erik adjusted the weight of his pack across his shoulders and cast one last look back at Blackstone. This had been his second life's first true home – where he'd learned camaraderie, battled side by side with friends, and earned a name. Now they were leaving it behind, bound for the capital with grave tidings. Beside him, Lyra pulled her white cloak tighter against the chill, lips moving in a quiet prayer for safe travels. Finn stifled a yawn, fiddling with the buckle on his belt where his daggers hung, while Darius led the way, his tall frame imposing even in the dim light. The wolf's-head emblem on Darius's cloak fluttered gently in a cold breeze. Though none spoke it aloud, each understood this journey could change their lives – and perhaps the fate of many others – forever.
At the gate, a small send-off had gathered despite the early hour. Guildmaster Marienne was not present (she had given her farewells the night before), but Zara and Holt were there, leaning against a cart as they waited. Zara, the spear-wielder who had fought with them at Graystone, stepped forward first. Her usual tough demeanor softened for once as she offered Darius a respectful arm clasp. "Travel safe, Iron Wolves," she said. "Give Silverkeep a piece of our minds about what's been stirring out here." Holt, arms crossed over his broad chest, gave Erik a nod. "And don't go hogging all the glory in the capital," he rumbled with a grin beneath his bushy beard. "We expect a good tale when you return." Despite the jest, Erik heard the concern under Holt's jovial tone. News of the undead attack and the ominous cult journal had spread quickly; those remaining in Blackstone knew something big was brewing.
Lyra stepped forward to hug Zara, and the taller woman returned it with a couple of firm pats on the back. "Watch over them," Zara murmured quietly, meant for Lyra alone but audible in the hush. Lyra nodded against Zara's shoulder. "By the Light, I will." Meanwhile, Holt surprised Finn by pulling him into a one-armed bear hug. "Don't die out there, you lucky scamp," Holt said gruffly. Finn laughed nervously, muffled against Holt's fur-lined vest. "Wouldn't dream of it," he managed. When Holt released him, Finn swayed theatrically and checked his ribs for cracks, earning a chuckle from Erik.
Erik himself received a firm handshake from Holt and an encouraging slap on the shoulder. The blacksmith-mercenary lowered his voice. "Keep that axe in line, eh? Bring it back with more heroics." Erik tightened his grip on Erythrael's haft where it protruded over his shoulder. "I'll do my best. Thanks for everything, Holt." They had only known each other briefly, but adversity forged fast friendships. Finally, Darius exchanged salutes with both Zara and Holt. No words were needed between seasoned warriors; a shared glance conveyed respect and hope to meet again.
With that, the send-off ended. The four companions passed under the stone arch of Blackstone's gate and began their journey. A pair of town guards raised their pikes in farewell, and one called, "Good luck, Iron Wolves!" Their voices echoed slightly in the crisp air. Then the road opened up ahead – a winding ribbon of dirt and gravel leading eastward through rolling plains and sparse woodland, with the far-off promise of the capital somewhere beyond the horizon.
They walked in comfortable silence for a time, the only sounds the crunch of their boots and the creak of leather straps. A thin frost clung to the grass by the roadside, sparkling as the sun slowly inched upward. Erik drew a deep breath of the morning air, smelling dew and distant woodsmoke from the awakening town behind them. Despite the weight of their mission, a small thrill stirred in him. This was the farthest he'd traveled in this world so far – beyond the familiar outskirts of Blackstone into true unknowns. Adventure. The part of him that had grown up reading fantasy novels felt a familiar excitement, even as the pragmatic side reminded him this was no game.
By mid-morning, they'd covered several miles. Blackstone was long out of sight, and the countryside unfolded in gentle hills and patchy forests. Darius kept them at an efficient march, setting a pace that ate ground steadily without exhausting everyone. The road here was little more than a well-trodden path; wagon ruts and old hoofprints hardened in the mud spoke of occasional traders or patrols, but they encountered no other travelers yet. As the sun climbed higher, a light drizzle began to fall – a curtain of fine, cold rain that slicked the road and forced them to don their cloaks.
"Lovely weather to start an expedition," Finn quipped, flipping up the hood of his green cloak. Water dripped off the point of his hood as he peered out. "Truly, I feel blessed." He glanced at Lyra, who walked beside him. "Did you, by chance, pray for rain this morning, Sister?" His tone was light, but Erik didn't miss the subtle shiver in Finn's shoulders. The autumn rain carried a chill.
Lyra's hood had already darkened with moisture, but she managed a small smile. "Rain is a blessing in its own way, watering the earth… though I admit, I might have hoped any blessings held off until we had a roof over our heads." She tugged her cloak tighter and extended her staff to Finn. "Here, use this if the mud gets too slippery."
Finn accepted the offered staff with a flourish. "Ah, my thanks. If I slip and break my neck, who would keep morale up with witty commentary?" He used the staff to poke at a puddle ahead, testing its depth theatrically. Sure enough, beneath the humor, there was truth: Finn's boots were thinner than the others', more suited to city streets or dungeons than long muddy treks, and Lyra's staff gave him extra support on the uneven ground.
Darius glanced back at them, rainwater beading on the shoulders of his heavy cloak. "Stay alert," he advised, not unkindly. "Roads like these can hide ruts and holes. A twisted ankle out here would do us no favors." As their leader, he maintained a watchful eye on both surroundings and his companions' condition. Despite the weather, Darius's vigilance never wavered – his right hand remained near the hilt of his longsword, eyes scanning the treeline whenever the road skirted patches of woods.
They pressed on through the dreary morning. By noon, the drizzle had stopped, but the sky remained overcast. The road led them through a sparsely wooded area, skeletal branches rattling in a brisk wind. Darius eventually called a brief halt in a relatively dry clearing beneath a cluster of oak trees. Everyone welcomed the chance to rest their legs and take a quick meal. They had procured some travel rations from Blackstone's stores – dried meat, hard cheese, and dense oat biscuits that were unappetizing but filling.
Erik chewed a strip of salted pork thoughtfully while surveying the terrain around them. The land had slowly begun to rise and fall in gentle slopes; they were approaching the foothills that eventually led to the interior plains where Silverkeep lay. According to the maps Darius studied back at the guild, the King's Road would merge with their path in a few days' time – a larger highway coming up from southern towns that eventually went all the way to the capital. For now, however, they were still traversing backcountry.
Lyra refilled waterskins from a clear brook nearby, using a piece of clean cloth as a filter and murmuring a soft blessing to purify the water. She handed the refreshed skins around. "We should be careful not to push too hard the first few days," she advised as the group sat in a rough circle. "Our bodies need to adjust to the long journey." She gave Darius a pointed look, knowing his tendency to prioritize the mission over personal comfort.
Darius nodded, relenting. "Agreed. We'll do another few hours and then find a good spot to camp for the night. No sense running ourselves ragged on day one." He stretched his legs out with a faint wince; even a veteran knight wasn't immune to sore muscles from long marches. His concession to Lyra's wisdom earned a small, satisfied smile from the cleric.
Finn, lounging back against his pack, let out a dramatic sigh. "A campfire and a hot stew already sound like paradise," he said, nibbling on his biscuit. "Maybe if we're lucky, we'll stumble on a nice inn at a crossroads, with soft beds and a barkeep who insists on giving charming rogues free ale?"
They finished their simple lunch and continued on. Over the afternoon, clouds gradually thinned, and shafts of sunlight pierced through. Steam rose from damp earth as it warmed, and the smell of petrichor – that earthy scent after rain – lingered in the air. Finn began whistling an old marching tune to break the monotony, and Lyra hummed along softly. Even Darius allowed himself to hum a few low bars when he thought no one was listening. The music lifted their spirits, helping the miles pass.
Throughout the day, Erik noticed Darius periodically consult a small strip of parchment – likely a rough map drawn from memory or copied from the guild's charts. Each time, Darius would check their surroundings, perhaps comparing a distant hill or bend in a stream to the landmarks on the map. As late afternoon arrived, the knight guided them off the road to a sheltered hollow where a stand of cedar trees offered natural windbreak. "We'll make camp here," Darius announced. The site was slightly elevated and dry, with plenty of fallen branches nearby to use for a fire.
Relieved to stop, the party fell into their well-practiced routine. Finn and Erik gathered firewood, Lyra cleared a space and began setting a small circle of stones for the fire, and Darius saw to the positioning of bedrolls and the perimeter. Soon, they had a modest fire crackling. Twilight settled in, painting the sky in streaks of purple and deep blue. After the damp chill of the day, the warmth and light of the flames felt especially cozy.
Lyra busied herself over a cookpot, mixing some dried lentils and vegetables with bits of jerky in water to make a hearty stew. The aroma of simmering broth wafted through the camp, making all their stomachs rumble. Erik fed the fire a few more sticks and then sat back on a log, relaxing for the first time since morning. He took this quiet moment to reflect on their mission and the path ahead. A faint unease coiled in his gut that he couldn't quite pinpoint. Perhaps it was simply the enormity of what they were doing: carrying evidence of a possible "Ascendant of the Abyss" straight to the King's Council. Or perhaps it was something more…
As he mused, Erik's hand absently went to the breast pocket of his tunic, feeling the outline of a folded parchment tucked safely within. It was the royal decree and letter of introduction from Governor Seraphine – their key to gaining audience in Silverkeep. The weight of responsibility settled on him again. He glanced across the fire to Lyra. She sat stirring the pot, her face serene in the firelight, but her eyes were distant. She must be thinking of the journal in her pack, Erik realized. Even when resting, none of them could fully escape the gravity of what they carried.
Finn plopped down next to Erik, interrupting his thoughts. The rogue poked at the flames with a long stick, sending a swarm of glowing embers dancing upward. "Quiet night," Finn remarked under his breath. Indeed, apart from the crackle of fire and the chorus of crickets awakening in the grass, the world was still. "Almost too quiet," he added dramatically, clearly unable to resist. Erik smirked and elbowed him lightly. "Don't jinx it."
"Who, me?" Finn placed a hand on his chest in mock innocence. "Perish the thought. I'm a lucky charm, I'll have you know. Ask Lyra." He raised his voice slightly. "Hey Lyra, aren't I a blessing to have around?"
Lyra looked up, catching the tail end of the conversation. She responded with a patient smile. "Of course, Finn. Who else would provide us endless opportunities to practice patience and forgiveness?" Her tone was as sweet as honey, causing Darius – who had been inspecting the straps of his armor – to bark out an amused laugh.
Finn clutched his heart theatrically as Erik and Lyra chuckled. "I am wounded," he declared. "Truly, I slave over keeping morale afloat and this is the thanks I, "
He was cut off by a loud gurgle from the cookpot. Lyra quickly lifted it off the flame with a folded cloth. "Dinner's ready," she announced. The teasing gave way to eager gratitude as Finn hurried to fetch the wooden bowls.
They ate under the emerging stars, sharing small talk that danced around lighter subjects – memories of simpler jobs, like the time Finn's gambling nearly got them thrown out of a border town, or Lyra recalling a humorous hymn her orphanage caretakers used to sing off-key. The laughter felt good. It felt normal. Yet beneath it, Erik sensed everyone's underlying tension. Each giggle or jest was a conscious choice to focus on camaraderie instead of the uncertain road ahead.
After dinner, Darius banked the fire to a low, steady burn. "I'll take first watch," he volunteered at once, as he usually did. But Erik shook his head. "I can do first watch. You've led us all day; get some rest." Darius opened his mouth, likely to insist it was no trouble, but then closed it and gave a short nod. Perhaps he, too, felt the fatigue more than usual. "Alright. I'll take second watch then. Finn can do third, and Lyra fourth near dawn." They rotated watches as a habit, and though Lyra needed her rest for spellcasting, she always insisted on doing a short dawn watch while she performed her morning prayers regardless.
With the schedule set, Lyra rolled out her bedroll near the dying fire and offered a final cup of warm tea to Erik to help him stay alert through his watch. She steeped a bit of mint and something from her herb pouch in hot water. The resulting brew was bitter, but it cleared the heaviness from Erik's limbs. "Thank you, Lyra," he said quietly as she settled into her blankets. She simply smiled in response, eyes already drooping with weariness. Within minutes, Lyra and Finn were asleep, Finn snoring softly under his woolen blanket. Darius sat on his bedroll, polishing his sword by firelight – an old ritual of his before sleep. He gave Erik a long once-over as Erik stood and adjusted his own cloak for warmth on watch. "Call out if you notice anything," the knight reminded softly.
Erik nodded. "I will." He took up a post a few paces from camp, on a small rise just beyond the circle of firelight. From here he could see down the road they'd come by, now just a pale ribbon in the darkness, and also had a view of the open fields on the other side of their camp. The silhouettes of trees and hillocks could be made out under the starry sky. Thankfully, the earlier clouds had cleared, leaving half a moon to cast a gentle glow.