Morning came with the sound of wheels somewhere far off—slow, tired wheels.
The fog was thin but heavy enough to turn trees into gray ghosts.
Elira tightened the strap across her chest and glanced back at her companions.
"North road keeps flattening," Kael said. "Good sightline, bad cover."
Mira kicked a stone ahead of her boot. "Perfect for something trying to kill us."
They had been walking in silence for an hour when the air broke—
a shout, the crack of steel, then another voice screaming for help.
Mira froze mid-step. "That's close."
Kael tilted his head, listening. "Two hundred meters. Maybe less."
Elira's hand was already on Lumeveil. "We move."
They ran. Mud splashed up their legs as the fog thinned around a bend.
Beyond the ridge lay a small clearing—half carts, half chaos.
Six adventurers fought for their lives against three twisted beasts.
Their hides shone like wet stone; their mouths were too wide, too full of teeth.
"Corrupted beasts," Mira hissed. "Low rank, bad temper."
"Low rank's still lethal," Kael said, tightened the plates on his gauntlets, sparks whispering between his fists.
Elira didn't wait. She charged, the blade flashing pale through mist.
Lumeveil struck the first beast in the neck; light burst, not bright, just enough to sting.
Kael met the second mid-lunge and drove it sideways, boots grinding dirt.
Mira spun both rings on her wrists—one flared red, one blue—and a spiral of flame and frost tore through the third creature's flank.
"Left side open!" Kael shouted.
"I've got it!" Mira answered, sending another flare that froze, then shattered.
The adventurers, shaken but alive, regrouped behind them.
One man—broad shoulders, bandaged arm—called out hoarsely, "Whoever you are—thank you!"
"Don't thank us yet," Mira said. "Still three of them breathing."
They moved together now—Elira's sword drawing the beasts' focus, Kael keeping the flank clear, Mira weaving short bursts of control.
Minutes stretched, hearts hammered. Then silence crashed back.
Three beasts lay still, black mist leaking from the wounds before dissolving into the ground.
Elira wiped her blade clean on a torn cloak. "Everyone in one piece?"
The leader nodded, panting. "Barely. We were scouting for a trade route—didn't think we'd find hell."
Kael knelt beside a fallen wagon wheel, checking the splinters. "They came from the east."
Mira crouched by an injured woman, healing light faint around her palm. "You'll live. Hurts like sin, but live."
The woman laughed once, shaky. "I'll take 'live.'"
Elira looked around—the scattered packs, the overturned crates. "How far's your base?"
"Fornelle," the leader said. "Small village by the hill. Hour's walk if the cart still moves."
Kael checked the axle. "It'll move. Slowly."
"Then we'll help you get there," Elira said simply.
Mira gave her a sideways look. "Volunteering already?"
"Better than leaving them to crawl."
Kael gave a short nod. "We go together."
The road to Fornelle was narrow and brown with late-season dust.
The cart squeaked with every turn; Kael walked beside it, one hand steadying the broken side.
Mira trailed behind, tossing small sparks to keep flies away.
Elira walked at the front, sword sheathed, eyes scanning the road.
"Feels weird," Mira said after a while. "Helping strangers. No mission, no pay."
Kael shrugged. "Feels right."
Elira half-smiled. "Maybe that's what missions were supposed to be before someone started writing reports."
The adventurer leader chuckled weakly from the cart. "If you're not hired, you're better than most we've met."
"Don't spread that rumor," Mira said. "We have reputations to protect."
"Of being what?" Kael asked.
"Difficult," she said.
He didn't argue.
Fornelle appeared near sunset—a scatter of thatched roofs around a well and a few crooked fences.
Children playing by the road froze when they saw the wounded group, then ran to call the adults.
Within minutes, a dozen villagers hurried out—some with blankets, some with water, all with worry.
"You brought them back?" an old man asked, voice breaking. "We thought—"
"They fought," Elira said. "We just made sure the fight ended."
"Then come in. All of you," the man said, waving them toward the square.
They helped the injured to the healer's house—a single-room hut that smelled of herbs and smoke.
Mira checked the splints, Kael refitted a door hinge that refused to close, and somehow, by the time the sky turned violet, the whole village knew their names.
That night, someone lit torches around the square.
Tables appeared, food followed—bread, stew, fruit that wasn't rotten yet.
A musician with a cracked lute played three notes until they started sounding like hope.
Elira sat near the fire, cloak unfastened, feeling warmth that wasn't from combat for once.
Kael leaned against a wall, chewing bread like it was part of training.
Mira joined a group of kids, showing them how to make tiny frost shapes dance above their hands.
One boy gasped. "It's cold!"
"That means it's real," she said, laughing.
The village head raised a cup. "To the travelers who brought our people home!"
Everyone cheered—not loud, but genuine.
Elira felt something unclench in her chest. The sound didn't hurt to hear.
Later, when the crowd thinned and the fire burned low, the three of them sat outside the inn.
The night was clear for once, stars sharp above the roofs.
Mira stretched out her legs. "We helped today. No orders, no gold, just… helped. Feels strange."
Kael looked up at the stars. "Feels clean."
Elira watched the faint smoke from the square drift upward. "Maybe that's what we lost back then—the idea that small things still matter."
Mira smiled tiredly. "Small things like stew and kids with sticky fingers?"
"That's a start," Elira said.
They fell quiet, letting the laughter and faint music carry through the door.
For the first time since the Stair, the silence didn't press on them; it rested.
Tomorrow they'd walk again, north toward the ruins and the shadows waiting by the coast.
But tonight—just tonight—they let themselves belong to a world that still remembered how to celebrate being alive.