The caravan rumbles onward, the road to Southbrook stretching flat and dusty under the midday sun.
Ren is curled on the roof, his scales blending perfectly with the shadowed canvas—so well that even the sharp-eyed Sneider never glances twice at the lumpy "bundle of cloth" that never shifts.
At his current size, he's far too heavy for Hannah's shoulder, and the roof is the perfect hidden roost.
Hannah walks beside the cart, her boots kicking up small clouds of dirt, her eyes never straying far from the roof where her secret companion lies.
It's not until Garp pulls over for a lunch stop that Toby's eyes flutter open.
He groans, propping himself up on one elbow, and winces at the throb in his skull. Sneider, unpacking a bag of dried fruit, glances over and smirks.
"Well, look who's finally awake. Cinderella's out of her coma. Need a kiss to break the spell?"
Toby's face flushes red, but he doesn't snap back—he just stares at his scuffed boots, his voice quiet and guilty.
"I'm sorry. I was on watch, and… something hit me from behind. I didn't even see it. One second I was staring at the trees, the next everything went black."
Suzy, stirring a pot of stew over a small fire, claps him on the shoulder hard enough to make him yelp.
"Don't beat yourself up, kid. Orcs are sneaky bastards. You didn't stand a chance."
Garp leans in, his beard wagging with theatrical excitement, and slams a fist on the cart.
"Sneaky? They were cowards! Thirty-six of 'em, circling the camp like vultures! And your friend Hannah here? She was a blur—dagger flashing, moving faster than a fox! Took down half the horde by herself! Never seen anything like it—one minute an orc's lunging at her, the next it's screaming and clutching its eyes like it got mauled by a wild animal!"
He pauses, grinning. "Saved your sorry hide, that girl did!"
Toby turns to Hannah, his eyes wide with gratitude.
He pushes himself up, ignoring the ache in his ribs, and stumbles over to her, holding out a shaky hand.
"Thank you. Really. If you hadn't chased after those orcs… I don't know what would've happened."
Hannah nods, shaking his hand—her grip is firm, surprising for someone so small.
She thinks of Ren, diving at orc eyes and singeing their hair with tiny fire bursts, and her lips twitch. "You would've done the same."
Sneider snorts, tossing a dried apple to Toby.
"Debatable. But whatever—glad you're not dead. Less paperwork for the guild." He pauses, then mumbles, quieter,
"Sorry about the Cinderella joke. Wasn't cool."
Toby smiles, biting into the apple. "It's fine. I deserved it."
For the rest of the afternoon, Toby doesn't push himself.
He sits on the cart, helping Garp count spices or mend the canvas roof, his sword still strapped to his hip but his movements slow and careful.
The others don't mind—they can see the tiredness in his eyes, the way he winces when he laughs too hard.
Hannah keeps an eye on him, though she doesn't say anything; she knows what it's like to feel useless, to want to prove yourself but not have the strength.
Ren stays hidden on the roof, his red eyes peeking out only when he thinks no one is looking.
By late afternoon, the trees thin out, and the Southbrook River comes into view—a wide, churning ribbon of blue, its current fast and frothy.
A rickety wooden bridge spans the water, its planks warped and splintered, its ropes frayed with age.
"Only way across," Garp says, frowning.
"Usually it's quiet here—bandits don't bother with the bridge, too easy to spot. But after the orcs… who knows?"
Suzy hefts her hammer, her knuckles cracking.
"We'll be fine. I'll smash anything that comes near."
Sneider nods, slinging his bow over his shoulder.
"I'll climb to the top of the cart once we're halfway. Cover you both."
Hannah's hand rests on her dagger hilt.
A quiet voice echoes in her head, sharp and urgent: Monsters. Lots of them. Hiding in the trees. Ren's warning makes her jaw tighten.
"Garp—hurry. Get the cart across as fast as you can."
Garp doesn't need to be told twice.
He cracks the whip, and the horses pull the cart onto the bridge, the planks creaking under their weight.
Hannah and Suzy fall back, walking on either side of the cart, their eyes scanning the treeline.
Sneider climbs to the roof—his boot inches from Ren's hidden body—and nocks an arrow, while Toby grips his sword, his knuckles white.
Halfway across the bridge, the monsters attack.
They pour out of the trees—goblins, dozens of them, their green skin glowing in the sunlight, their swords and clubs raised.
They screech, charging the bridge, their feet thudding against the planks.
"SUZY!" Hannah shouts.
Suzy roars, swinging her hammer in a wide arc.
The metal connects with a goblin's skull, and the creature goes flying, its body hitting the water with a splash.
She swings again, and again, each blow sending a goblin sprawling. Her movements are brutal, efficient—no wasted energy, no hesitation.
She's not just fighting; she's protecting, and it shows.
Sneider's arrows fly, each one hitting a goblin square in the chest.
He doesn't miss a shot, his hands steady, his eyes locked on his targets. "Hannah—left!" he yells.
Hannah spins, her dagger sinking into a goblin's throat.
The creature gurgles, collapsing, and she yanks her blade free, ducking under another's club.
A goblin lunges at her from behind, and Hannah dodges—just in time, as a pair of invisible claws rakes the goblin's face.
The creature screams, stumbling backward, and falls off the bridge.
Ren is working silently, his attacks invisible, his presence only known to Hannah.
Faster, he hisses in her head. Hit harder.
Hannah growls, slicing through a goblin's arm.
The creature howls, dropping its sword, and she kicks it off the bridge.
But the goblins keep coming—more and more, pouring out of the trees like ants. The bridge creaks under their weight, and Hannah's heart sinks.
They can't keep this up forever.
"SUZY—GET TO THE CART!" she shouts.
"I'LL HOLD THEM OFF!"
Suzy's eyes widen. "Hannah—no!"
"GO!"
Suzy hesitates, then nods.
She swings her hammer one last time, taking down three goblins in a single blow, then turns and runs for the cart, her boots thudding against the planks.
The cart is almost to the other side, Garp yelling at the horses, Toby clinging to the edge. Sneider fires one last arrow, then climbs down, helping Suzy pull the cart the rest of the way.
Hannah is alone on the bridge, surrounded by goblins.
They snarl, closing in, their swords glinting. Ren's voice is sharp in her head: What are you doing?
Hannah's eyes lock on the ropes holding the bridge up—thick, frayed, but still strong enough to hold the weight of the cart.
She grins, a wild, desperate thing. "Something crazy."
She runs, her boots sliding on the wet planks, and leaps onto the railing.
The goblins shout, charging after her, but she's faster.
She grabs her dagger, and with all her strength, she slashes at the rope on her left. The frayed fibers snap, and the bridge lurches, tilting to the right.
The goblins scream, stumbling backward, and Hannah slashes at the rope on her right.
The rope snaps.
The bridge collapses, one side dropping into the river with a deafening crash.
The goblins on the bridge fall, their screams echoing as they hit the fast current.
The ones on the shore howl in rage, pounding their clubs against the ground, but they can't cross—the river is too wide, too fast.
Hannah is dangling from the edge of the remaining half of the bridge, her fingers wrapped around a splintered plank.
The river rushes below her, its current pulling at her legs.
She gasps, her muscles burning, and looks up—only to see Suzy leaning over the edge, her hand outstretched.
"GRAB ON!" Suzy yells.
Hannah reaches up, and Suzy's huge hand wraps around her wrist.
Suzy heaves, her muscles bulging, and pulls Hannah up onto the solid ground of the Southbrook side.
Hannah collapses, gasping for breath, while Ren—silent and unseen—flies down and curls in her lap, his body warm and heavy under her cloak.
No one notices the slight bulge, no one asks questions.
"You're insane," Suzy says, grinning.
She offers Hannah a hand, and Hannah takes it, pulling herself up.
"Worked, didn't it?" Hannah says.
Suzy laughs, clapping her on the back. "Yeah. It worked."
Garp is staring at the collapsed bridge, his mouth hanging open. "You… you cut the bridge?!"
Hannah shrugs. "Had to. They would've followed us."
The group makes their way into Southbrook, a small, quiet town with cobblestone streets and thatched-roof houses.
The locals stare as they pass—at Suzy's hammer, at Sneider's bow, at Hannah's dirt-streaked face—but no one says anything.
They head straight for the adventurer's guild, a stone building with a sign shaped like a sword hanging over the door.
The guild master, a burly man with a scar across his face, listens to their story, his expression grim.
He writes down their report, his quill scratching furiously on the paper.
"The safe route's been compromised," he says.
"We'll send a team of A-rank adventurers to inspect the area tomorrow. The bridge will be fixed in a week—if not sooner."
He hands Garp a seal, stamped with the guild's crest.
"Mission complete. Payment will be sent to your account by the end of the day."
Garp nods, tucking the seal into his pocket.
"Thanks. We appreciate it."
The group spends the night at a small inn near the guild, their rooms paid for by Garp.
They eat a warm meal of stew and bread, and by the time they go to bed, everyone is exhausted.
Hannah falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow, Ren curled in her lap, his purrs lulling her to sleep.
No one else knows he's there.
The next morning, they report to the guild again, confirming the details of their mission.
After that, the group splits up—Suzy and Sneider decide to head back to Ironhold, eager to take on new missions; Toby is staying in Southbrook to visit a healer for his head wound; Garp is staying to sell his spices.
Hannah decides to stay.
Garp insists on paying for a week's stay at the inn, pressing a pouch of gold into her hand.
"For saving my caravan," he says. "And for saving Toby. You've earned it."
Hannah thanks him, tucking the gold into her belt.
She spends the next few days wandering Southbrook, talking to the locals, asking questions about noble families.
She's looking for information about her old pendant—a small, silver thing with a blue stone, given to her by her mother before she died.
She doesn't tell anyone who she is, just says she's researching her family history.
It takes three days, and fifty gold pieces, but she finally finds what she's looking for.
An old bookseller, his hair white as snow, pulls a dusty tome from his shelf and flips to a page marked with a ribbon.
"Duke Gorthmorde," he says, pointing to a family tree.
"Famous for producing saintesses and archmages. The last duke—Steveheim Gorthmorde—had two daughters: Beatrice and Bella. Beatrice married Count Bennington. Bella was a fragile child, loved by everyone. The duke was going to adopt his best apprentice as his son to continue the lineage—since he had no boys."
Hannah's blood runs cold.
Beatrice. Her mother's name was Beatrice.
She thanks the bookseller, tucking the tome under her arm, and walks back to her inn.
She sits on her bed, staring at the pendant, and thinks of her mother—of the way she used to sing to her, of the way she used to tuck the pendant into her dress and say, This will keep you safe.
She thinks of the count's manor, of her stepmother Stephanie's cruel words, of her stepsiblings Kael and Layla's fists, of her father William's cold indifference.
Eleven years.
Eleven years of being a slave, of being starved and beaten and ignored.
Ren curls in her lap, his camouflage gone—visible only to her.
He nuzzles her hand, his voice soft in her head. Tell me.
Hannah tells him.
She tells him everything—the way Stephanie would lock her in the cellar for days, the way Kael and Layla would throw rocks at her, the way William would pretend he didn't hear her cries for help.
She tells him about the servant who tried to help her, only to be fired the next day.
She tells him about the night she ran away, about the way she'd walked for days, cold and hungry, until she'd found Ren in that cave.
Ren listens, his red eyes darkening with disgust.
Humans, he snarls. They are cruel. Stupid. Pathetic.
He nuzzles her neck, his body warm against hers. You are different. You are kind. You are strong. He pulls back, his eyes bright with determination.
I will take care of you. Better.
Hannah smiles, wiping a tear from her eye. "How?"
Ren grins, a sharp, dragonish thing.
"Training. You need to be stronger. Faster."
The next day, Ren takes her to the Southbrook Dungeon, a dark, damp cave on the edge of town famous for its monsters.
Hannah spends every day there, fighting goblins and wolves and the occasional minotaur, while Ren watches from the shadows—completely hidden from anyone else who might venture into the dungeon.
He's a terrible teacher—he doesn't explain techniques, doesn't give tips; he just yells Faster! Hit harder! and flies away when she asks for help.
One day, he does something even more insane.
He flies into a group of running minotaurs, his wings beating fast, and lures them toward Hannah.
The minotaurs roar, charging, their horns glinting, and Hannah screams, running for her life.
"REN!" she yells. "HELP!"
Ren flies above her, laughing.
Too weak! he shouts in her head. Faster! If you die, I'll eat your corpse!
Hannah growls, and instead of running, she turns and fights.
She dodges a minotaur's horn, slashing at its leg, and rolls out of the way as another charges. She's fast, faster than she's ever been, and for the first time, she feels like she's not just surviving—she's winning.
When the last minotaur falls, Hannah collapses, gasping for breath.
Ren lands on her chest, visible only to her, his eyes proud.
Good, he says. You are getting stronger.
Hannah glares at him, but she's smiling. "You're a jerk."
Ren preens. "I am a dragon. Not a jerk."
Hannah laughs, and Ren laughs with her, a low, rumbling sound that echoes through the dungeon.
For the first time in her life, Hannah doesn't feel like a slave. She doesn't feel like a runaway. She feels like a warrior.
.
.
.
To be continue...