Date: April 5, 542 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
A week had passed. A week in which the caravan slowly but steadily moved east, passing small villages, crossing dry riverbeds, and skirting hills that grew ever higher and steeper. The air had changed — it was drier, clearer, and at night, the stars hung so low they seemed within reach.
Ulvia had grown accustomed to the caravan's rhythm. Accustomed to waking to the crow of a rooster someone was carrying in a cage behind the third wagon. Accustomed to the morning bustle as women lit fires and men checked the harnesses. Accustomed to the long hours of travel, sitting on the driver's seat, watching the road unwind, and listening to talk — of grain prices, wayward sons, which herbs best eased back pain.
But today was different. Ulvia awoke before dawn, when the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten, and sat for a long time at the edge of the wagon, unfolding Mira's map. The folds in the old paper were visible even in the half-light, and her fingers, touching them, felt the warmth left by the old cartographer's hands. The next point was close — so close that the caravan's path and hers would soon diverge.
She had known it yesterday, but had delayed the moment. Not from fear. Simply... she had grown accustomed.
---
The caravan woke earlier than usual. The sun had not yet risen, but the wagons were already hitched, and the people, usually unhurried in the mornings, moved faster today, as if sensing the day would be special. Ulvia helped pack up camp — rolling tarpaulins, loading empty crates, adjusting horse harnesses. She did everything as always, but her movements held that particular focus that comes when you know you're doing something for the last time.
When the sun finally appeared over the hills, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, the caravan was already halted at the foot of a low ridge. From here, the road turned northeast, towards lands where, according to Mira, caravans rarely traveled. But Ulvia's path lay due east — towards where the next marker was noted on the map.
Mira approached first. She held a small bundle of sturdy cloth and, when Ulvia jumped down from the wagon, silently handed it to her.
"There's food for a few days," she said. "And a clean shirt. Also..." she hesitated, "inside, there's a small vial. A tincture of bitter herbs. My grandfather always took it on the road. He said it helps you not lose your way."
Ulvia took the bundle. It was warm — Mira had probably kept it in her wagon to keep it from getting cold.
"Thank you," she said. "I'll keep it."
"Keep it," Mira smiled, and her smile held that particular sadness that comes with parting. "And if ever your path brings you back to these parts... know you have friends here."
She didn't prolong the farewell. Simply touched Ulvia's shoulder and stepped back, making room for others.
---
Rena approached next. She held little Lin in her arms, and the girl, sensing her mother's mood, didn't cry but simply stared at Ulvia with her round, curious eyes.
"We... we wanted to say," Rena began, then faltered. Her voice trembled, and she pressed her cheek to her daughter's head to keep from crying. "You saved us. I'll never forget it. And Lin, when she grows up, I'll tell her about you. About the girl who descended from the sky on vines."
"I didn't descend from the sky," Ulvia said softly, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.
"For me, you did," Rena sniffled, smiling through her tears. "Take care of yourself. And may your bridge be found."
Lin, as if understanding what was happening, reached out her chubby hands to Ulvia. Ulvia gently touched her small, warm, so alive fingers. The girl laughed and grabbed her finger, unwilling to let go.
"She'll remember," Rena said, carefully taking her daughter back. "I'll make sure of it."
She stepped away, wiping her eyes, and Garth immediately stepped into her place. The mercenary looked uncharacteristically serious, without his usual smirk.
"So, you're leaving," he said, not a question.
"I'm leaving," Ulvia replied.
Garth nodded, looking off to the side, at the road heading east.
"You didn't lose the token?"
"No," she touched her belt, where a small leather pouch held the metal disk.
"Don't lose it," he paused. "Maybe you won't need it. Maybe you will. Anything can happen."
He extended his hand, and Ulvia shook it. Garth's hand was broad, hard, with calluses earned over years.
"You're strong," he said. "And your spirit is rare. But that's not the main thing. The main thing is, you're not afraid to be kind. That's rare in our line of work. Don't lose that either."
He released her hand, clapped her on the shoulder, and walked towards his wagons without looking back.
---
Ulf and Kell came together. Ulf held a small package, which he handed to Ulvia with a conspiratorial air.
"This is from us," he said. "For the road."
Ulvia unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a piece of smoked meat, a handful of dried apples, and... a small, carefully carved wooden flower.
"That's from Kell," Ulf nodded towards his comrade. "He's good with wood. Says this flower brings luck."
Kell, usually quiet, now looked at Ulvia with hope.
"It's... a vine," he said, pointing at the thin, intertwined petals. "Like yours. I wanted... well, so you'd remember."
Ulvia took the wooden flower. It was light, warm from Kell's hands, and every vein was visible on its petals.
"Thank you," she said. "I'll remember."
Kell beamed, and Ulf slapped him on the back, nearly knocking him over.
"Alright," Ulf said. "We won't keep you. Go on, girl. And may the road treat you kindly."
---
Last came Lyra. The mercenary was calm as always, but in her usually cool eyes, something warm shone.
"I won't say you're strong," she said. "You know that yourself. And I won't wish you luck — luck will find you on its own."
She paused, and Ulvia waited.
"I'll say something else. You're going where many are afraid even to look. And you're going alone. That's scary. But you'll manage. Because you're not the kind who breaks."
She extended her hand, and Ulvia shook it without hesitation.
"Take care of yourself," Lyra said. "And if you ever want to find us... you know where to look."
She turned and walked to the wagons without looking back. Ulvia watched her go, her heart warm. Not from the sun, which had already risen above the hills. From something else.
---
The caravan began to move slowly. One by one, the wagons rolled onto the road, and the people on the driver's seats turned, waved, called out final words. Ulvia stood at the roadside, waving back. Rena, leaning out of her wagon, held Lin close, and a small hand waved too. Garth, without turning, raised his hand in farewell. Mira, sitting on her driver's seat, looked at Ulvia with a long, warm gaze and smiled.
When the last wagon disappeared around the bend, Ulvia was alone. She stood on the road, feeling the morning wind stir her hair, clutching the wooden flower in her hand. Then she tucked it into her pocket, beside the token, adjusted Mira's bundle on her shoulder, and took her first step east.
---
The road she followed was old, overgrown, but still discernible. A wheel-rutted track wound between the hills, stretching further towards where a dark line of forest lay on the horizon. Ulvia walked unhurriedly, feeling her body adjust to a new rhythm — the rhythm of a solitary traveler.
She thought of the caravan. Of the people who had become almost family in that week. Of how they laughed around the fire, argued about prices, how Rena taught her to bake flatbreads, how Garth told stories of battles he'd fought. Of how little Lin reached out her small hands, her tiny fingers gripping her own, unwilling to let go.
She thought that she wasn't leaving alone. She had the map, the token, the wooden flower, the bundle of food, the warm shirt. She had their wishes, their faith, their kindness. And that was more than she had ever had.
---
By midday, the forest drew near. The trees stood in a dense wall, their branches intertwined to form a shadowy canopy. Ulvia stopped at the edge, looking into the depths. There, beyond these trees, waited the next point on the map. And beyond that — another. And another. And finally, the bridge.
She clutched the map, feeling the old paper rustle under her fingers. She remembered Mira's words: "My grandfather believed the bridge leads to a place where you can find answers." She didn't know what answers awaited her. But she knew she had to find them.
"Time to go," she said softly.
The forest received her, closing behind her back, and she stepped into the shadow of the trees, towards where the next clue was marked on the map.