Book 3: Chapter 3: Caravans and Introductions

[Time Remaining: 627 Days, 16 Hours, 22 Minutes]

The road stretched east beneath a blanket of gray clouds sagging low enough to almost taste the rain that hid inside their billowy confines. By now, the cobbled stone road had long since given way to a hard packed dirt track, cut with old wagon ruts, weeds sprouting from cracks in the hardened mud. On either side, tall grass swayed like an ocean of green and gold, waves washing to and fro in the wind.

Alex spotted movement ahead first, some wagon silhouettes against the horizon. Nine of them, each pulled by scaled draft beasts with hides like cracked stone. Their breaths steamed in the morning chill, curling around harnesses wrapped in enchantment charms and rope. The closer they got, the louder came the creak of wheels and the occasional bark of an order.

The caravan slowed when it noticed them, merchants gripped reins tighter. Guards shifted their stances, fingers brushing against weapons. Alex raised a hand, palm open, the universal signal they weren’t looking for trouble. His team followed suit, weapons slung low.

A few figures broke off to meet them halfway. Their expressions were polite, but withdrawn, the kind that said “We’ve seen too much to take chances”. One man with a short beard and a thick merchant’s cloak spoke for the group.

“Traveling east?”

Alex nodded. “Same as you. We’re just passing through.”

The man’s eyes darted to the blades and armor of the Striders, then back to his wagons. After a moment, he exhaled and gave a thin smile. “Sure then. Road’s safer in numbers after all.”

The guards that flanked the caravan were three separate groups, each with its own colors and style. Two teams gave only cursory glances at them, apparently uninterested beyond the shared road. The third group, though, six figures standing slightly apart, watched the Striders like predators sizing up their prey.

The largest of them caught Alex’s attention immediately. Holy shit is that—

“An Ork, yes.” Obby added in. “Unlike elves, they are not that graceful, but boy are they powerful. They have a rather noticeable advantage in the department of physical stats.”

I can see that. He’s damn big.

No, he was not just big, but towering. His skin was dark gray, almost charred in hue, with streaks of faint ember-like glow running beneath it, as if fire licked under his veins. He leaned on a halberd taller than most human men and smirked like he’d already decided Alex was worth fighting.

“Name’s Ghrukk,” he said with a voice made of all gravel and heat. His aura rolled off him in waves under Alex’s [Aether Sight], fire and shadow twisting together. The concentration of his aether placed him in the middle stage of Adept Tier. A bit ahead of Alex, but still not quite nearing the late stage. Alex could guess he still had a bit to go in the way of the solid formation energy.

The rest of the Ork’s team fanned out around him, and they all gave short introductions by offering their names.

Rynel, a wiry human with a hunter’s calm, rolled his eyes at Ghrukk’s theatrics. “Ignore him. He thinks glaring is a personality trait.” The man had a bow strapped to his back and the easy stance of someone who could hit a two birds with one arrow, with his eyes half-shut.

Myrae, the healer, offered a nod. Her light-attuned aura shimmered faintly in his Sight, like moonlight over water. She stayed quiet, eyes soft but sharp, the kind that missed nothing while appearing to pay no attention.

She had a physical appearance that seemed a bit off to Alex. He noticed features that seemed human, but also no quite right. It wasn’t until his eyes caught the slightly elongated curve of her ears that he realized it.

A half-elf? I’m sure there’s quite a story there.

Sarson, a fire-attuned swordmage, was already grinning at them all. “Wandering adventurer mages huh? Heard tales of all kinds about that sort. Hope they’re not all lies.” He winked.

Doran was the next to catch Alex off guard. He was a man about four and a half feet tall but as wide as two men. He’d seen Doran’s kind briefly when they first entered Terraxum’s capital, but he didn’t expect to see a Dwarf simply running about playing mercenary. Then again, he really didn’t know anything about dwarves in this world, only what he read in tales back on Earth.

They look about the same though. Even if the proportions are a bit off.

The man in front of Alex now was wide and stocky, but he had rather long arms and hands that were seemingly much to big for his body. It was something that gave the man a very otherwordly feel despite Alex not at all being taken by surprise.

Doran, the dwarf, crossed his arms as Alex looked him over. Heavily worked and etched armor covered his broad frame, and he smelled faintly of forge smoke. He didn’t seem to bother with words, just grunted something that might’ve been a greeting, or a warning, Alex didn’t really know which. His translation ring didn’t help him either.

And lastly was Selka, the wind scout, whom flashed a charismatic smile. She had a confidence backed up by a measured beauty that gave Alex the impression of a rather astute con-artist. The kind that could talk a snake into giving back its venom. “Well. This just got interesting,” she said.

Introductions were short. The tension lessened when no blades were drawn, and before long, the caravan began moving again, Striders and mercenaries now marching side by side. For Alex, traveling together felt… right. The road ahead was long, and the forest stretched endless and quiet. Safety in numbers wasn’t just practical. It was survival.

They continued through the wilds for some hours longer, running into neither beasts nor bandit of any sort before the night finally found its grip on the world and forced the caravan to a stop.

The wagons formed a rough circle beneath the canopy of looming pines, their lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze. The large fire at the center snapped and spat, sending sparks into the air in all directions and random intervals. The smell of stew hit their noses, thin, but hearty, mixed with pine, smoke, and the faint metallic tang of well oiled weapons and armor.

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Sarson was already holding court, waving a ladle about in his hand like it was a knight’s blade. “And then, get this—the bastard breathes aether fire! Right at my face! I roll under it, slice his leg clean off, and bam! down goes the beast!”

Garret snorted into his bowl. “Was this before or after the part where you single-handedly saved an entire city with nothing but your pretty smile?”

Sarson grinned, unbothered. “Details. You wouldn’t understand.”

Myrae sat nearby, her back to a wagon wheel, lips curled in the faintest smile. She never seemed to let her gaze drift far from the shadows beyond the circle of campfire light. Every so often, Alex saw her hand brush the pouch of healing herbs at her hip, as if checking it was still there. It was the type of gesture he had seen Allie perform many times, even back on Earth.

Perhaps it’s simply a medic thing, always worrying about having their supplies close at hand? He wasn’t sure.

Ghrukk sat apart from them all, perched on a flat stone at the edge of the firelight. His halberd rested across his knees, and the steady scrape of a whetstone against its blade cut through the chatter like a deathly metronome. Every time someone’s eyes lingered on him too long, his head turned, slow, calculating. The glare that followed was enough to make even Sarson’s grin falter.

Kate leaned slightly toward Zach, “This Ghrukk guy… they respect him. But they’re scared of him too.”

Zach’s reply was a whisper of shadow. “Fear keeps order. At least in groups like this. They probably want his anger pointed at the enemy and not themselves.” The two of them remained quiet after that, the voices of the others all clamoring over each other in the night.

Selka responded to a question Devon asked with a casual shrug, the both of them lounging near the flames. “Caravan’s headed east. Rare herbs, minerals, stuff traders kill for in the markets. And stuff that attracts things that want to kill us. Lucky you showed up. Extra swords don’t hurt.”

Doran added nothing, only muttered to himself as he traced a glowing rune onto the haft of his hammer. Sparks danced briefly across its surface as he worked diligently, before fading.

The stew was passed around, bowls warming cold fingers and colder stomachs. The fire popped, casting long shadows that swayed across the wagons in creepy shapes, and weird dances of movement.

Alex sat back, letting the conversation drift around him. For once in quite some time, there was no screaming, no clash of steel, no orders barked across a battlefield. Just quiet voices, crackling fire, and the simple rhythm of people being… people.

He stared into the flames. This almost feels like camping back on Earth. Almost.

***

The sun still hung high, pale and hazy through streaks of cloud, back dropped by the terrifying black void that hung in the sky—which Alex was still far too scared to ask about—when the caravan pulled off the road for a midday break. Wagons creaked to a halt in a wide clearing, draft beasts snorting as they were unhitched, fed and watered. Merchants stretched their legs while mercenaries scattered to check gear or grab a quick bite.

Sarson and Selka sparred in the open space near the treeline, wooden practice swords clattering together in sharp, rapid beats. The others watched with idle interest, Rynel offering dry commentary from where he leaned against a stump, playing with an arrow in his hands.

“Your stance is sloppy.” Rynel shouted at them.

“You want to come correct it?” Sarson grinned through clenched teeth, deflecting a strike.

“Not a chance.”

The mock duel ended with Selka’s foot sweeping Sarson’s legs out from under him, dumping him onto the dirt with a satisfying thud. Laughter broke out among the group, until Ghrukk stepped forward in large thudding steps.

The Ork didn’t ask to join, he just entered the spar, halberd in hand. Sarson barely got his practice sword up before Ghrukk swung at him, the wooden blade shattering against the metal haft as the Ork’s weapon slammed down. The strike sent a shockwave through the air, rattling leaves.

“Too slow,” the Ork growled, eyes blazing with a faint shimmer of fire aether. He spun, the halberd a blur, and Sarson was forced to scramble back on hands and knees to avoid the next strike.

“Enough,” Doran barked, stepping forward. “You’ll break his bones before dinner and Myrae will be tired tomorrow from patching him up throughout the night. Not to mention Selka will be more than displeased you hurt her toy.”

Ghrukk’s head snapped toward the dwarf, teeth bared. “You calling me weak, stone-man?”

The air tightened, heat radiating off the Ork, the faint smell of scorched grass rising from the ground where his halberd had struck. Myrae’s hand hovered near her staff, Selka’s smile faded to a tight line. Even Sarson had the sense to stay on the ground, palms raised.

Alex stood where he was, arms crossed, and his expression unreadable. The tension begged for someone to cut it, just enough to stop this from boiling over.

“You know,” Alex said evenly, just loud enough to reach them, “if this is how you treat your allies, I’d hate to see how you handle enemies.”

The clearing went still.

Ghrukk turned his gaze on him, the faint ripple of shadow curling at the edges of his aura. For a long moment, neither moved. The Ork’s nostrils flared, muscles taut, but he said nothing. Slowly, he lowered the halberd, resting it against his shoulder.

“Hmph.” His stare lingered on Alex, burning and curious. “We’ll see what you’re made of soon enough.”

Alex didn’t blink, and didn’t back down. “Anytime.”

The unspoken challenge hung heavy in the air as the group returned to their meals, pretending the storm had passed. But everyone knew it had only been delayed.

Dawn came cold, sunlight barely brushing low over the road as the caravan stirred awake for the third day on the road. Merchants packed their wares, murmuring in low voices while scaled-beasts snorted clouds into the chill air from their places tied in front of the wagons. Wheels creaked, and soon the line of wagons rolled eastward once more.

The forest began to thin as they traveled, pines giving way to open stretches where grass swayed in the morning wind. Sunlight broke through in streaks, painting the path gold, and for a time it almost felt peaceful.

Sarson cracked a joke about Doran’s snoring, earning a rare smirk from the dwarf. Myrae rode alongside Allie, the two healers trading notes about herbal poultices, or just generally light aether knowledge. As they went, even Selka’s sharp tongue softened, teasing Garret when he stumbled over a root in the trail. While the road may be long, conversation came easier than the day before, laughter mixing with the creak of wheels.

Alex rode near the middle, one hand resting lazily on the reins of a borrowed pack-drake, which he learned was the name of the large equine lizards that the caravan used as horses. Apparently they were stronger than horses and needed less food, but they were much harder to control. Alex took it upon himself to learn hot to ride one while they were traveling with the merchant caravan. So far, the attempt was going… poorly. But there was some progress at the very least.

He mostly focused on riding the beast and watching the area around them for possible danger. He listened more than he spoke, eyes scanning the road ahead, senses stretched thin. For all the warmth of the campfire last night and the easy chatter this morning, there was still a weight pressing at the edges of his mind.

Every so often, he caught Ghrukk glancing back at him from the front of the caravan. Not openly hostile, not quite challenging either, but measuring him up. The Ork’s jaw flexed each time their eyes met, like a predator testing the limits of its cage.

Alex didn’t react. He just met the stare until Ghrukk turned away.

The road stretched on, framed by thinning trees. Birds scattered at their passing, their cries vanishing into the sky. Alex’s grip tightened slightly on the reins, a feeling a dread creeping into his bones.

Ahead, the road vanished into a new woodline, the thinned pines and plains ending at yet another stretch of trees. It was dark beyond the foliage, the forest line whispering of something unseen waiting just beyond.

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