The rhythmic vibration of the carriage had become a constant companion, a steady hum that resonated through the purple-lined plush velvet couches and into the soles of my boots. We had been moving through the southern provinces for what felt like an eternity, the landscape outside the window a repetitive blur of ancient, gnarled trees and thick, emerald undergrowth. Beside me, Elphyete's silver hair caught the dim light of the carriage's interior, shimmering like a thread of moonlight every time we passed through a shadow. Across from us, the newcomers, Zhandra and Ishighi, had settled into a quiet rhythm of their own, though the air remained thick with an unspoken tension. Celdrich was still focused, his mind likely miles ahead of our current position, while the rest of the group sat in a state of weary alertness.
The silence was suddenly shattered by the sharp, rhythmic pounding of hooves that didn't belong to our team. I felt the carriage lurch as Sir Vael began to pull on the reins, the four horses slowing from their steady trot to a heavy, labored walk before finally coming to a complete stop. The sudden absence of motion was jarring, leaving the cabin filled with the sound of our own breathing and the distant, muffled shouts of men in the forest. I leaned toward the window, my hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of my white gold sword.
Outside, the road was blocked once again. A group of bandits had emerged from the tree line, their ragged clothes and rusted weapons a stark contrast to the pristine condition of our transport. They were numerous, their eyes filled with a desperate greed as they surrounded the carriage, their voices rising in a discordant chorus of threats. I began to rise from the velvet seat, ready to join Celdrich in clearing the path, but a hand reached out to stop me.
"I can do this," Ishighi said.
His voice was calm, devoid of the aggression or pride I had expected. He didn't look at any of us as he stood up, his red eyes fixed on the door. He moved with a relaxed, almost lazy grace, his blonde hair falling over his forehead as he stepped toward the exit. Zhandra didn't move to stop him; she simply watched him with an expression of quiet, absolute confidence.
Ishighi went out, the heavy wooden door clicking shut behind him. We watched through the windows as he stepped onto the dirt road, standing alone against the circle of bandits. He didn't draw a weapon; he simply stood there, his hands in his pockets, his posture completely unguarded. The bandits laughed, their leader stepping forward with a jagged blade, but their amusement was short-lived.
Suddenly, the air in the forest seemed to thicken, a heavy, oppressive weight settling over the clearing. The ground beneath the bandits' feet began to crack, and from the shadows of the trees, a massive, terrifying shape began to manifest. The bandits summoned a big dragon. It was a creature of nightmare, its scales the color of dried blood and its eyes glowing with a malevolent, yellow light. It towered over the trees, its wingspan wide enough to blot out the sun, and its roar shook the very frame of our carriage.
Ishighi didn't flinch. He didn't even take his hands out of his pockets until the dragon lowered its head, its maw opening to reveal rows of obsidian teeth. Then, with a movement so fluid it looked like a dance, Ishighi waved his hands.
In a flash of blinding light, two big swords appeared in the air beside him. They were massive, their blades etched with patterns that seemed to pulse with an internal energy. Before the dragon could even let out another roar, the swords moved. They blurred through the air with a speed that defied logic, the sound of their passage like a crack of thunder.
With a sickening, wet crunch, the swords sliced the dragon. The dragon fell, its massive body hitting the earth with an impact that made the carriage groan on its axles. Its head and wings were cut clean from its torso, severed by the sheer force of the twin blades. Blood splashed everywhere, a hot, crimson tide that coated the trees, the dirt, and the stunned bandits who had been standing too close. The stench of iron and burnt scales filled the air, thick and suffocating.
The bandits, their confidence shattered along with their summon, let out cries of terror. They turned and ran away, their weapons forgotten as they scrambled back into the safety of the thickets. But Ishighi wasn't finished.
He didn't reach for his swords. Instead, he blurred into motion, his speed outstripping the fleeing men in an instant. We watched in stunned silence as Ishighi ran and decapitated all of the bandits with his bare hands. It was a display of raw, terrifying strength that felt entirely disconnected from his calm demeanor. He moved from one man to the next, his hands striking with a force that sent heads spinning into the undergrowth. There was no struggle, no hesitation; it was a systematic, brutal execution that left the clearing littered with the remains of the ambush.
Ishighi stood in the center of the carnage, his clothes and skin drenched in the blood of the dragon and the men. He began to walk back toward us, his expression as neutral as if he had just finished a casual stroll through the marketplace. But as he neared the edge of the clearing, he stepped on a magic circle that had been hidden beneath a layer of fallen leaves.
The ground erupted in a brilliant, blinding light. Suddenly, a huge beam of blue flame appeared, shooting upward from the circle with a roar that rivaled the dragon's. The fire was an intense, unnatural hue, the heat from the beam so great that I could feel it through the glass of the carriage window. It hit Ishighi directly, swallowing his silhouette in a pillar of azure destruction. The forest around the circle began to wither and blacken, the air shimmering with the sheer intensity of the flame.
The beam lasted for several seconds, a vertical scar of light against the darkening sky. When it finally flickered and died, leaving only a charred, smoking crater in the road, we expected to see nothing left. But as the smoke cleared, Ishighi just walked back. He emerged from the center of the scorched earth, his clothes singed but his body completely unharmed. He didn't look back at the crater or the remnants of the blue fire; he simply continued his walk toward the carriage door.
He reached the steps and climbed inside, the smell of ozone and iron following him into the cabin. He looked down at his hands, which were still stained a deep, dark red. Above us, I heard the familiar, rhythmic sound of Sir Vael's fingers. Sir Vael just snapped his fingers, a sharp, crisp sound that echoed through the wooden frame of the carriage.
In an instant, the blood on Ishighi disappeared. The crimson stains vanished from his skin, his hair, and his clothes, leaving him as clean and pristine as he had been before he stepped out. There was no trace of the battle, no hint of the dragon's ichor or the bandits' demise. It was as if the last few minutes had never happened.
Zhandra clapped, a slow, rhythmic sound that broke the stunned silence of the carriage. She offered him a small, satisfied smile, her pink hair swaying as she nodded in approval. Ishighi simply sat back down on the purple velvet couch, his red eyes returning to their calm, observant state as if the display of world-shaking power had been nothing more than a minor chore.
"Thanks," he said quietly, directed toward the roof where Sir Vael sat.
The atmosphere in the carriage shifted once more, the tension of the battle replaced by the familiar, nostalgic rhythm of the road. Sir Vael snapped the reins, and the four horses leaned into their harnesses, the carriage groaning as it began to move again. We pulled away from the clearing, leaving the severed dragon and the headless bandits behind in the gathering shadows of the forest.
We continued traveling, the wheels of the carriage turning over the dirt road with a steady, grounding thud. I sat back against the plush velvet, my mind replaying the image of the blue flame and the twin swords. Beside me, Elphyete rested her hand near mine, her silver hair a constant, comforting presence in the dim light. Across from us, Ishighi and Zhandra had returned to their quiet observation, the newcomers having proven themselves to be far more than they appeared.
The forest outside the window continued its endless procession of trees, the shadows stretching longer as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. The interior of the carriage was cool and smelled of the velvet and the old wood, the scent of the battle having been wiped away by Sir Vael's simple gesture. We were moving south again, the capital and the king still miles away, but the weight of our mission felt different now. The road was dangerous, and the enemies were numerous, but in the heart of the carriage, we were a force that refused to be stopped.
I looked at the way the moonlight began to catch the patterns in the purple velvet, the deep color absorbing the fading light. The journey was long, and the challenges ahead were daunting, but as the carriage swayed gently with the motion of the horses, I felt a sense of resolve. We were the students of the academy, the seekers of the elixir, and we were moving toward a future that we would fight to protect. We continued into the night, the four horses pulling us steady and true toward the southern horizon,