Morning. The Road to Renshaw.
The party rode east through rolling hills and sparse forest.
Twelve soldiers formed the escort—veterans all, hand-picked by Voren for their discretion and their loyalty. They rode in loose formation around the five of them, their eyes scanning the tree line, their hands never far from their weapons. Old habits. Good ones.
Grog sat his horse with the ease of someone who'd spent more of his life in the saddle than out of it. His wounds still pulled, still ached, but the apple's gift kept him going. He'd survive. He always did.
Beside him, Lira fidgeted.
Not visibly—she was too controlled for that. But Grog noticed the way her fingers kept drifting to the bow across her back, the way her eyes kept scanning the horizon, the way she shifted in her saddle every few minutes like she couldn't get comfortable.
"You're going to wear a hole in that saddle," he said.
Lira glanced at him. "I'm fine."
"You're fidgeting."
"I'm observing." She gestured vaguely at the countryside. "There's a difference."
Grog raised an eyebrow.
"Observing requires stillness. You're not still."
Lira opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. After a moment, she shrugged.
"Fine. I'm fidgeting. Happy?"
"Ecstatic."
She snorted. "You're impossible."
"Apparently."
They rode in silence for a while.
Then Lira spoke again. "I keep thinking about the bow."
Grog looked at her.
"It's not just the magic. It's—" She struggled for words. "It's like it knows me. Like it's been waiting for me. Does that sound crazy?"
"No."
She glanced at him. "Really?"
"Really." Grog touched the hilt of his sword. "Mine feels the same. Like it chose me, not the other way around."
Lira considered this.
"So we're both crazy."
"Apparently."
She laughed—a real laugh, warm and unexpected. It drew looks from the soldiers around them, but she didn't care.
"At least we're crazy together."
---
Behind them, Aldric rode in silence.
Not the heavy silence of someone brooding—just... quiet. His eyes moved constantly, taking in the landscape, the soldiers, the road ahead. But he didn't speak. Didn't feel the need to.
Mirena pulled her horse alongside his.
"You're quiet today."
Aldric glanced at her. "I'm always quiet."
"True." She paused. "But this is a different quiet. Less—" She searched for the word. "Less heavy."
Aldric considered this.
"Maybe." He looked at the horizon. "The voice is gone. I keep waiting for it to come back, and it doesn't. It's like—" He stopped.
"Like what?"
"Like the first day after a fever breaks. You're weak, you're tired, but you know the worst is over." He met her eyes. "Is that stupid?"
"No." Mirena shook her head. "That's exactly what it should feel like."
They rode in silence for a moment.
Then Aldric spoke again. "What about you? You've been quiet too."
Mirena almost smiled. "I'm always quiet."
"Fair point."
She glanced at him. "I've been thinking about the door. Where it might be. What it might mean that it's gone."
"And?"
"And I don't know." She frowned. "That's what bothers me. I'm used to having answers. Research. Study. Books. This—" She gestured vaguely. "This is all guesses."
Aldric nodded slowly.
"Guesses are better than nothing."
"Sometimes." Mirena paused. "Sometimes they're worse."
---
Voren rode at the front, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
He'd been quiet since leaving camp—quieter than usual, which was saying something. The soldiers under his command gave him space, sensing that their captain needed room to think.
Grog pulled up beside him.
"You're brooding."
Voren glanced at him. "I'm thinking. Different thing."
"Same thing."
Voren almost smiled. Almost.
"I've been on this road before," he said. "Years ago. Different war, different enemy, same destination." He paused. "Renshaw's keep hasn't changed. But I have."
Grog waited.
"I was younger then. More trusting." Voren's voice was flat. "I thought nobles were like us. Soldiers with different jobs. I learned better."
"What happened?"
Voren was quiet for a long moment.
"I had a friend. Good soldier. Better man. Saved my life twice." He stared at the road ahead. "Renshaw needed a scapegoat for a failed campaign. My friend was convenient. He was executed before I could do anything."
Grog absorbed this.
"And now?"
"Now I watch. I wait. I protect who I can." Voren met his eyes. "That's why I'm here. That's why I'm going back. To make sure the same thing doesn't happen to you."
Grog nodded slowly.
"We'll be careful."
"You'll need to be more than careful." Voren's voice was grim. "You'll need to be smart. And you'll need to trust no one but each other."
---
Behind them, Lira was teaching Aldric to curse in three languages.
"No, no—you're putting the emphasis on the wrong syllable. It's kraf\-tik, not kraf-tik."
Aldric tried again. "Kraftik."
"Better. Now use it in a sentence."
Aldric thought for a moment. "The road is long and my horse is—" He used the word.
Lira grinned. "Perfect."
Mirena, riding nearby, raised an eyebrow. "You're teaching him to curse?"
"He needs to learn sometime."
"He's twenty years old. He knows how to curse."
"Not well." Lira waved a hand. "There's a difference between knowing a few words and being able to insult someone properly."
Aldric looked thoughtful. "She has a point."
Mirena shook her head. "I'm surrounded by children."
"Children who can curse in three languages," Lira corrected.
"Delightful."
---
They stopped at midday to rest the horses.
A small clearing off the road, sheltered from the wind, with a stream for water. Soldiers dismounted, stretched, checked their weapons. The routine was familiar, comfortable.
Grog found a log and sat heavily.
His wounds ached. The ride had been harder than he'd expected—not physically, but the constant jostling pulled at healing flesh. He'd be sore tonight.
Lira appeared beside him with water.
"Drink."
He drank.
"You look tired."
"Feel tired."
"Good. Means you're healing." She sat beside him. "Aldric's doing better."
Grog looked toward Aldric, who was helping one of the soldiers check their horse's shoe. The boy was talking—actually talking, not just responding. A small thing, but significant.
"He is."
"The silence suits him." Lira paused. "I was worried, after the battle. He was so—" She searched for words. "Empty."
"And now?"
"Now he's filling the space." She met Grog's eyes. "With himself."
Grog nodded slowly.
"That's good."
"Yeah." Lira looked at the bow across her knees. "We're all filling space, I guess. Finding out who we are without the fight."
"And?"
She considered the question.
"I don't know yet." She touched the bow. "But I'm starting to."
---
Mirena sat apart, as she often did.
Her books were spread around her—Kevin's journals, maps, notes. She studied them with the intensity of someone who believed the answers were there, somewhere, if she just looked hard enough.
Aldric approached.
"Still looking?"
"Always."
He sat beside her. "Find anything?"
Mirena hesitated.
"There's something," she said slowly. "A reference I missed before. Kevin mentions a place. A sanctuary. Somewhere his people stored their most dangerous knowledge."
Aldric leaned forward. "Where?"
"I don't know yet. The reference is incomplete." She tapped the page. "But it's in this region. Somewhere near Renshaw's lands."
Aldric absorbed this.
"You think the door—"
"I think it's possible." Mirena met his eyes. "The door moved. It had to go somewhere. If Kevin's people had a sanctuary here, a place where the veil is thin—"
"It could have been drawn there."
"Yes."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Aldric spoke. "Should we tell the others?"
"Not yet." Mirena shook her head. "Not until I know more. We have enough to worry about with Renshaw."
Aldric nodded slowly.
"When you're ready?"
"When I'm ready."
---
Voren called them together as the horses finished resting.
"We'll reach the keep by nightfall." He looked at each of them in turn. "Remember what I said. Watch everything. Trust no one. And stay together."
Lira spoke up. "What about you?"
Voren met her eyes.
"I'll be watching too." He paused. "From a different angle. Soldiers talk to soldiers. They might say things in front of me that they wouldn't say in front of you."
Grog nodded. "Good."
"Mount up." Voren turned away. "We've got ground to cover."
They rode on.
---
The afternoon passed slowly.
The hills grew steeper. The trees grew thicker. The road wound between them like a snake, climbing steadily toward the mountains.
Grog watched the forest pass.
Thinking.
About the old timeline. About the new one. About all the things that had changed and all the things that hadn't.
Beside him, Lira hummed a tune he didn't recognize.
Behind them, Aldric and Mirena talked quietly.
Around them, soldiers rode in formation, alert and ready.
They were a strange group. A barbarian, a scout, a farm boy, a mage, and a captain who'd seen too much. Thrown together by chance and fate and something that might have been hope.
Grog looked ahead.
Toward Renshaw's keep.
Toward whatever waited.