The courtyard was busy before dawn.
Servants loaded the last of the supplies onto pack horses. Soldiers checked their weapons, adjusted their saddles, formed into the escort that would ride with them to the Duke's palace. The horses stamped and snorted, their breath misting in the cold air.
Grog stood at the edge, watching.
His pack was light—a change of clothes, his sword, the rings hidden in a pouch at his belt. The rest would stay here, in the room that had become his for the past months. He didn't need much. He never had.
Lira appeared beside him.
"You're packed?"
"Always."
She nodded. Her bow was across her back, her quiver at her hip, her face calm. But he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes kept moving, the way her hand strayed toward her weapon when someone came too close.
"You're nervous," he said.
She looked at him. "I'm ready."
"That's not what I asked."
She was quiet for a moment.
"I've never been to a palace. Never met a duke. Never had to pretend to be something I'm not." She met his eyes. "I'm nervous."
He nodded slowly.
"That's good."
"Good?"
"Being nervous means you're paying attention." He looked at the courtyard, at the soldiers, at the servants hurrying through their tasks. "The ones who aren't nervous are the ones who make mistakes."
She considered this.
"You're not nervous."
He almost smiled.
"I've had a long time to learn."
---
Aldric was in the kitchen.
He'd come to say goodbye to Marta. She was at the hearth, stirring something that smelled like porridge, her back to him. She didn't turn when he entered.
"You're leaving," she said.
"Yes."
She nodded slowly. "I thought you would. Soldiers always leave. That's what they do."
He stood in the doorway, not sure what to say.
She turned. Her face was the same as always—lined, weathered, sharp. But her eyes were softer.
"You've been good for this kitchen," she said. "Good for me."
He blinked. "I've only been—"
"I know how long you've been here." She crossed to the table, picked up a wrapped bundle. "Bread. For the road. You made it yourself."
He took it. The loaf was warm, fresh, smelled like the hours he'd spent learning, failing, trying again.
"Thank you," he said. "For teaching me."
She almost smiled.
"You learned. That's all the thanks I need."
---
Mirena was in the tower.
She'd come to say goodbye to Velda and the others. They were already at work, books open, maps spread, the same questions waiting that had been waiting for years.
Velda looked up when she entered.
"You're going."
"I'm going."
Velda stood. Crossed to her. For a moment, Mirena thought she might embrace her—but Velda wasn't the embracing kind.
"You've given us more than we've had in years," Velda said. "New questions. New directions. New things to look for."
Mirena shook her head. "I haven't found anything."
"You've found enough." Velda met her eyes. "The door is out there. We'll find it. Or you will. Or someone will." She paused. "That's how knowledge works. One person builds on another. One generation builds on the last."
Mirena thought about Kevin's journals. About the mages who'd come before, who'd fought and died and left their knowledge for someone to find.
"Thank you," she said. "For everything."
Velda nodded.
"Find what you're looking for."
---
Voren met them at the gate.
He was in his dress uniform—the one he wore for ceremonies, for inspections, for occasions that required him to look like something other than a soldier. He looked uncomfortable in it.
"Ready?" he asked.
They looked at each other.
Aldric spoke first. "No."
"Good." Voren almost smiled. "Let's go."
---
Renshaw was waiting at the gate.
He was dressed simply, as always, his horse already saddled, his face unreadable. He looked at each of them in turn.
"You've been in my keep for two months," he said. "You've healed. You've trained. You've become something more than you were when you arrived."
Grog met his eyes.
"You've been good for this place," Renshaw continued. "Better than you know." He paused. "Whatever happens at the Duke's palace, remember that. Remember who you are."
He mounted his horse. Rode out.
They followed.
---
The road east was familiar now.
They'd traveled it before, weeks ago, when they'd first come to Renshaw's keep. Now they were traveling it again, toward something new.
Lira rode beside Grog.
"Do you think we'll come back?" she asked.
He looked at the hills, the fields, the farms waking in the morning light.
"I don't know."
She nodded slowly.
"Neither do I."
---
Aldric rode with Mirena.
She had her map with her, open across her saddle, her eyes on the hills to the east.
"You're still looking," he said.
"I'm always looking."
He looked at the map. At the lines she'd traced, the places she'd marked, the things she thought might be there.
"Do you think we'll find it?" he asked.
She was quiet for a moment.
"I think we'll find something."
---
The morning passed.
The sun rose higher. The road wound through fields and forests, past villages waking, past farmers beginning their day. The escort rode in formation around them, their eyes scanning the horizon, their hands never far from their weapons.
Grog watched it all.
He thought about the old timeline. About the years he'd spent on the border, the battles he'd fought, the things he'd seen. He'd never thought he'd be here, riding to a duke's palace, being something other than a soldier.
He didn't know if he was ready.
But he was going anyway.
---
They stopped at midday.
A clearing off the road, sheltered from the wind, with a stream for water. The escort dismounted, stretched, checked their weapons. The routine was familiar, comfortable.
Lira found a spot by the stream.
She sat on a rock, her bow across her knees, watching the water move. Aldric joined her, Marta's bread in his hands.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm thinking."
He broke off a piece of bread, handed it to her.
"What about?"
She took it. Ate it. The bread was good—the best he'd made.
"I was thinking about the keep," she said. "About Marta, and the garden, and the wall. About the way things were for a while."
He nodded slowly.
"Normal," he said. "It felt normal."
She looked at him.
"Do you think we'll ever be normal?"
He considered the question.
"I don't know. But I think we can be something like it."
She almost smiled. Almost.
---
Mirena sat apart, her map spread before her.
She'd been studying it for weeks, tracing the same lines, marking the same places. The door was out there. She was sure of it. Somewhere in these hills, somewhere between Renshaw's keep and the Duke's palace, somewhere the old texts said the veil was thin.
She rolled the map. Tucked it away.
They would find it. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday.
---
They rode on as the sun began to set.
The hills were gold, the fields were green, the road stretched ahead of them toward something none of them could name. Grog rode at the front, Lira beside him, Aldric and Mirena behind.
They were quiet now. The day was ending. The journey was beginning.
Grog looked at the road ahead.
He thought about the Duke. About the palace. About the games they'd have to play.
He thought about the door, still out there somewhere. About the hunters, maybe waiting. About the things that might still be coming.
But for now, there was just the road. Just the horses. Just the people beside him.
That was enough.