Below in a shallow ditch beside the road a merchant's wagon sat crooked like a drunk who'd given up on dignity. One wheel was snapped clean through. The axle bent at an angle that made Kellen's engineering sense weep. Three men in mismatched leather armor were circling it with the patience of crows waiting for something to stop twitching.
Kellen stopped. Raised a hand to shade his eyes. And felt the bottom drop out of his day.
"Bandits," he said. Because apparently the universe hadn't gotten the memo that he'd already hit his quota for violent encounters this week.
Torian slowed, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the bandits' movements. "Preying on the weak."
Kellen grabbed the Paladin's arm, pulling him toward the cover of a scrub pine. "Not our problem," he hissed. "We have a mission. The next Anchor... the one beyond the Archive... it's four days out and we're already running on fumes. Every fight risks us not making it."
Torian looked at him, then back at the wagon. "Is this the route the Codex marked? The fastest path?"
"Yes," Kellen admitted.
"If this is our path," Torian said, his voice dropping to that deep rumble that vibrated in Kellen's chest, "then this obstacle is meant for us."
"Is this an oath thing?" Kellen asked.
"I'm not compelled by oath to intervene," Torian said. "But I will not stand by and watch the weak be preyed upon when I have the strength to act."
He adjusted his shield, stepping out from the tree line.
"You do not have to join me, Kellen," he added, not looking back. "But it will be done faster if you do."
That son of a bitch.
Kellen watched the massive leonine walk down the slope, blatant and loud as a landslide. He dragged a hand down his face. Faster. The bastard knew exactly which buttons to push.
"Fine," Kellen muttered. "Let's get this over with."
He stepped out after Torian, flipping through his mental tabs. Fire support? Area control? Something loud and distracting?
The bandits noticed them at forty feet out. The tallest one, scarred jaw, short sword that had seen actual use, straightened and whistled. Two more stepped from the tree line. Casual.
Five total. And they weren't panicking.
Not a random shakedown then. These bastards had done this before.
"Stay behind me," Torian said. His voice flat and final.
Kellen didn't argue. He prepared the Vine Creeper page feeling the Codex's weight shift in his hands.
"Travelers!" Scarface called out. His voice carried the kind of cheer that came with a drawn blade. "Rough bit of road this. Dangerous even." He gestured at the broken wagon with his short sword. "Toll's due for safe passage."
Torian's shield came up. The metal rim caught the light. "Move. Aside."
Scarface's grin widened showing teeth. "Big words." He tilted his head studying Torian's mane. His armor. The way his ears flicked back. "For a stray cat."
The insult landed clean. Kellen saw Torian's knuckles go white around the warhammer's grip.
Bait. They want him angry.
Kellen scanned the terrain. The wagon was pinned between the ditch and a cluster of boulders. The bandits had spread out. Two flanking left. One right. Two holding center. Classic envelopment. The kind of setup you saw in tactics manuals right before the diagram showed everyone dying.
"Torian," Kellen said quietly. "They're boxing us in. I'll watch your back."
"Keep them off the wagon."
Scarface whistled.
The flankers moved spreading wide across the road.
Torian surged forward ten feet. Shield raised. Driving straight toward the center. The two bandits there, Scarface and a stocky man with a club, planted their feet and braced for impact.
But Torian wasn't aiming for them.
Five feet out he pivoted hard left. Boots skidding in the gravel. Angling his charge toward the flankers closing from that side. The sudden shift forced the center bandits to make a choice, hold their ground and let him split their formation or break position to support the flank.
They broke, scrambling left to regroup.
Kellen stayed twenty feet back on the slope. Eyes tracking the bandit on the right flank, the one Torian had just left wide open. A wiry woman with twin daggers moving fast toward the wagon.
He slapped the page. Mana surged down his arm and into the Codex. The book pulsed with green light and he felt the drain. A cold hollow opening in his chest as fifteen points of mana rushed out.
[QUICK SUMMON ACTIVATED]
VINE CREEPER (-15 MP)
The earth in the ditch heaved. Thick thorny vines burst from the mud with a wet tearing sound. Writhing like serpents as they lashed toward the right flanker. She tried to jump clear but a thorned tendril snagged her ankle mid-leap and yanked her down into the muck with a surprised yelp.
She hit hard. Cursing. Slashing frantically at the vegetation coiling around her legs.
Kellen's breath came shorter. One down. For now.
Scarface lunged at Torian. The leonine caught the short sword on his shield. Deflected it wide with a screech of metal on metal, and the second center bandit came in from the blind side club raised.
Kellen flipped pages. Need a distraction.
He dismissed the Vine Creeper, feeling the mana return. The woman that had been bound, not liking her chances, had dashed into the treeline.
[QUICK SUMMON ACTIVATED]
GLIMMERLING (-15 MP)
The moth-light materialized right in Club-Guy's face. Wings fluttering with ethereal luminescence.
"Dazzle!"
White light detonated like a flashbang. The bandit screamed clutching his eyes. Swinging the club wildly at nothing but air and his own mounting panic.
Torian didn't miss. His backhand shield-bash caught the blinded bandit square in the sternum with a sound like a sledgehammer hitting a side of beef. The man went down hard sprawling in the dirt with a wheeze that suggested several ribs had just filed for early retirement.
But the remaining flankers were closing. One had a spear circling wide aiming for the wagon and the presumably valuable cargo inside.
Kellen dismissed the Glimmerling with a thought feeling the mana trickle back. Eight out of fifteen. Not great.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Protect the asset.
[QUICK SUMMON ACTIVATED]
STONE TOAD (-15 MP)
The massive amphibian slammed down on the crates with a ground-shaking thud. It hunkered down exposing its granite back like a living shield.
The spear hit the toad's stony hide and sparked like someone had just tried to stab a mountain. It bounced off with a pathetic clang and landed in the dirt.
The spearman blinked at his weapon. Then at the toad. Then at Kellen. "What the hell..."
Torian finished Scarface with a brutal overhead swing that Kellen very deliberately didn't watch too closely.
Torian roared, an actual roar... Lion's do that sometimes and when they do people notice, this time was no exception. The spearman looked at his leader sprawled in the dirt. His blinded friend groaning and clutching his face. And the writhing mass of thorns still hissing in the ditch.
He dropped his spear and ran.
Silence settled over the road like dust.
Kellen's hands were shaking. He dismissed the Stone Toad, watching his mana tick back up with the refund. His heart was still hammering against his ribs and he could taste copper in his mouth from breathing too hard.
[COMBAT COMPLETE]
+85 XP
Torian lowered his warhammer slowly. His breathing steady despite the fight. He turned to scan the tree line one more time ears swiveling then lowered his weapon.
"Clear."
Kellen let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Good. Let's check the wagon before someone else decides today's a great day for highway robbery."
He circled around to the back. Boots crunching on gravel. The canvas flap was tied shut with rough cord. He tugged it open.
A man stared at him from the cargo bed. Middle-aged. Balding. Expensive robes covered in road dust. Merchant obviously. Behind him stacked crates labeled in Kelidorian script: Glassware. Fragile.
"They're gone," Kellen said.
The merchant exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for the last five minutes. His hands were shaking. "Thank the gods. I thought..." He stopped, noticing Torian. His eyes widened. "Is that... Umbral-Kin?"
Torian shot him a look that could have curdled milk.
The merchant scrambled out of the wagon like a startled hen already bowing. "Apologies ser. I meant no offense. None at all. I'm Gavrel. Gavrel Tess. Of Tess & Sons Imports." He said it like the name should mean something.
It didn't.
Gavrel gestured at the broken wheel with shaking hands. "I was traveling to Holdfen when they ambushed me. Killed my guard. Cracked the axle..." He trailed off looking at the bodies with the expression of a man reconsidering his career choices.
Kellen glanced at Torian. The leonine was still scanning the tree line clearly not interested in small talk.
"Holdfen's two days north," Kellen said. "You're not making it there on that wheel."
"I know." Gavrel wrung his hands. "I have coin. I can pay for an escort. There's a village, Crosshill, half a day west. They have a wheelwright. If you could just..."
"We're not going west."
"Please." Gavrel's voice cracked. "Those bandits had a camp nearby. They'll come back with reinforcements. I can't defend this alone. I'll pay triple rates. Quadruple even."
Torian turned. "He's in danger..."
"I know," Kellen said. "Let me figure this out..."
Kellen ran the numbers in his head. Half a day west to Crosshill. Overnight for repairs maybe. Half a day back to rejoin the road. That's... one full day lost.
The Anchor was four days north from here. With the detour, that becomes five.
He pulled up the corruption metrics from the Codex. The zone stability was at 42%. Estimated critical threshold: six days.
Five days travel. Six days until collapse.
The math worked. Barely.
Grrrrr.
The sound wasn't a monster. It was his stomach. A long desperate protest that vibrated against his ribs like a caged animal demanding release.
Kellen blinked. Suddenly very aware that he hadn't eaten since... when? Yesterday morning? The day before? Time got fuzzy when you were running for your life.
He looked at Torian whose massive frame was burning calories just by existing.
Then he looked at the wagon. Specifically at a crate that had cracked open in the crash revealing salted pork and dried apples.
Jackpot.
"Fine," Kellen said. "We'll take you to Crosshill. But we're not waiting for repairs. You're on your own after that."
Gavrel's face lit up like someone had just told him he'd won the lottery. "Yes! Of course! Thank you!"
"And," Kellen added pointing at the crate "we take the food. All of it."
"No." Torian said flatly. "We do not extort civilians."
"It's not extortion," Kellen said. His stomach growling again for emphasis. "It's payment for services rendered. Market economics."
"I am a Paladin. I protect. I do not demand profit for duty."
"You were a Paladin," Kellen corrected lowering his voice. "Now you're a fugitive with no payroll. No supply line. And a stomach that's about to file a formal complaint with whatever deity handles workplace conditions. We need calories. Coin doesn't fill bellies in the woods and I'm pretty sure my intestines are plotting a coup."
Torian glared at him. Then at the merchant who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. Then at the salted pork.
The leonine's ears flicked back. He let out a slow resigned sigh that sounded like a boulder accepting gravity.
"Half," Torian grunted. In a tone that suggested the negotiation was over before it started. "We take half."
Kellen opened his mouth to argue, because half seemed like the kind of compromise that left everyone equally unhappy, but saw the set of Torian's jaw and the way his hand hadn't moved from his warhammer.
"Deal," Kellen said. Because arguing with an armed leonine about food distribution felt like a great way to become a cautionary tale.
Torian moved aside watching as Kellen raided the crate. For the first time since leaving Kelidor the paladin realized that survival explicitly outside the Church's support meant his definition of 'duty' had to expand.
It didn't mean he stopped being a Paladin.
It just meant he had to ensure his survival without being unjust.
Half is fair.
They stripped the wagon for parts, leaving the broken hull to the scavengers. Rigging a makeshift travois from the snapped shafts and canvas, they lashed the most valuable crates to the frame. Gavrel walked beside them babbling gratitude and stories about his time on the road.
Kellen tuned him out focusing instead on the rhythm of his boots on the packed dirt road.
Torian's voice cut through his thoughts quiet and unexpected.
"You saw how he looked at me."
It wasn't a question. Kellen glanced sideways at the paladin. Torian was staring straight ahead his expression unreadable but his ears were pinned flat against his skull.
"The merchant?" Kellen asked. "Yeah. He was scared. People are idiots."
"He was terrified," Torian corrected adjusting his shield strap. The leather creaked. "Not of the bandits. Of me."
The travois scraped over a rock. Gavrel stumbled caught himself kept walking.
Torian's jaw worked for a moment before he continued. "Before I was a Paladin... he would have been right to be afraid."
Kellen stayed silent letting the big man talk. Sometimes the best thing you could do was shut up and listen.
"I wasn't born as a servent of the Church," Torian said. His voice gone quiet in a way that made Kellen's chest tighten. "I grew up in the slums... in a district outside Zalingrad where they dump the 'undesirables.' The priests had a word for me. 'Abomination.' Said it like they were diagnosing a disease." He adjusted his shield strap again leather creaking. "Too human for the Umbral tribes across the border. Too beast for the city. So I got angry."
He paused stepping over a fallen log without breaking stride the travois bouncing behind him.
"I broke things. Broke people. Wanted them to hurt the way I did. Rejected. Wrong."
Kellen thought about his years at the Academy. The whispers in the lecture halls. The way professors looked through him like he was a mistake they couldn't quite erase. Waste of potential. Weird. Broken.
It wasn't the same, Torian had faced blades while Kellen had faced disappointed sighs, but he understood the taste of that anger. The feeling of being a mistake in someone else's perfect world.
"I was sixteen, I had found myself in Kelidor, when the City Guard cornered me," Torian continued his voice flat and distant. "I'd put three men in the infirmary for calling me a mongrel, broke one's jaw so bad he'd be drinking through a straw for months. They had crossbows leveled. And I could see it in their eyes, they weren't arresting a kid. They were putting down a rabid stray."
His grip tightened on the warhammer. "And the worst part? I wanted them to do it. I was tired of being the monster everyone expected."
The silence stretched between them heavy and cold.
"Then Captain Vale stepped in."
Kellen stopped. "The man you... the one they said you killed?"
"The man who saved me," Torian said. His voice cracked just slightly. "He didn't see a monster. He saw a recruit. Told the guards to lower their weapons. Told me I had a choice, a cage or a shield."
He looked at his hands. Scarred. Massive. Capable of crushing stone or holding a child with equal care.
"He trained me. When the Order tried to fail me on 'biological incompatibility' Vale forced a review. When the highborn squires tried hazing me he put me on the sparring rotation until they learned respect. He was..." Torian's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "He was a father to me."
Kellen felt something twist in his chest.
"Whoever framed me," Torian said and for the first time Kellen heard the tremor beneath the granite. "They didn't just ruin my life. They killed him. They killed the only man who believed a mongrel could hold the Light."
Kellen looked at him. Really looked at him, this massive leonine warrior who'd lost everything. Who was still trying to do the right thing even when the world had decided he was the villain.
"We'll find them," Kellen said quietly. "We'll clear your name. And we'll make whoever did this answer for it."
Torian didn't respond. He just tightened his grip on his warhammer and kept walking.
They reached Crosshill as the sun bled out behind the western hills painting the sky orange and red.
The village was small, twenty buildings if Kellen was being generous. One inn that looked like it had seen better decades. And a smithy that doubled as a wheelwright.
Gavrel paid them in silver and disappeared into the inn to negotiate repairs still babbling gratitude.
A notification flickered in Kellen's peripheral vision subtle as always. He let it settle before reading it properly.
[QUEST COMPLETE: MERCHANT ESCORT]
Gavrel Tess delivered safely to Crosshill
+125 XP | +50 Silver | Reputation +10 (Kelidor Region)
He dismissed it with a thought feeling the small trickle of experience settle into his core. Not enough to level but every bit helped.
One day detour. Packs full. Four days to the Archive.
The math was tight but they'd make it work.
Torian stood brushing crumbs from his armor. "Get some rest. Dawn comes early."
Kellen watched the leonine disappear into the inn. He sat there a moment longer staring north into the darkness where the Anchor of the Archive waited.
Four days. Four days to answers or four days closer to whatever nightmare was waiting for them.