The sunlight filtering through the canopy cast dappled shadows on the dirt path, and the carriage trundled along with that familiar creaking of wood on worn wheels.
It smelled faintly of hay and sweat and something floral—probably Amalia's perfume, something soft and cloying that made Peri's nose itch.
He blinked slowly, his jade-green eyes tracking the trees outside as they passed in a blur of motion. A leaf smacked the side of the carriage and tumbled away. The moment passed.
When the hell is Jeremy gonna show up?
Pretty rude of the fabled Male Lead to be late to his own damn book. Come on, goth prince. Your tragic destiny girlfriend's waiting.
"Hey, Peri," Amalia's voice jolted him from his thoughts. He turned to see her clutching the hem of her cloak, fingers twitching nervously.
She was avoiding eye contact—again. Her pink hair was unusually neat today, but her black onyx eyes were skittering like they were trying to escape her skull.
"Wanna stop by the nearby town before Jeremy catches up?" she asked, gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder.
Peri smiled warmly. "Of course! Stocking up sounds like a responsible thing to do. You're being responsible, Amalia. I'm so proud of you."
She blinked at him, caught off guard, then gave him a small nod. That always worked—positive reinforcement.
People just needed to be told they weren't trash, even if they definitely were. Especially if they were trash.
Ah, the smell of rotting emotions in the morning. Delicious. Peri Sarcastically thought. I'm praying to the Lord of life that there is coffee, or I will perish.
The town greeted them with open arms—or more accurately, a wave of shouting vendors, sweaty crowds, and children darting through the legs of haggard merchants.
The cobbled streets clattered underfoot as they walked, and the scent of fried dough and strange spices lingered in the air like a lover who refused to leave.
Peri held the spatial bag like it was an extension of himself—left arm looped around the strap, right hand spinning an apple he definitely did not pay for.
Amalia trailed slightly behind him. Her cloak was drawn tighter now, the hood pulled so low it shadowed half her face.
She kept glancing left and right like the stalls were made of teeth ready to bite.
Peri turned his head just enough to see her without making it obvious. Then, without warning, he stopped and spun to face her.
"Amalia," he said gently, voice dipped in honey and concern. "You're acting weird."
Her eyes shot up, panic flaring briefly before she laughed nervously. "What? No. I'm fine, just—uh... crowded places make me nervous."
Liar. It's the necromancer thing again, isn't it? The whole "I'm a cursed burden and everyone's judging me" drama. I swear if I had a gold coin every time someone got trauma from eye color, I would have two. Isn't much but it's weird that it happened twice.
Peri reached forward, plucked a stray petal from her hood—maybe from earlier, or maybe imaginary. "You don't have to lie to me," he said, still smiling. "If you're uncomfortable, we can go somewhere quieter."
She hesitated.
He was already walking forward again, a spring in his step like he hadn't just confronted her gently with the weight of the entire universe.
"Wait—Peri!" she called, rushing to catch up.
He looked over his shoulder, grin still plastered like glue. "Hurry up, slowpoke. We're burning daylight and I have zero desire to shop in the moonlight. You know I get dramatic under the stars."
Stars remind me of death. Or dreams. Or my third mental breakdown.
The marketplace was alive in all the wrong ways. A chicken screamed as someone bartered over its fate.
A butcher hacked rhythmically at a massive hunk of meat while singing. A bard played an off-key lute. It was everything Nihil hated but Peri adored.
This place it too noisy. I hate it here, Quietly thought Nihil. As he glanced around, the entire place was bustling with energy─ something he didn't like to a certain extent.
"Apples, six for two coppers!"
"Fresh spell-paper here!"
"Want your fortune read? I promise it'll be disappointing!"
Peri was a natural in this chaos. He floated between vendors like a lazy breeze, chatting, joking, occasionally flattering merchants into discounts.
His glasses slipped down his nose, and he pushed them back up without thinking. The nerdy look worked—people underestimated him.
They shouldn't.
I could kill half this street with a toothpick and a wish. But nooo, I'm the emotional support NPC. Peri the Pliable. Therapist on wheels.
Amalia was quieter as she picked through potion ingredients, but Peri watched her out of the corner of his eye. She kept glancing at other people—searching for something.
Someone?
He didn't press. Not yet. He just hummed a tune that didn't exist and weighed a sack of flour.
"Anything you need that isn't herbs and anxiety?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Very funny."
"I try. I lie awake at night, working on punchlines. Keeps the voices entertained."
Amalia snorted. The sound made him feel something. Not warmth, but... hum.
Do I like her? No, She's doomed. I read the summary. She's the dead girl on the altar of someone else's growth. But she's nice. I'd keep her alive if I could. Maybe. Not my type, though!
Peri packed up the last of the items, sealing the spatial bag with a quiet murmur. He glanced up at the sky, lips quirking.
"Wonder when Jeremy's gonna grace us with his brooding presence," he mused aloud. "He's probably crying somewhere dramatically. You know, fog, roses, gravestones..."
Amalia chuckled. "He's not that dramatic."
"Yes, he is," Peri said immediately. "I love that man, but he'd write a poem about a stubbed toe if it hurt enough."
And I'd recite it at his funeral. Which might be soon, depending on how cursed this timeline gets.
They walked on. The market faded behind them, and the air grew quieter. For a moment, it felt like a real life—two friends, shopping for supplies, waiting on the third.
But Nihil knew better.
This was someone else's story. And he was just the ghost helping turn the page.