Two hundred Juns. That's how far we still had to go to reach the next town. For reference, a Jun is about a mile in Earth terms. Yeah, I did the math. Don't ask why. I just can't help myself.
"Two hundred miles. And then another town two hundred and sixty Juns away." I muttered to myself, fingers tightening on the reins.
Amalia was sitting behind me in the wagon, quiet for once, which only made me more suspicious. Jeremy, wherever he was—probably out charming a mythical creature or deciphering some ancient curse—was nowhere in sight.
The lands of Halmun spread vast and wild before us—grasslands that stretched like a sea of green, interrupted only by the occasional cluster of duskwoods and the haunting silhouette of jagged mountains miles away. The sky was an endless canvas of dying light, bruised purples and fiery oranges bleeding into each other like some cosmic painter had a flair for the dramatic.
The nearest real city was some 260 Juns from here, a place I was definitely not looking forward to dealing with. Crowded streets, political nonsense, and whatever corrupt nobility lorded over it—no thanks. The gods might be writing this plot, but I was living in it.
Amalia's voice broke the silence.
"Peri... do you think we'll camp out tonight? I mean—do you think there's a safe place nearby?"
I didn't answer immediately. Because honestly? I was already planning how to set up our camp without any of us getting eaten or abducted by some demon moth or giant spider. The night here was known to be alive—not in a nice way.
"Camping is... inevitable." I said, keeping my tone neutral but letting my eyes scan the horizon. "There's a verified campsite roughly half a Jun ahead. Officially sanctioned by the Hunters Guild."
Amalia exhaled sharply. "Thank god. I don't think I could handle another night in this wagon."
My mouth twitched, but I kept it to myself. Because if I said everything I was thinking—
Like how the thought of camping outside felt like I was signing my own death certificate, and how the only thing more exhausting than fighting beasts was watching these two fall deeper into whatever emotional spiral they were both dancing around.
The horses slowed as we neared the campsite—a small clearing framed by tall duskwoods, moonlight filtering softly through leaves like shards of broken glass.
The air smelled of damp earth and pine resin.
I jumped down and stretched my limbs, cracking joints that complained about the previous day's lack of rest.
"Alright," I muttered, "Let's get this over with before something tries to eat us."
Amalia's fingers trembled as she began unpacking the wagon.
Jeremy finally emerged from the back, casually twirling his staff, dressed in that annoyingly elegant way he always managed, like he just stepped out of a poetry reading instead of a day-long trek through potentially hostile territory.
"You drive like a nobleman who's never seen a horse," Jeremy quipped, smirking.
I shot him a glare sharp enough to slice through steel. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, lord of fancy sticks."
The campfire soon roared to life, crackling in the chilly night air, throwing flickering shadows on our faces.
Amalia stayed close to Jeremy, her eyes darting nervously toward the dark tree line, fingers nervously weaving light magic over her palms. Soldiers summoned by the Hunters Guild weren't exactly a sure thing yet, and our only protection was whatever spells and steel we brought.
I, on the other hand, kept a hand on my rapier, muscles taut like a bowstring ready to snap.
"This is the part where I'd normally be able to relax," I muttered under my breath. "But no. Not today."
The sky was clear enough for a million stars to scatter their cold light, but the air itself felt thick—like it was holding its breath, waiting.
There was something off.
I wasn't just being paranoid.
Amalia was already on edge, her panic more muted now but still bubbling beneath the surface. Jeremy's charm was like a shield, but I could see the flickers of worry in his eyes, too.
"Peri," Amalia whispered, "do you think the bandits might come back?"
I sighed, already knowing the answer.
"Bandits don't like to show up twice unless they're desperate or suicidal." I said, trying to sound reassuring even as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
Jeremy scoffed, "Or maybe they're just waiting for the perfect moment."
We settled into a tense silence, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts and fears.
I watched the fire's flames dance, unsteady and hungry.
My thoughts drifted. This world is a precarious thing.
Fables, gods, spirits, awakened Dreamers, and the constant threat of maws—the abyssal gluttons lurking beyond reality's edge, waiting for their fill.
And me—stuck in the middle, a mortal unwillingly made apostle of Life itself, forced to navigate a maze of divine mistakes and cosmic consequences.
"I'm not built for this," I admitted softly, to no one but the crackling fire.
Amalia reached over and squeezed my arm lightly, grounding me. Jeremy smiled gently, the soft flicker of camaraderie piercing the night's tension.
"We'll get through this," Jeremy said.
"Together," Amalia added.
I nodded, but my heart felt like it was locked in a vice.
Because this wasn't just a road trip. This was survival.
And the next dawn might not come easy.
As I stared into the night, I thought about the long path ahead—two hundred Juns, and beyond.
About the twisted threads fate had woven around us, and how the gods were watching from afar, shaping destinies we barely understood.
I looked up at the stars again.
"I don't care if I'm the most reluctant apostle in existence," I whispered. "But I'm not letting any of you die. Not on my watch."
That night, as the campfire burned low and the world slept, I kept watch.
Because freedom might come in moments, but the fight... the fight was constant.