The morning broke without color.
Mist crawled over the jagged ridges like a living thing, swallowing the peaks and spilling into the valleys below. The mountains seemed carved from iron, their shadows smudged by a low, heavy sky. Nothing moved except the wind — a long, hollow whistle that cut through the passes and made the wooden eaves of the village groan.
The air smelled of wet stone and smoke from banked hearth fires. Frost still clung to the edges of the pines, turning every needle into a silver pin, and the earth underfoot was hard with last night's freeze. Somewhere far below, a stream rushed unseen, its roar muted by the fog.
The whole north felt as though it was holding its breath.
Inside the village, shutters creaked open one by one, spilling thin strips of lamplight onto the dirt streets. Dogs padded silently through the mist. A rooster crowed once, hoarse and uncertain, as if even it doubted the sun would rise.
✦✦✦
Somewhere in the village, a rooster crowed — "cock-a-doodle-doo!" — dragging the morning into being.
Inside the inn, a muffled sound broke the silence.
"What the—" Thrynn's voice came out hoarse, cut short as she tried to suck in air and failed.
Her eyes flew open.
Mivara's arms were wrapped around her like iron bands, one leg thrown over her waist, face buried against her shoulder.
"Mivara—" Thrynn rasped, struggling. "Let. Me. Breathe."
She shoved hard, and with a thud, Mivara rolled right off the bed, landing on the wooden floor in a sprawl.
Thrynn sat up, gasping, hair a wild tangle, mask dangling loosely from one ear. "We paid for two beds," she snapped, glaring down at her companion. "Two! And you still climb into mine just to choke me out in my sleep?"
Mivara stayed where she was, staring up at the ceiling like she was reconsidering her life choices.
"At least I didn't choke you with my hands," she mumbled, voice flat with morning grogginess.
Thrynn blinked, incredulous. "Excuse me?"
Mivara turned her head, met Thrynn's stare, and shrugged from the floor. "I mean, if something did happen in the night, I'd take responsibility. Obviously."
There was a pause.
Thrynn stood, slow and deliberate, and walked over until she was standing right above Mivara's head.
"And what exactly does that mean?"
Mivara tilted her head back to look up at her — upside down, unbothered. "It means I'm too tired to argue, and the floor's kinda warm."
Whatever Thrynn did next, only the walls of the inn would ever know.
✦✦✦
By the time they came down for breakfast, Mivara had a faint red mark on her cheek — suspiciously hand-shaped.
"How was the room?" the woman at the counter asked, cheerful as she ladled porridge into bowls.
"Good," they both replied in unison.
The woman's eyes slid to Mivara's cheek. "What happened there?"
"I… slept on my hand," Mivara said after a beat.
The woman's smile widened. "Then it must've been a good sleep."
"Yes," Mivara agreed quickly, glancing at Thrynn as if daring her to say otherwise.
"You're travelers?" the woman asked, turning to fetch something from behind the counter.
"Yes," Thrynn said cautiously. "Why?"
The woman returned and set two strange objects on the table — wooden-handled brushes with bristles, and two small clay jars.
Both women leaned closer at once. "What is this?" they asked together.
"This," the woman said, tapping the jars with her knuckle, "is paste. And this"—she lifted one of the brushes—"is for scrubbing your teeth. Bought the whole shipment from a merchant out of Plentharis."
Thrynn's brows drew together beneath her mask. "Plentharis—" she started, but cut herself off with a slight shake of the head. "Asking too many questions won't do me any good," she muttered under her breath.
"Plentharis," Mivara repeated, rolling the word around like it tasted interesting.
"I'd like to buy four sets," Thrynn said suddenly, surprising even herself.
"Good choice," the woman said, clearly pleased. "Here's how it works — put the paste on the brush, scrub your teeth well, don't swallow it, spit, rinse your mouth with water. Then come back for breakfast."
"Sure," Mivara said, already grabbing one of the brushes and inspecting it like a weapon.
"Do not," Thrynn said flatly, "use it like a dagger."
"No promises," Mivara replied, grinning.
✦✦✦
They followed the woman's instructions and stepped outside with a wooden bowl of water between them.
"This looks ridiculous," Mivara muttered, smearing a huge glob of paste onto her brush.
"You're using too much," Thrynn warned.
Mivara grinned, bristles already in her mouth. "Mmf not enough."
Two seconds later, foam erupted.
Mivara jerked back from the bowl, spitting violently into the dirt. "WHAT IS THIS? IT TASTES LIKE A HERB GARDEN ON FIRE!"
Thrynn didn't flinch. She was brushing slow, methodical strokes, as if performing some ancient rite. "It's mint," she said through a mouthful of froth, entirely calm.
Mivara spat again, pointing her dripping brush at her. "You look like you've been preparing for this moment your whole life!"
Thrynn rinsed and spat into the bowl, completely unbothered. "Clean teeth are a matter of discipline."
Mivara's eyes narrowed. "You just want me to suffer."
"You're supposed to scrub all the teeth, not just the front," Thrynn added helpfully.
"I AM TRYING," Mivara spluttered, now foaming like a rabid animal. The paste got on her chin, her sleeve, somehow even her hair.
A couple of villagers passing by stopped to stare — one even chuckled under his breath.
When Mivara finally finished, she spat one last time, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and glared at Thrynn. "If I die from this, I'll haunt you."
"You look less feral already," Thrynn said dryly, setting the brush aside and standing.
By the time they walked back inside for breakfast, Mivara's mouth was still tingling — but she had to admit (silently) that her teeth had never felt this clean.
✦✦✦
"How was it?" the lady at the counter asked as soon as they came back in.
"Great," Thrynn replied, wiping her hands dry.
"Almost died," Mivara muttered darkly, still rubbing at her tingling mouth.
The woman chuckled softly before nodding toward the square outside. "You two picked quite a day to stay here — no wonder there's such a fuss. Half the village is busy this morning."
"Why?" Thrynn asked, brow raised.
"This is the season when many of the village's children turn ten," the woman explained simply.
"That explains it," Thrynn said aloud, though her expression stayed perfectly flat. That doesn't explain anything, she thought privately.
"Your breakfast is ready — table twelve," the woman said, waving them off.
They ate in quiet, save for Mivara grumbling about "toothpaste being a form of punishment" and Thrynn pretending not to smirk at every complaint. Afterward, they returned upstairs, packed their bags, and came back down to the counter.
"We will take our leave now. Thank you for taking care of us," Thrynn said with a small bow, echoed by Mivara.
"Come back one day," the woman said warmly.
Outside, the morning square was alive with movement.
Nine carriages stood lined up in a row, their lacquered wood glistening faintly from last night's rain. The air smelled of wet earth and horse sweat. The harnessed horses shifted restlessly, hooves clopping on the stone road. Villagers moved back and forth, loading baskets of food, cloth bundles, and tools. The smell of oiled leather, fresh hay, and faint incense mixed in the misty air. The creak of wagon wheels and the jingle of tack blended into a busy, rhythmic chorus.
"Got any idea what all these are for?" Mivara asked, crossing her arms.
"No," Thrynn said flatly.
"Great," Mivara sighed. "Let's just ask someone instead of standing here pretending we do."
They approached the nearest driver — a broad-shouldered man tightening a strap on one of the carriages.
"Where are these carriages going?" Thrynn asked.
"For the Binding Ritual," the man said without looking up.
Both women exchanged a glance, equally blank. No idea what that means, they thought in unison.
"Path?" Thrynn pressed.
"Noves Travelers?" the man asked, this time glancing at them.
"Yes," Thrynn replied, tilting her head.
"Ah, that makes sense. You're probably heading to Veyrath Spine, yes? Must've been given the Traveler's Exam."
"Yes," Thrynn answered again, though inside she thought, I have no idea what you're talking about.
Mivara just nodded like she knew everything, which somehow made it worse.
"By your masks — yours on your face and your friend's on her head — it's obvious," the man said simply.
"You have a good eye, sir," Thrynn said aloud, while thinking, no, actually, I still have no clue what's happening.
The man finally smiled. "Well, here's the route. First, we'll pass through Bramblecross, Lethwyn, and Torvek villages. Then we link up with the main road through Veyrath Spine, stopping at Drosmark, Gravenholt, and Fexlaar. At the end lies the Circle of Becoming — where the Binding Ritual takes place. After that, we'll loop back, but we'll stop in Plentharis to buy goods for the village."
"Well," the driver said, straightening, "you're students. You can ride with us free of charge. Consider it part of your learning — we'll teach you how the roads work, how to read the markers. A proper education."
"That's very kind of you," Thrynn said, inclining her head, "but we'd prefer to pay."
"As you wish," the man said with a shrug. "We leave in a few minutes."
"Perfect," Thrynn said, stepping back.
Mivara leaned closer, grinning. "Road trip."
"Try not to get thrown off the carriage," Thrynn muttered.