The road to Braithe Hollow wasn't much of a road.
It was more of a suggestion — a winding dirt path half-swallowed by weeds, cursed-looking trees, and the occasional suspiciously human-shaped bush. Most people avoided it unless they were desperate, deranged, or dumb.
Chris was beginning to suspect he might be all three.
"Could you at least pretend to limp?" he muttered.
Damian, walking two steps ahead, glanced over his shoulder. "Why?"
"Because you got stabbed. And I'm the one who looks like he's been dragged through five kinds of hell. We're supposed to be inconspicuous!"
Damian arched a brow. "You're yelling in the middle of the woods."
"It's called venting. Very different from yelling."
"You're wearing one boot."
Chris scowled at his feet. "Because someone decided to toss the other one into a ravine."
"I warned you not to insult my aim."
They continued walking in silence, the tension between them thick enough to choke on. Chris had strapped his sword to his back and managed to reassemble some sort of outfit from torn cloth and leftover supplies. Damian still looked annoyingly mysterious and smug in his half-burnt cloak.
Chris hated how good he looked in black.
He hated everything about this.
Especially the part where traveling with Damian wasn't… entirely awful.
The man was quiet when he wasn't being smug. Efficient, focused. He didn't complain, didn't ask stupid questions, and didn't eat loudly. He was, in many ways, the opposite of every training partner Chris had ever had in Solaria.
Which was, frankly, infuriating.
"You're staring," Damian said flatly, not looking back.
Chris bristled. "Was not."
"You have the subtlety of a drunk goat."
"Well, you have the personality of a rotting cactus."
A beat of silence.
Then Damian murmured, "That doesn't even make sense."
"Shut up, I'm tired."
By midday, they reached a clearing near an old stone bridge — the kind of place that screamed ambush ahead in bold, glowing letters.
Chris slowed his steps, eyes scanning the treeline. "This feels wrong."
Damian nodded. "It's quiet."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is. In Aetheris, quiet means someone's about to stab you. Or kiss you. Usually both."
Chris coughed. "...What kind of towns have you been visiting?"
Before Damian could answer, a whistle rang out — sharp and high. Chris immediately grabbed his sword.
Five men stepped out from the trees. Ragged armor, mismatched blades, and expressions that screamed "we haven't bathed since winter." Bandits.
"Well, well," said the one in front — a burly man with a rusted axe. "What do we have here? A little knightling and his… boyfriend?"
Chris blinked. "He's not—!"
"Does it matter?" Damian cut in, voice calm. "Either way, you'll be unconscious in the next five minutes."
The bandits laughed.
Chris gave Damian a side-eye. "Stop antagonizing people who outnumber us."
"Why? You're here."
"You barely walk without wobbling—"
"—And yet you're still the one who fell in that mud hole."
"It was a trench!"
A sword came flying toward Chris's face.
He ducked just in time, rolling forward and coming up in a crouch, blade drawn.
"Well," he muttered. "So much for diplomacy."
The clearing exploded into motion.
Chris lunged at the closest bandit, parrying a blow and slamming the flat of his blade into the man's gut. Damian stepped in behind him, swirling shadows around his arms as he sent a spike of darkness slamming into another's chest. The man went flying into a tree.
"You're not killing them, right?" Chris asked between strikes.
Damian shrugged. "I can try."
One bandit charged at Chris from the side — a wiry guy with two short daggers and way too much enthusiasm. Chris dodged, tripped him with the back of his boot (his only boot), and slammed his fist into the guy's temple.
"Three down," he said.
"Two still standing," Damian said coolly, wrapping a tendril of magic around the legs of another and yanking.
The last bandit turned to run.
Chris and Damian spoke in unison:
"Don't let him escape."
They exchanged a glance, then took off after him together.
Ten minutes later, the five bandits were tied up in a row beneath the bridge — groaning, whimpering, and thoroughly humiliated.
Chris sat on a mossy rock nearby, cleaning blood from his blade. "That was... weirdly smooth."
Damian leaned against the bridge's edge, arms crossed. "We work well together."
Chris blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I said we work well together."
Chris stared at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Mr. Brooding Darkness?"
"I'm evolving," Damian said dryly. "Try to keep up."
Chris rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "You're so weird."
"Says the barefoot knight who yells at squirrels."
"That happened once!"
They resumed walking once the bandits were dealt with — Chris now holding one of their stolen boots, mismatched but blessedly intact. Damian carried a small pouch of coins he'd 'confiscated' with an air of professionalism that was, frankly, concerning.
"So," Chris said after a while. "Why Braithe Hollow?"
Damian's expression shuttered. "I have business there."
"Shady business?"
"All my business is shady. I'm a shadow mage."
Chris paused. "Okay, fair."
More silence.
Then Damian added, "There's someone I need to find. Someone who might know how to break... something."
Chris tilted his head. "Break what?"
Damian didn't answer.
Instead, he asked, "Why'd you help me?"
Chris hesitated. "...I don't know."
Damian looked at him.
Chris sighed. "You were dying. I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice."
Chris kicked a pebble off the road. "Fine. I chose to save you. Because watching you bleed out in a ditch would've ruined my day."
Damian gave him a long, unreadable look.
Then he smiled.
Just a little.
"You're a terrible liar, Chris."
Chris blushed. "And you're a pain in the ass."
"I know."
That night, they camped under a canopy of stars. Chris lay on his bedroll, watching the fire crackle, while Damian sat with his back to a tree, shadow magic swirling lazily around his fingers like smoke.
"Do you ever sleep?" Chris asked.
Damian didn't look up. "Not well."
"Nightmares?"
"...Memories."
Chris didn't press.
Instead, he said softly, "I used to have those too. After my parents died. Couldn't close my eyes without seeing flames."
Damian's hands stilled.
They sat in silence a while longer, the fire popping gently between them.
Then Damian said, "...You talk too much."
Chris grinned into the night. "You'd miss it if I stopped."
To his surprise, Damian didn't argue.
End of Chapter 3
Word count: ~1,179 words
Chris: "I do not yell at squirrels. That's slander."
Damian: "You also tripped over a rabbit."
Chris: "It was a strategically placed ambush rabbit!"
Damian: "Sure."
Anyway…
Thanks for reading Chapter 3! We're slowly upgrading from enemies with sass to teammates with questionable chemistry. Next stop: a spooky town, one bed (maybe), and a whole lot of curses that probably aren't metaphorical. 😏
Stick around — the ghost(s) might ship them harder than we do.
– See you in Chapter 4: A Town of Ghosts