By the next morning, the wagon sat waiting at the edge of the square. Its canvas cover was worn but still held together, the wheels solid on the ground. The Order's banner hung from the frame, and that was enough to keep the townsfolk back. Just a few hung around, watching quietly.
Aurelia—the woman who'd introduced herself the day before—was already there, leaning against the wagon. Sunlight caught in her gold eyes, making them gleam. Next to her, the beastkin Thrain stood like a rock, arms crossed, eyes on the square's morning crowd. They didn't say anything, but when Einz walked up, both looked his way.
"You came," Aurelia said. No smile, no big reaction—just a simple statement.
Thrain's look was steady, hard to read, but he gave a small nod, like he was confirming something.
Aurelia nodded toward the wagon. "Good. Get in. You're not alone."
Inside, it was dim, with only thin strips of sunlight slipping through the canvas. A dwarf sat on one bench, built sturdy but with the rough look of someone young. His beard was patchy, like he was trying to grow it out, and his eyes had that restless fire of someone ready for trouble. A big broadsword leaned against his shoulder—too heavy for him, maybe, but he carried it with real pride.
He looked up when Einz came in, his face breaking into a quick grin. "New guy, huh? Borin, from the Ironvale clans."
Einz nodded once and sat across from him.
Borin eyed him for a second, interested but not judging.
"Didn't figure anyone else from this dump would join up."
He leaned in, elbows on knees. "What got you into it? People don't usually rush the Order like that."
The wagon jerked forward then, cutting off any answer. The horses clopped ahead, and the square started to fade behind them.
They left town fast, the market noise dying out to the steady creak of wheels and thud of hooves. Fields stretched into low hills, green turning to spots of thicker forest, shadows pulling long over the road.
Inside, Borin broke the silence, talking about training fights, long sessions with his sword, and the scraps he pictured coming up. His voice had that eager edge, like he had something to prove, and he talked with his hands, punching the air now and then.
Einz just nodded now and then, staring at the canvas wall as it shifted with the bumps.
Every once in a while, Aurelia jumped in—calm questions that pulled the talk back on track, keeping Borin's energy from running wild.
"Why join?" she'd ask, straight. "Running from something? Or chasing it?"
Einz kept it short. "Doesn't matter." Or, "I'm here."
She didn't push. But her gold eyes stayed on him a bit, watching, taking in what he said and what he didn't.
Borin just grinned. "Quiet one, eh? Fine. Talk's cheap in a fight anyway."
The day dragged on. Shadows got longer in the afternoon. The wagon kept rolling steady, taking them further into the open land. Einz leaned back against the side, eyes half shut.
The road looked clear—until it wasn't.
The attack hit out of nowhere. First came a silent burst of black glass shards from the trees, slicing toward the horses and wagon.
Thrain moved fast. He slapped his hand to the ground, and the road shook. A wall of rock shot up beside them. The shards hit it hard, breaking with a grind like metal on stone, bits flying everywhere and shaking the wagon. The horses panicked, kicking wild, but Thrain held the reins tight, pulling them straight.
Aurelia was up in a flash. "Stay down!" she snapped, jumping out smooth as anything. She landed running, fire starting to twist up her arm, eyes fixed on the dark spots in the trees.
People stepped out—cloaked, hooded, at least six, moving like they knew what they were doing, no scrambling. One raised a hand, and the air twisted into sharp waves of sound that howled at Aurelia. Another hit his staff down, and stone spikes ripped up from the dirt to block her. A third pulled back his hood, silver liquid pouring from his fingers that turned to needles in the air, flying at the wagon.
Thrain blocked it, swinging his arm wide—a second wall rising up fast. The needles smashed into it, sparking as they broke.
Aurelia kept going. She threw fire at the sound waves, a tight blast that split the air and turned the attack to nothing but echoes. The stone spikes grew, aiming to skewer her, but she hit the ground under them with a blast of white-hot fire, cracking it all to pieces. She jumped through the dust, fire whipping from her hand like a lash, burning a line across one guy's cloak.
Another one came out, arms up. Roots burst from the soil, twisting like snakes to grab her legs. They got her boot for a second, but she didn't even look—fire exploded from her foot, burning them off in one go, the push sending her spinning into a circle of flames that knocked the guy down, his cloak catching fire as he hit the ground with a choke.
"Stay down!" Einz whispered sharp, shoving Borin back. The dwarf was halfway up, sword out, but Einz held him. "You'll just mess it up." Borin swore quietly, but his eyes stayed mad.
Outside, things got tougher. Another attacker threw his arms out, and the air got thick, like it was sucking in. Aurelia's fire flickered for a split second, no air—but she pushed it harder, making it burn blue and white. She flicked her wrist, and it cut through, blasting like a spear that sent the guy stumbling back.
The others broke. Thrain's walls had stopped everything aimed at the wagon, and Aurelia had torn their group apart. She finished with one big twist of fire into the bushes—an explosion that sent the last ones running into the trees, cloaks lost in the smoke.
The burned dirt smell hung around. Smoke rose slow from the broken trees in the late light. The horses tossed their heads, jumpy, but Thrain got them calm, and the wagon started moving again.
Nobody said a word.
Borin sat bent over, jaw locked, hand tight on his sword.
Aurelia leaned on the side, fire out, face blank. Her breathing was even, like the fight was no big deal. Thrain kept driving, quiet, his shoulders moving with the horses.
The quiet went on, just the wheels and hooves.
Finally, Einz spoke up, low but clear. "Who were they?"
Aurelia looked over, her eyes catching the dim light. She paused, then let out a breath, almost a sigh. "Hollowborn."
The name sat there, heavy.
Borin frowned. "Never heard that."
"You wouldn't," Aurelia said flat. She glanced at the trees again, like something might still be out there. "That's how they work. Not thieves or bandits. A cult. The Hollowborn."
Borin scratched his beard. "What do they go for? What's their thing?"
"The holes," Aurelia said, voice dropping but sharp. "Those rifts... they think each one's a source of power, something to pull from. To them, the holes aren't mistakes or wounds. They're presents—proof of some truth everyone else ignores."
Borin muttered, "Sounds nuts."
"Could be," Aurelia said. "But it's organized crazy. They train hard. They plan. They only hit when it gets them closer to that power."
The wagon bumped over a rise. Quiet came back, thick, just the hooves beating steady. Borin's grin was gone, swapped for a careful scowl.