The road wound quiet beneath the canopy of pines, our boots crunching on fallen needles. For once, there wasn't a monster breathing down our necks or a guild officer trying to shove papers at us. Just travel.
Of course, I couldn't leave it at "just travel."
I knelt down, fiddling with a cluster of wolf fangs and sinew pulled from my waist bag. "If I combine the wolf's tendon with a quartz shard, I can reinforce tension—sort of like a spring. Add resin, maybe it becomes a trigger."
Lyra crouched nearby, arms crossed, one brow arched high. "And then you will throw it, and it will explode like your other… rocks."
"They're not just rocks!" I snapped, holding up a lumpy prototype the size of my fist. "They're improvised field charges. Completely different. Highly sophisticated."
She poked it with the tip of her dagger. "Highly unstable."
"Details."
The "rock bomb" slipped from my hand and hit the dirt with a dull thunk. Both of us froze. Nothing happened.
Lyra smirked. "Truly terrifying."
"...It's a prototype," I muttered, shoving it back into the bag.
Her laughter echoed softly through the trees, a rare sound that made the campfire nights worth every bruise.
By the time dusk fell, I had stitched wolf hide into a reinforced cloak, wired copper thread through the seams, and even strapped a voltage crystal into a bracer. It sparked once and scorched my sleeve, but hey—progress.
We were just about to make camp when Lyra stiffened, ears twitching. "Not wolves. Human steps."
I froze, hand hovering over the waist bag. Through the underbrush, silhouettes shifted—too many to be travelers, and moving with intent.
"Pursuers?" I whispered.
She nodded once. "Too careful for bandits. Too desperate for hunters. Merchants' dogs, perhaps."
The crackle of leaves drew closer. My heart raced. The silly banter of the afternoon felt a world away.
I tightened the bracer and whispered, "Well… guess it's time to field test."
Lyra's dagger gleamed in the moonlight. "Try not to explode yourself first."
The shadows closed in.