By midday, we stumbled onto an old stone road. Relief surged through me—straight paths meant civilization, meant escape. But the moment I exhaled, figures melted from the treeline.
"Road tax," their leader sneered, brandishing a notched sword. "Pay in coin… or blood."
Great. Bandits. Again.
Lyra drew her blades without hesitation, her stance low and ready. I sighed, tugging at my bracer. "I'm starting to think we're cursed. Or I'm cursed."
"Definitely you," she muttered.
The bandits surged. Lyra became a blur, her knives flashing arcs of silver that left trails of blood and groans in her wake. I scrambled backward, fumbling a rock bomb from my bag.
It fizzled. It sparked. Then it went off like a firework in a barrel of flour—dust, smoke, and a blinding flash. Half the bandits staggered, clutching their eyes.
A sword swung for me. I panicked, thrust my bracer forward. Electricity burst in a crackling arc, slamming the man backward like he'd just hugged a lightning pole. My jaw dropped. "Holy—did I just invent the taser?"
Lyra, mid-flip, gritted out, "Focus!"
I threw another bomb, less effective but noisy enough to spook the horses tethered nearby. They bolted, scattering the rear line. The bandit leader cursed and whistled for retreat, dragging two half-blind lackeys with him.
We were left standing among groaning bodies and abandoned swords.
Lyra flicked blood from her daggers and sheathed them. "Pathetic."
I crouched, Appraising their gear. Most was junk, but a torn scrap of parchment caught my eye.
[Map Fragment – Hand-drawn. Leads to hidden cache in the Whispering Forest.]
I held it up, grinning. "Treasure map."
Lyra pinched her nose. "Gods preserve me."