Vyren's commitment to the Vow still sat like a cold knot in his stomach as he entered the fortress courtyard. It was a world of noise men shouting, horses neighing, armor rattling as soldiers prepared for the long journey. The air smelled of horses, leather, and anticipation.
Vyren stood awkwardly, feeling out of place. His hands instinctively reached for the new cloak they'd given him a thick, dark green wool one that didn't hold the same warmth as the shared blanket with Chandrel. The warmth of that shared moment felt like a distant memory now.
As Vyren scanned the crowd, he saw Chandrel near the main gate. The man was calm and methodical, checking the saddlebags of his warhorse. Two stern faced guards flanked him, and General Vanya stood in the background, her cold eyes locked on Vyren's every move.
"Historian," Chandrel greeted him without a hint of warmth, his voice all business. "The King requires immediate departure for the Northern Border. We hunt Kaelith."
Vyren's stomach churned. The promise he had made to Chandrel, to come back and help him... all of it felt like an absurd dream. His real life, his routine in 2521, felt farther away now than ever. Yet, this was the world he was stuck in, for better or worse.
"Understood," Vyren muttered, trying to keep his voice steady, masking the fear bubbling inside. He wasn't ready for this. He hadn't signed up for a damn quest—he was a doctor, not a warrior.
"Your gear," Chandrel pointed to a pile of supplies near the gate: a heavy map case, ration packs, and a new cloak. Less romantic than the blanket they had shared, but still, something that kept him tethered to this world.
Vyren's eyes shifted, landing on the animal intended for him.
It was a warhorse. A massive, towering beast of solid muscle with an obsidian coat that gleamed under the sun. Its eyes were wild with impatience, stamping its hoof on the ground, shaking it like an earthquake.
"I ride that?" Vyren muttered to himself.
His heart pounded in his chest. He was from the future. He'd never ridden anything but a gravity train or hovercar. Hell, he hadn't even been on a bicycle in two decades.
Vyren's palms were sweaty as he eyed the beast, but General Vanya's voice cut through his thoughts.
"The Historian is valuable," she said coldly, standing just a few inches away. "He rides that warhorse. Chandrel, you ensure he does not fall. We will not wait for incompetence."
Vyren gulped and forced himself to approach the horse. His knees trembled with the thought of mounting it.
Vyren reached for the stirrup, his heart hammering. The horse snorted, blasting hot air in his face, and Vyren stepped back, overwhelmed by its massive size.
"How do I... get up there?" he whispered to Chandrel.
Chandrel, already seated on his own horse, turned toward him. A brief flash of amusement crossed his blindfolded face before his voice took on a more patient tone.
"You use the stirrup, Vyren," he said, almost as though explaining it to a child. "Place your foot and lift."
Vyren nodded, and with determination, he placed his foot in the stirrup, gripping the pommel for support. He tried to hoist himself up but only managed to make it halfway before his foot slipped, sending him crashing into the horse's side. The beast shifted and huffed in annoyance, almost tossing him off completely.
Vyren hit the ground with a soft thud, groaning in embarrassment.
General Vanya made a noise of deep disgust. "He cannot even mount. What chaos did you truly bring us, Chandrel?"
Chandrel couldn't suppress the burst of laughter that escaped him. It was sharp, genuine, and completely unexpected. For a moment, Vyren was caught off guard—this was the first time he had seen Chandrel laugh, and it was... almost human.
"Vyren," Chandrel chuckled, his amusement cutting through the tension. "You're facing the wrong direction. The front is... where the head is."
Vyren groaned, scrambling to untangle himself. "It's not exactly intuitive," he grumbled.
The General slammed her fist onto her saddle, her patience clearly at an end. "This waste of time ends now! Chandrel, you will carry the Historian. His life is your direct responsibility."
Chandrel's amusement vanished, replaced by cold, hardened resentment. Vyren could feel the shift in the air. He hated this public display of his incompetence.
"As the King commands," Chandrel replied stiffly, pulling his horse closer to Vyren. "Mount behind me, Historian. Hold tight to the saddle. Do not speak."
Vyren, embarrassed and reluctant, climbed up behind Chandrel. The proximity was overwhelming. He could feel the warrior's broad back and the coldness of his armor pressing against him. Chandrel smelled like leather, woodsmoke, and power an intoxicating combination that made Vyren's head spin.
"Hold the saddle straps, not me," Chandrel growled, his tone sharp and commanding. "Do not move. Your chaos will not be tolerated on the road."
Vyren barely had time to process the order before the warhorse jolted forward, and the rough terrain only made things worse. He found his hands slipping to Chandrel's tunic as he tried to steady himself, the bumps and jerks of the horse's gait knocking him closer to the man.
Vyren's mind was a whirl of confusion, and he couldn't tell if it was the physical closeness or the weight of their situation that made him feel so strange.
As they left the towering gates of the fortress, Vyren couldn't help but feel the gravity of the moment. His life his promise to Chandrel was no longer just a dream. This was real.
The road ahead was treacherous, a mix of dirt and jagged rocks, winding through dense forests and desolate landscapes. Vyren's thoughts kept drifting to his home in the future, but he couldn't escape the feeling of being trapped in this strange, ancient world.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Vyren knew they had miles to go before they would reach the Northern Border. But it wasn't just the road that stretched endlessly before him. The weight of his commitment to Chandrel, his vow to stay, pressed on him even harder.
Chandrel, ever watchful, led the way through the wilderness, his blindfolded eyes seeing more than Vyren could ever comprehend. Vyren's heart clenched—he didn't know how to feel about this journey. Was it a chance to help someone in need? Or was it his fate to be dragged into a war he had no place in?