The road north was long, brutal, and unforgiving.
Vyren had stopped feeling like a passenger hours ago. He was pinned against Chandrel's armored back, pressed so tightly that the rhythmic power of the warhorse felt like it traveled straight through Chandrel's spine and into Vyren's bones.
The armor was cold. Mercilessly so. But the body beneath it radiated a sharp, steady heat.
Vyren clenched his jaw, fingers gripping the saddle straps as the horse thundered forward.
(Great, he thought bitterly. I time-travel, sign my life away, and end up fused to a human heater who refuses to explain anything.)
The motion was agony. Every jolt sent pain straight up his spine.
"Chandrel," Vyren finally said, his voice strained but controlled. "The Vow. I need the exact terms."
The horse didn't slow.
"You are mine to protect and command," Chandrel replied evenly. "You signed the Vow. That is all you need to survive."
Vyren swallowed.
"General Vanya threatened me," he said quietly. "She knows I'm lying. About… everything. She said she'd expose my ignorance of this era."
The horse shifted course smoothly, guided without hesitation.
"Vanya knows you are useful," Chandrel said. "Your lies are the shield that preserves the King's faith. Do not weaken that shield."
Vyren felt a surge of frustration.
"You're deliberately keeping me blind," he snapped. "I need context if I'm going to survive political traps that could get you punished."
The horse abruptly veered off the main road, hooves splashing through shallow water. Chandrel pulled it to a halt beside a narrow stream.
Silence dropped like a blade.
"I treat you as the most vital and fragile link in this operation," Chandrel said coldly. "Ignorance protects you from Vanya's probing. The less you know, the less you can betray."
He dismounted with effortless grace.
"Dismount," he ordered.
Vyren slid down, relief flooding his legs even as the heat of Chandrel's presence lingered far too vividly.
They made camp quickly. Chandrel tended to the warhorse, movements precise and practiced. When Vyren fumbled with the saddlebags, a ration loaf hit his chest.
"Eat," Chandrel said. "We ride before dawn."
Vyren hesitated, then straightened.
"Before we eat," he said, forcing calm. "We need to talk about the punishment. You vouched for me. If my lies surface—"
"There is no discussion," Chandrel cut in flatly. "I am a soldier. The King commanded. You signed. Now you earn your protection."
He turned north.
"There is a village half a league away. Attacked last night."
Vyren froze.
"The patrol report was useless," Chandrel continued. "Ash, fear, confusion. I need your sight."
A cold knot formed in Vyren's stomach.
"What exactly am I looking for?" he asked. "Men? Raiders?"
"The direction of retreat. Weapon patterns. Control," Chandrel said. "Be precise."
A pause.
"And do not speak of this village to Vanya."
Vyren picked up the camp lamp and walked alone into the dark.
The village was quiet in the worst possible way.
Collapsed roofs. Scorched wood. Dried blood dark against stone. The devastation was organized—too organized.
(Not bandits, Vyren realized grimly.)
He knelt near a shattered hearth, lifting the lamp.
Something metallic caught the light.
Small. Heavy. Cold.
His breath hitched as his fingers closed around it.
Three interlocking circles.
Vyren's blood ran cold.
(Northern Alliance. Military prototype. Impossible.)
This fragment should not exist. Not here. Not now.
(My world is bleeding into his.)
His hand trembled as he slipped the artifact into his pocket. Images flashed unbidden—sterile hospitals, silent corridors, machines older than this entire kingdom.
If he spoke the truth, Chandrel would die.
The Vow would not protect him from that.
Vyren turned back.
Chandrel stood by the fire, blindfold angled perfectly toward him, already waiting.
"Report," Chandrel said.
Vyren inhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was steady.
"The attack was fast," he said. "Crude force. Large, uneven footprints. No discipline."
He met the unseen gaze.
"Mountain beasts. Animals."
Silence stretched.
Then Chandrel nodded once.
"Very well."
Trust given. Vyren looked into the fire, the weight of the lie settling deep in his chest.
The fire cracked softly between them.
For a long moment, Chandrel didn't move.
He just stood there, blindfold aimed straight at Vyren, like he was weighing the truth by the shape of Vyren's breathing.
"You are certain," Chandrel said at last. Not a question. A demand.
Vyren forced his shoulders to relax. Forced his voice steady."As certain as I can be," he replied. "Animals don't plan. They strike, destroy, retreat. That's what this was."
Inside, his heart was trying to claw its way out.
Please believe me. Please don't ask more.
Chandrel turned slightly, angling his face toward the wind. His fingers flexed once at his side, like he was feeling something in the air Vyren couldn't see.
"I smelled fear," Chandrel said quietly. "But fear can belong to beasts… or to men pretending to be them."
Vyren swallowed. "You asked for my sight. That's what I saw."
Another pause.
Then Chandrel exhaled, slow and controlled.
"Very well," he said. "We leave before dawn. Vanya will want a report."
Vyren's stomach twisted. "You're… not going to investigate further?"
"No." Chandrel crouched near the fire, adjusting a piece of wood with practiced ease. "If it were men, the King would already be compromised. If it were beasts, the border patrol can handle it. Either way… this is no longer our hunt."
That should have been a relief.
It wasn't.
Because Chandrel had just chosen trust over certainty.
And Vyren had repaid it with a lie.
They ate in silence. Dry ration bread, tough meat, smoke clinging to their clothes. Vyren barely tasted any of it. The cold artifact in his pocket felt heavier with every heartbeat, like it was anchoring him to this world by force.
After a while, Chandrel spoke again.
"You did well," he said.
Vyren looked up sharply. "I— what?"
"You did not freeze," Chandrel continued, matter-of-fact. "Many do, their first time seeing real destruction. You did your duty."
The praise hit harder than any accusation.
Vyren laughed weakly. "Congrats to me. I survived."
Chandrel's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Almost.
"You will learn," Chandrel said. "The road will teach you."
"Is that supposed to comfort me?"
"No."
Night deepened around them. Chandrel banked the fire low and settled near it, his back straight, sword within reach. He didn't sleep like a normal man. He listened. Counted breaths. Counted the forest.
Vyren lay on the ground opposite him, staring at the stars.
This was bad, he thought. Really bad.
Because lying to save Chandrel wasn't a one-time thing.It was a commitment.
If the future was bleeding into this world, then Vyren wasn't just a visitor anymore.
He was a barrier.
And Chandrel… was standing directly in front of whatever was coming.
Vyren closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, he'd wake up in the real world.
Tomorrow, he'd come back.
Because now, walking away wasn't an option.