Morning came thin and gray.
The road revealed itself slowly, as if reluctant to admit it existed at all. Packed soil worn flat by years of passing feet and wheels, bordered by scrub that crept inward wherever it wasn't pushed back. To one side, the land sloped away toward low brush and rock; to the other, it fell off more sharply, the air carrying a faint salt tang long before the sea itself could be seen.
We walked without urgency, but without ease.
Jaheira and Khalid took the lead without discussion. It didn't feel like a decision so much as gravity asserting itself. Jaheira's stride was measured, her attention moving between the way ahead and the edges where the ground broke unevenly. Khalid stayed just off her shoulder, shield close, eyes flicking from her to the terrain and back again.
I found myself in the middle, Imoen drifting half a step behind me. She kicked at loose stones now and then, wandered forward a few paces before circling back, never quite still—close enough that I could hear her boots scuff the road when she moved.
Behind us, Xzar walked quietly. His staff tapped the ground at irregular intervals, never settling into a rhythm. He wasn't watching the road so much as the space around it, head tilting slightly as if listening for something no one else could hear.
Montaron brought up the rear.
He didn't skulk. Didn't vanish into the brush. He stayed visible, watchful, eyes constantly moving—back toward where we'd come from, then out toward the thickening scrub. The position suited him. It gave him time to see trouble before it arrived, and room to decide how to meet it.
It also gave him distance.
I wondered if that was intentional. Whether staying behind let him keep pressure off his injuries, let him fight on his own terms if he had to. If retreat was needed, he'd be the first to know. If pursuit followed, he'd be the one to slow it.
The road didn't feel like it led anywhere in particular. It bent and straightened without ceremony, disappearing behind us almost as soon as we passed. Watching it, I had the uneasy sense that the Coast Way wasn't built to guide travelers forward.
It was built to be endured.
We hadn't gone far when the road flinched.
Not the path itself—but the space ahead of us. Motion where there hadn't been any a moment before, spilling in from the left-hand side where the scrub thinned toward the drop-off.
"Hold," Jaheira said, already slowing.
The man burst into view as if the road had expelled him.
He was human, middle-aged, breathing hard enough that each step looked like a negotiation. One sleeve hung torn nearly to the shoulder, the cloth dark with sweat and dirt. His boots were mismatched, one sole flapping loose, and he kept glancing back over his shoulder even as he stumbled forward.
He nearly ran straight into Jaheira before skidding to a stop.
"Don't—don't go that way," he gasped, hands raised, palms open. "Turn back. Please. Go any way but east."
Khalid shifted, shield half-raised. "W-what's chasing you?"
The man bent at the waist, sucking in air. "An ogre," he said, like the word alone should settle the matter.
Imoen's eyes widened. She didn't laugh. "An ogre?"
"Yes!" He straightened abruptly, panic sharpening his voice. "Big. Broad. Smelled like rotting meat. Came out of the brush and started yelling."
Jaheira's gaze hardened. "Yelling what?"
The man swallowed. "Didn't make much sense. Just kept shouting the same thing over and over. Told me to stop. Told me to give him my belt."
There was a pause.
Not disbelief. Not yet. Just the party weighing the absurdity against the fear written plainly across the man's face.
"My belt," he repeated, helplessly. "Kept pointing at it. Just—belt. Like that was all he knew how to say."
Behind me, Montaron shifted, weight settling back onto his heels. His attention slid past the traveler toward the road to the east, eyes narrowing.
Xzar, for his part, smiled faintly.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "Fixation without abstraction. Desire reduced to a single object."
The traveler glanced at him, then away. "I don't care what you call it," he said. "I just know it was fast."
Jaheira studied the man a moment longer. "How far behind you?"
"Not far," he said. "It was—" He hesitated. "Persistent."
Something heavy moved in the distance to the east. Not close enough to see—only the sound of brush breaking, followed by a low, frustrated bellow that carried faintly on the air.
Montaron clicked his tongue softly. "Not keen on tangling with an ogre that's angry and fixated," he said. "Especially over fashion."
Jaheira nodded once. "We're heading south."
Khalid hesitated, then addressed the man gently. "Th-the Friendly Arm Inn's north of here," he said, gesturing back the way we'd come. "If you keep to the road, y-you should reach it before nightfall."
The man blinked, clearly still rattled. "North," he repeated.
"Yes," Khalid said, firmer now. "North."
The traveler nodded once, then again, as if anchoring the word in place, and staggered off in the opposite direction.
We resumed our pace.
Xzar walked a few paces behind us, staff tapping lightly against the road.
"Belts," he said, thoughtfully.
No one responded.
"They encircle," he continued. "Bind. Separate what is kept from what is displayed. A fascinating choice of fixation, really."
Imoen glanced back at him. "You're saying the ogre wanted fashion advice?"
Xzar smiled faintly. "I'm saying objects accrue meaning even when minds cannot articulate why. Perhaps the belt represented ownership." His head tilted. "Or authority. Or comfort."
Montaron snorted. "Or it was shiny."
"Yes," Xzar agreed pleasantly. "Never discount texture."
Jaheira didn't look back. "Enough."
Xzar's smile didn't fade. "Enough with the enoughs."
He fell silent at once, staff tapping once more against the road.
After a time, Khalid slowed just enough to walk beside me.
"You mentioned," he said carefully, eyes still on the road, "that Gorion was killed while protecting you. By… people you didn't recognize."
I nodded.
He hesitated, then went on, words chosen one at a time. "I was wondering if—if that's what's driving you now. Finding them. Seeking revenge." A pause. "Or if it's more about understanding why anyone would come after you at all."
I thought of Gorion falling.
Then, unbidden, of things that made even less sense—of waking up somewhere that felt wrong in ways I couldn't explain, of rules I hadn't agreed to, of a life that no longer felt reachable.
Of getting out.
The thought passed as quickly as it came. There was no point in saying it. Even forming the words would make them sound absurd. I couldn't imagine how I'd explain it to Khalid—or to anyone—without sounding unhinged.
"I don't know yet," I said.
Khalid nodded slowly. "Y-yes. That's… understandable."
We walked in silence for a few steps before he spoke again, quieter this time.
"I only ask because anger can be… loud," he said. "It has a way of drowning out things that might matter later. I've seen people make decisions they couldn't take back, just trying to quiet it."
I glanced at him, but he didn't look over.
"I'm not saying revenge is wrong," Khalid added quickly. "N-not if it's earned. Or necessary." He hesitated, searching for the right phrasing. "Only that it shouldn't be the loudest voice. Not when there are other truths still waiting to be heard." Then he eased back into his place beside Jaheira, the thought offered—not imposed.
We walked on, the road stretching ahead in familiar curves that offered no comfort.
I knew this world—or at least, I knew a version of it. I knew there were paths that led to answers, names that would surface, moments that were meant to matter.
What I didn't know was where I fit inside any of it.
The story I remembered had always assumed a certainty I didn't feel. A role I wasn't sure I could inhabit. Out here, with the weight of real footsteps and real consequences, knowledge didn't feel like guidance.
It felt like expectation.
And I had the uneasy sense that whatever choice I made next wouldn't be measured against what I knew—
but against what I was willing to become.